Bargaining Points by Mary Lou Meyers

My classmate Mary Lou is my “poet in cyber residence.” Here is one of her latest as we end National Poetry Month and wait for more true spring weather.


Canadian Geese on the Wing

It’s what we look for
after the first signs of Spring,
each green eruption
disrupting the gray scheme;
each fling with bird song,
which carries us along
when the true bargaining begins
on the lifeline of our pond.
Happy to see the mallards in all their finery,
but the wood ducks stake a claim,
almost quiet in their outcry,
as if not to blame
for they need a water bed
for their progeny
to test their first flight
out of their nest ,
into the light
for a soft landing.
The  Canada geese are true combatants,
and honk their warnings early morning
disrupting other inhabitants.
We’re so afraid they will congregate
in numbers so great,
and foul up the intake.
We respond in kind
yelling this is a private swimming ground
not made for the likes of them,
and open our disapproving umbrellas,
splashing near enough to get our point across
some still protesting, finally take off,
but others have already feathered their nests,
the rest we leave to the blow-up alligator
swimming menacingly in front of the raft,
Still they defy the two-legged monsters
who violate all the laws of Nature,
only the strongest shall survive.
(I heard the gobble of the turkey
in the woods beyond
where they feed upon insects and seeds.
How easy to find them,
they must think we wear blinders,
but they never intrude on the ducks,
prefer the muck to the water,
taking only short flight to trees
to get a sneak preview
or a panoramic view of the countryside,
his heavy duty body nearly grounding him.)
Back View of a Mallard Dunking for Food
Thanx, Mary Lou!

 

Spring Overture, a Poem by Mary Lou Meyers

You have to know what winter brings:
the bold insinuation of Woodwinds
(changing the lay of the land with drifting snow);
to understand an Overture to Spring.


When the sun beats down like a conductor,
the drumming crescendo,
the ice fracturing on the lake,
the clanging of cymbals accelerando,
the wall of water rising
squeezed between concussive strikes.


Brass shrill but thrilling to the ear
followed by the thunderous response
of the entire orchestral movement
as if the earth itself was heaving
to relieve itself of the icy strain
that clogged its membranes.

Decrescendo as freeze departs,
but more persistent as it embarks
on a sinuous course.
The Strings break forth,
soft murmurings of springs
penetrating the groundswell of buds
as each rehearses their imprinted part.

There will be false starts
when the temperature drops,
faux snow,  but soon awakening
as they play to the rains
and raise their flowering heads in praise.

A chorus of startled chirps,
and trumpeted outcries
break through the solemn passage rites
loosening Winter’s stronghold
summoning reverberation
of the tiniest green Soul.

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