Poetry From The Screenporch: Marsh Trapper
In the time of Brown Pelicans, he set traps
in the marshes, round Intracoastal way,
down one lone stream, ending in ‘off limits’.
When the moon shattered into dawn,
he paddled past mossed cypresses’
gold-browns, burnt oranges, straggling
colors still unsure of cold, warm, frost.
Cold sweat stung clothes tight.
Light rain conjured fog
from the water, the earth.
His dog’s barks led home.
Posted: Keep Out….
Posted: Property of….
Posted: Violators will be….
Posted: $500 penalty….
In the time of Nutria pups’ birth, when snakes
foraged quicker, found more, and owl chicks flew,
he floated rafts of timber past
the old eagle’s nest.
Driftwood-edged walkway to a door.
Door opening on a shanty, round
Intracoastal way, down a lone stream,
ending in a torn down sign.
Long about twilight you can see him,
dog curled on his feet,
smoking, whittling, on his porch.
Signs shingle his roof,
keeping out the rain.
Good Morning, Rayven56!
We have some interesting, obstinate, old-fashioned people down here in Louisiana…..these trappers are ‘mountain men’, in a different locale!
Nancy…my middle name! Glad to be back, writing, posting, touching base with people here.
Hey kiddo, missed you too!
For at least a day in my life, I wish I could become a Marsh Trapper. Nice imagery and a totally unique style Elys! Love it.