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MAN WITH THE GREEN WOODPECKER

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MAN WITH THE GREEN WOODPECKER
by Casey Bush
condensed precipitation
erases reminiscences
a bomb threat scuttles the last ferry
and I’m trapped on this island
for yet another season
I wash my hands and face
with rosebud and maidenhair
moss grows between my legs
overwhelmed by the smell of the Sound
the predominant climate returns
untamed strip of flowers and ferns
between feral ridge and cultivated row
livestock escape enclosure
and become wildlife
trampling the range
mushrooms sprout in mountain armpits
water has never tasted any better.

0 thoughts on “MAN WITH THE GREEN WOODPECKER”

  1. As Fozzie the muppet would say: “Wow-za-wow-za-wow-za!” Just when i thought i despised all nature poetry, along comes one to prove me wrong. Yes, perhaps it’s untypical of the genre, but i certainly enjoyed the read: “overwhelmed by the smell of the Sound/ the predominant climate returns”…”water has never tasted any better”—yep, it was very bold to put those statements in BOLD. I also liked “I wash my hands and face/ with rosebud and maidenhair/ moss grows between my legs”. That last part takes me to the title, ‘Man with the Green Woodpecker’, which may have a dual meaning: i’m ass[u[me[ing the poem was written by a woman, thus the piece might be a yearning/searching for a likeminded (‘green’/nature-lover) man (the woodpecker)to share life with and ‘clear away’ the moss {in a culmination and fulfillment of love sort of way}? Just a wayward stab…
    The poem lures me to the story of the Argonauts visiting the island of Lesbos; a sad affair in which the heroes each find lovers and a perfect [tempting] place in the rugged world to settle and forget about it all, but they must depart and forsake so as to fulfill destiny/duty endure hardship in the quest for the Golden Fleece [Stupid 14 carat hide!] Queen Hypsipyle weeps…Jason wonders why he must be a hardhearted dickhead.
    I’m glad i bitched about ‘Audobon’/nature poems a couple days ago and made an ass of myself, otherwise the ‘flow’ and ‘feeling’ of the next posted poem might not have taught me humility [the pic gave it away]. Thank you ms. bush and editor. i am your humble servant.

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