Tag Archives: waterfowl



Waves of emerald and deep forest green;

Swaying branches of leaf-foliage trees.

Along the forest’s grassy ledge

Encroaching and clinging the river’s edge

That quiet, rippling stream.

Waves of foam rolling in the ocean breeze;

Roaring and rising high above the salty sea.

Only to stumble and fall into the watery abyss

To dissipate beneath the ocean’s crest

Until no longer visible; no longer seen.

 Lonesome waterfowl glides ever so silently

Over the swelling waves of the sea

Searching for a place to rest

With eyes so keen and wings outspread

Until his journey is complete.

Waves of time sift unswervingly

Through the furrowed land and turbulent sea;

Its’ silent resounding echo cannot be heard

Yet time’s unseen presence affects all life on earth

Until it is swallowed by eternity.

Softly Spring Descends


As warmer weather surrounds

And caresses the rotating earth

The scent of spring permeates

The air in the season of renewal and rebirth.

The forests, the meadows, the rolling

Hills and the wildflower fields

Are elegantly robed in a canopy of

Emerald green; earth’s lush cover shield.

Tweeting and chirping, twittering

And trilling; oh how the songbirds love to sing.

Whether at the break of early dawn or in the orange

Twilight, nature’s choir joyously rings.

A walk through the forest in the midst

Of a sun drenched and warm afternoon

Through the lakeside cluster of trees where

A distinct honk is heard of a lone wandering goose.

And the chirps of crickets and frogs echo in the trees

 Which are softly clothed in new budding leaves.

Following a hidden and narrow rutted path

Up and down the forested hillside

Gazing far into the horizon where

The tips of treetops meet the sapphire blue sky.

The welcomed warmth of the glowing sun

Wraps itself around like a cloak of security

As if to hold me sure and steadfast

While strolling by the quietly lapping sea.

I strain to see distant images of

 Ducks and other visiting waterfowl

Who silently rest upon the lake

And along the flowing ripples remain afloat.

Meanwhile the southerly and gentle breeze

Rustles the swaying branches speaking to me.

The blowing wind gusts louder and

Stronger reaching a frenzied climax

Before quieting to whisper

After its high-pitched performance.

I couldn’t help but wonder, “What message is the

Shifting wind trying to convey to me?”

As I strolled contentedly over the hills and

Through the softly swishing trees.

I imagined the wind to reply, “It is spring;

A season of new blessings and a fresh new start.

See and remember this quiet journey through

 The forest and keep it in your heart.”

Then all too soon this day’s trek through

The countryside abruptly ends

But not before remembering that a new day

 And another journey will soon begin.

Writing 201 Day 7: Neighborhood, Ballad, and Assonance


The Ballad of a Stroll and a Photo That

Offended the Waterfowl

One day I arose

To go on a stroll

Through the streets of this old town

Built ever so long ago

Although it was a bit chilly and cold.

I strolled past the post office,

A closed café, and the grocery store.

I saw plenty of old homes

containing history of their own

And I soon found the old sign describing the town’s

Historical account with the old railroad.

The old depot I well did know

Was somewhere across that other road.

It is not far to go, you know;

Just down this street, this century old road.

Then make a right turn and then a left

Until I am strolling on Main Street due North.

I have my camera in tow with a bit of hope

That I might capture an interesting photo

To share with others and perhaps on a post.

But many times that bit of hope is quite remote

As this small town remains continuously the same.

Although I reminded myself,” you just never know

What new or interesting or sight  my eye may behold.”

I walked into the Dairy Queen to have a bit of ice cream.

Then I was eagerly so wanting to stroll to a favorite place, you know.

So I continued to stroll to the small park where the

Trees towered high in the cold as I still strolled

Down the sloping, grassy knoll to stand

Alone on the beach where the waves

Gently lapped and softly rolled.

Not expecting to see any company

On such a cold and woeful day.

But wouldn’t you know as I looked

Out I saw not one but two quiet

And graceful waterfowl.

In silence I watched them lift up

Off the rippling lake and gliding into the air.

They made almost no noise; hardly any sound.

They seemed content to not go far

But only to fly close to the nearly

Deserted lake which shone

And shimmered in their wake.

They hovered and glided

Back and forth; to and fro.

Then oh how I vainly tried

To shoot and take a photo

As I stood on a warped and sloping deck

With the flowing water down below.

Suddenly in a splash they arose

Seeming to not want their photo

Taken at all. Oh dear, oh no, they preferred

The pure quietness and absolute obscurity.

They had no wish to be known or be shown

Through a photo taken by me.

Over the years I have known

others who were too bashful to smile

and have someone snap a photo;

However, it never dawned on me

that a such a desire of anonymity

could apply also to the graceful waterfowl.

Oh woe! Their peaceful and uneventful morning

Now interrupted as they knew they weren’t alone.

So into the sky of billowing white clouds

They lifted in such haste and soared.

Not giving me one last look

nor any parting word.

Poetry 201 Potluck Assignment



I was given an optional assignment to share with the class a favorite poem which I did not write. Here is a poem that I have always loved from the first time I read it. Ever since then this vision of a lone bird traveling into the sunset on a solitary journey has remained forever etched in my mind. After re-reading and reconsidering this poem, I am realizing that the waterfowl’s solitary journey seems to resemble my own life path as I have been often alone to think, contemplate things, and then write about it. The writing journey is truly a personal and solitary path. And I am certainly sensing that God is indeed directing my course in life.

To a Waterfowl



          Whither, ‘midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,

Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue

          Thy solitary way?

          Vainly the fowler’s eye

Might mark thy distant flight, to do thee wrong,

As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,

          Thy figure floats along.

          Seek’st thou the plashy brink

Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,

Or where the rocking billows rise and sink

          On the chaféd ocean side?

          There is a Power, whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,—

The desert and illimitable air

          Lone wandering, but not lost.

          All day thy wings have fanned,

At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere;

Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,

          Though the dark night is near.

          And soon that toil shall end,

Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,

And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,

          Soon, o’er thy sheltered nest.

          Thou’rt gone, the abyss of heaven

Hath swallowed up thy form, yet, on my heart

Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,

          And shall not soon depart.

          He, who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,

In the long way that I must trace alone,

          Will lead my steps aright.