Wetland

Wetland

We have no mountains
rising to the sun
the eye arcs north and south
across a river of grass,
the palm trees and mangroves
sluicing the sky
as we drive the Tamiami Trail.

Over and over, the children ride
the dragon coaster
at the Everglades fair
unknowing that beneath them rides
the vouivre , a coiled serpent
of telluric currents
full of the earth's energy.

Our watery world floats
on shell mounds
left by the Calusa centuries before
and one perfect storm
might erase us, too.
The wet center is endless
and may not hold.





Written for:

Defining Poetry: Contest  (13+) CLOSED. Not your average poetry contest. The ultimate prize is knowledge. #1615036 by emerin-liseli

I was hard pressed to create an entry for this week's contest with time constraints all around. I wanted to capture the flavor of this week's contemporary poet Seamus Heaney and his poem "Bogland". He captures a poetry of place in this piece with rich, vivid language. Butter sunk under
More than a hundred years
Was recovered salty and white.
The ground itself is kind, black butter

Melting and opening underfoot,
Missing its last definition
By millions of years.

I also loved the last line of this poem "The wet centre is bottomless".

I live in SW Florida, and my heart is here, near the Gulf, the Everrglades, and this rich area of wetlands. I have made only beginning, halting attempts to capture a poetry of place....again this is a beginning...an exploration. I used Heaney's opening and last lines as starting points for my poem and hope to grow into his rich imagery.