NoŽl SweeneyFrom

Animal Rights Poetry By Lee Slonimsky

Green Frogs at Oak Pond

Something in the way these frogs
erupt in twanging bombast-shouts
reminds me of the riot of hue
when flowering fields start to bloom.

Here along the brown mud shore
fringing stillness of Oak Pond's green,
sounds oratory of frogs in plucked cello lust,
before they circle, submerge and thrust.

Their old string strum might be music of color,
one deep bright force in immemorial swirl,
when a cloud obscures noon's gold signature
and they hesitate, as if reminded of chill.

Then sunlight again streaks their lusty slang,
which cries out, echoes, its chorus of claims.


© Lee Slonimsky, 2023


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