Circular Tides


a poem by



Voodoo moss hangin,’
Witch hair in the night.
Swamp breeze movin’ gently,
Stirring ‘neath starlight.

Deep waters gurgle faintly,
Snake-like in the dark.
Endless undulation,
Leaves no lasting mark.

Incantations hovering,
Dream spells in the air.
Swamp gas swaying web-like,
Under winter’s icy stare.

Bonnet lilies cluster,
Swirling as they laze.
Sleek cypress slumber quietly,
In a February haze.

Bleak greyness settles swiftly,
‘Cross copse and hammock drear.
Curling cat-like in the darkness
It brings a sudden fear.

Mystic miasma rising,
Neon in the night.
A ghostly vision shimmering,
Appears in ethereal light.

Old man poling slowly,
Glides across the gloom.
Hat brim tilted downward,
He points toward our doom.

The Okefenok’ trembles,
But not the way it should.
It’s the rumble of machinery,
Scouring cypress wood.

Titanium-tinted prophets,
Sell time-share dreams, at cost.
While black-crowned herons chorus,
Of a pristine nature lost.

PHOTOGRAPH: Courtesy of Bill Davis