Morning at the Homosassa Preserve

Note: I am not a poet. I don’t enjoy writing poetry and I’m not good at it. I’m posting this here purely for archival purposes.

 

Alligator

The morning air was heavy, humidity coating flesh in rime

The surface of the pond was murky, covered in thick, green slime

The birds were chittering amongst themselves, calling out between trees.

The pumas and bears were lethargic, as there was too little breeze.

 

The otters were oblivious, pouncing on hapless fish

The manatees were submerged, munching lettuce, their favorite dish

The deer were doing what ruminants did, prancing all around

Stiped lizards scurried everywhere but didn’t make a sound.

 

To all appearances it was a calm morning in the preserve,

But mother nature loves to laugh and threw them all a curve:

A roaring noise shook the air, harshing everyone’s mellow,

For the alligators had, all as one, begun their mating bellow.

 

Imagine an elephant, a lion, a screech owl, and a moose

And that’s almost the kind of sound the ‘gator’s all let loose.

Then amplify the volumes by a factor of at least eleven,

And add the noise from a Mack truck, or really, more like seven.

 

The sandhill cranes joined the chorus adding to the din.

The buzzards left their branches, over the pond to skim.

The bear awoke and went in search of salmon (or maybe honey)

And when he growled the deer next door did NOT think it was funny.

 

But the gators didn’t care, they continued with their singing

Not at all aware that all their neighbor’s ears were ringing.

Til finally a female alligator surfaced, showing off her pate

And one of the bull gators decided she must be his mate.

 

If a latent dinosaur singing for love feels like so much drama

Remember that when humans mate, it often leads to trauma.

Mother nature has a plan, one time has perfected.

Roaring gators, ruffling birds – all life is connected.

 

Written for Brief #7 of Like the Prose 2021: Write a Saj style poem.

Long-time Companion

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I met him for the first time when I was six years old. I had no front teeth  and wore my hair in pigtails. He was the strong, silent type. It sounds scandalous, I know, but really, it wasn’t much different for any girl my age.

At first our relationship was tenuous. I wasn’t sure where to put my hands, how much pressure to use. Sometimes my hand would slip, or I’d lift the wrong leg, and my foot would make abrupt contact. It hurt me far more than it did him.

Over time, I grew to count on him. I learned that he would always be my supporter, that I could lean on him with all my weight, and he would be unfazed. I eased my grip and found that he responded in kind, vibrating slightly against my palm.

As I grew older, our relationship changed. By the time I was twelve, thirteen, fourteen, we were spending long hours together. I would lie on the floor with my ankles resting against him, and he never complained that my feet were smelly, or that I was putting too much pressure on him. His support helped ensure that I never had lower back pain as I grew older.

As so often with young love, we eventually drifted apart. I found new hobbies, new interests, new partners, and didn’t visit as often as I should. In fact, I left him for years, and while I gave him a fleeting thought now and then, usually if a television show or film prompted a memory, I told myself it was for the best, and that I’d done the right thing.

And then it happened.

I rediscovered him as an adult.

No longer as flexible or supple as I was once was, I hesitated to return to his side, but he never judged, never complained. He just let me wrap my hands around him and use his strength to rebuild my own. With his assistance I retrained my muscles, improved the strength in my toes, perfected my posture. In his presence, I became my best self.

I’ve had to leave him from time to time. I’ve spent time with other partners, and gained new experiences, but he is my long-time companion, my other half, my strongest supporter, and the one who helps me maintain my balance.

I am a dancer.

And he is my barre.

Written for Brief #6 of Like the Prose 2021: Non-traditional Romance