The Wetlands

Fog

Poison Oak

Poison Oak(2)

Page 2

Main Page

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Top

Poems by Paul T. Carey

The Wetlands

When daylight softens gently into dusk
and dusk is lost in shadowed night
The stand of weeds that fence the trail
come threateningly near,
Distance has no measurement
the trees beyond no roots,
Shadows, shapes without identity.
Nothing to be seen but the ragged edge of sky.
Man is insecure, fearful in the night
he has no hold in a world of shadow
without a shadow of his own.
A family of ducks close-knit
without haste, without apprehension,
without words chatter quietly,
garbled talk, private in meaning.
The world is wrapped in soft cloth.

 

Fog

Fog is a white line on the sea's horizon
Moved by the wind, it comes my way
Scattering wisps of pale white fragments
Covering the surface of the bay
It rises over the blue sky
It is here now, it makes my window white
It redefines my space

Poison Oak

At autumn's end when winter's time has come
The trees are bare with bush parched dry,
Stalks tall and brittle, broken, bent by wind
Flattened by animals searching food
Show no evidence yet of newgreen shoots,
From damped seed
But poison oak, the renegade
Its skeletal form bleached white
Shows one small branch alive,
A tiny leaf, green with redding tip
Brings news that spring is coming
And with it, a threat to the unwary.

Poison Oak (2)

Starved by winter's withering cold,
Trees are bare, the bush parched ry,
Stalks tall and brittle, broken,
Bent by wind, flattened by
Animals searching food.
No evidence yet of small green shoots
From dampened seed
But one renegade, poison oak,
Its intricate basket frame
Bleached white,
Shows one branch alive.
Fragrant rain has spattered
On the dry soil and brought forth
A pointed leaf of tender green -
A welcome sign that spring is coming
And with it, a threat to the unwary.