I haven't written a blog in a long time. It was a combination of laziness, not writing anything worth sharing, and not being able to access this blog-site. This a the poem that I wrote for an assignment for Creative Writing class at Coastal Carolina University. It received mixed reviews. I had a hard time deciding between the title I used and "My Blue Heron". Did I pick the right one?
This poem was written in response to the following prompt:
"Write a poem, 20-30 lines and unrhymed, using one of the following options:
Animal – The basic elements of Malamud’s ecocritical aesthetic are: seeing
animals without hurting them; seeing them in their contexts; teaching about
animals; advocating respect for them; and finally knowing them, richly but also
incompletely. With this in mind, as well as the poems discussed in class, write a
poem about a specific animal. As much as possible, limit yourself to concrete
detail and physical description. Try to include a sensory detail at least every third
line. As seen fit, bring in background to help characterize the animal."
Grateful
Blue Heron
My
arrival disturbed the tranquility of the pond,
shattering
the stillness with my human gracelessness.
Lesser
birds scattered, fleeing for safer waters,
but one
denizen of the marsh simply changed focus.
Across the mirrored
pool, solo fishing interrupted,
the
heron turned his cold gold eyes to me.
Balanced
on stilted legs, the magnificent creature
curiously
watched me prepare to join the piscary.
A blue-gray
statue frozen between fish or flight,
camouflaged
by a bank of marsh elder and spartina.
The
heron flinched when I broke the glass of the surface,
casting
my worm-threaded hook halfway towards him.
A small
hapless bream immediately
fell
victim to my subterfuge. The heron
observed,
mesmerized by my success.
With a
few graceful flaps he propelled his hollow-boned body,
racing
his shadow across the water, legs trailing,
to a
less than elegant landing on the bank next to me.
He
stared me down like a dog for bacon,
eternal
hunger trumping instinctive wariness.
I threw
him the non-keeper that I had just reeled in.
He
accepted it with silent gratitude
and guzzled
it down his long thin neck.
The
heron became a cautious confederate,
edging
closer, his unblinking eyes never straying.
Waiting
patiently as only a shorebird can.
