Sunday, 14 October 2012


The geese that lift heavy bodies
with singing wings.
The dove that sits on a wire,
watching me walk beneath him.
The quiet marsh with mists rising
and slow moving waters, reeds
and blackbirds calling.
The coyote calm and defiant,
casually retreating
in the sights of the rifle.
The vulture that allows
the wind to lend it's grace
to one so ugly.
The snapper that lives
for a hundred years.
That's me.

1 comment:

  1. The imagery pulls me into the poem for its sheer beauty, for I also walk near a watershed daily. About half way through, though, with that rifle, I sense something a little different. Then coyote, vulture, snapper! Just a hint of violence here with humor. I thought of sappers (riflemen from India). I hope this snapper does live 100 years and keeps right on writing.