This morning, our poetry has gone to the birds. Choose a bird (Laurie gets first dibs on the Cardinal!) and make it the focus of your poetic piece. Common or exotic, wild or domesticated – these poems have waited to spread their wings and soar.
How quickly this month has flown! Don’t let it head south without posting your avian verse!
MARIE ELENA’S POEM :
sparrow
take time to observe and rediscover this: common does not equal nothing special. © Copyright – Marie Elena Good – 2013
WALT’S WHIPPOORWILL WARBLE:
HOMEWARD PIGEON
Near the park bench along the lake,
he takes his time basking
in its reflective glow.
His avian brethren swoop
again and again, enticing;
it is nice that they are concerned.
But he has learned that to fly
high, he must go it alone.
Until he makes his way home.
© Copyright – Walter J. Wojtanik 2013
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
A SWAN SONG
(a shadorma)
One day, her
wings will spread widely,
giving rise
to her low-
ly state, and all will see her
as I always have.
Lovely, Paula. Nice one.
Beautiful! I love swans…
Paula, it does my heart good to see you first up this morning, with the form you do justice to every time. This is just beautiful, and I must say AMEN as well. ❤
A lovely soft song for a beautiful bird…great, Paula.
a perfect shadorma, Paula
Hey, Paula. Love the form and love the poem, so perfect for swans of any feather.
Thank you, all. ❤
Soo beautiful!
love the way I feel the possibility of being lifted in this
lovely shardoma Paula – suits this gorgeous waterfowl so well …
Wanted to also salute Marie and Walt as well – such a sweet one to start us off Marie Elena, and so true – expressed so beautifully on behalf of those tiny birds … and yours too Walt; I have a soft spot for pigeons who seem much maligned everywhere in the world somewhat, but like the sparrow, just because they’re common – doesn’t mean they’re not special – glad you are a “homing pigeon” tho’ …good poems both.
Thank you, Sharon! So kind of you!
Marie Elena
love the way you play with the shadorma, Paula!
Swans are elegant, aren’t they?
OMG!!! I am going to LIVE this!! Birds are my favorite animal ever. Thanks guys!
Umm…I meant love.
[…] by Poetic Bloomings #92: Gone To The Birds; and posted for Day #85 for the “100 Days of Fall/Winter 2012” […]
Had to write about my FAVORITE bird. 🙂
Swallow (a Renga)
On delicate wings,
She soars into the heavens;
Graceful little bird.
Darting hither and thither,
Never resting nor tiring.
Vibrant colors trace
Her form, flashing in the sun,
‘Til she darts away,
‘Til her flight is out of sight,
Lost in fields of bluest blue.
Nice, Erin. I like the up and down this, just as your bird flies.
Thanks, Clauds! This definitely seemed like the right form to use for this one.
You’re welcome, Erin. It worked. That’s what’s important.
Erin, this is absolute perfection!
Never tiring, indeed, Erin.
Their swift intent is a dance in heaven.
Thanks Marie and Damon! I’m glad you liked it. ❤
Sweet!
Thanks, Kate. Glad you liked it!
They are such fun to watch — and you’ve captured their flight perfectly! 🙂
Love the last line, Erin!! Beautiful poem!! 🙂
Thanks, Hannah! ❤ The last part was my favorite part to write. 🙂
Evocative. I could see the flight.
Thanks, Viv!
“…Lost in fields of bluest blue.” <3!
❤!!
This line works so well for swallows as they fly about!
love swallows too – and this allows me to see them sitting here inside – lovely
nicely done Erin – swallows (as you’ll see) are one of my favs as well – actually “purple martins” in particular, a member of the swallow family, I think, especially – must try and write about them also You’ve captured the movement of these graceful little winged ones well.
Thanks, Sharon! Purple martins are just divine, aren’t they?
A beautifully fashioned renga, Erin.
Thanks, Andrew!
Erin,
I love Rengas! Perfect form for your tribute to a swallow.
I love Rengas too! I think they’ve become my favorite form. Glad you liked my poem, Lola! ❤
HOW FUN – A PROMPT THAT IS FOR THE BIRDS!
and each of you are on the wing ahead of the rest of us with neat poems of your feathered friends. I’ll have to think on this one.
🙂
(A Haiku)
Nightingale’s song sounds
Clearly in the moonlit skies,
Sweetest melody.
Sweet indeed. 🙂
Lovely, Erin. Bright and clear.
Aw, thanks guys!
two nice poems, Erin.
I have never heard a nightingale. Your little poem has made me want to seek out the experience.
Me too!
I’ve only ever heard it once. It is the sweetest thing! I’m glad you both liked my poem. That means a lot! 🙂
Lovely sounds from the night,
when gales pitch notes to remind
others of life in the outside dark.
Love your poem, Erin. Nightingales always sounded so lonely to me.
Ahh… we can’t let him down, now can we? I’ll be back…
I love your photo, Laurie!
Thanks, Marie.
I do, too!! Great capture of such a majestic bird!
My Cardinal Connection
His chirps like chimes
scattered sporadically,
a loving wake-up call;
tattered, vast reverie.
Skirted, a straw periphery
a curved mirror image,
inverted flash of red
the edge is all I see.
Still, I’m touched.
An electric mist of peace
surging through my body
overwhelming ecstasy.
High upon the Richter scale,
His presence known to me–
a cardinal connection, above
the love He’s shown me.
Nice – Love hearing their call and then finding them only to see a flash of red.
Laurie,
you captured the flash…the quick flip and flutter of red. Beautiful.
SO beautiful!! I love this, Laurie!
Thank you.
So touching!! Electric indeed…well penned my friend!
You did it justice, Laurie. 🙂
Marie Elena
You have brought to life a wonderful bird, Laurie.
I Love the cardinal!
I love the echoing rhymes throughout this one, Laurie.
Beautiful, Laurie.
Always appreciate your ‘Red Bird Tails”, Laurie!
Beautiful, Laurie. So many meanings.
The Eagle
David De Jong
The eagle soars overhead,
Dancing in the sun,
Wings full spread.
His eye, on the surface,
Searching, what lies beneath,
Flight, still keeping pace.
As a spear from the tower,
He dives without fear,
Beneath the surface, all cower.
Swift and accurate, his attack,
Grasping his prey in a clinch,
What he holds will not go back.
So the Lord, watches overhead,
Dancing the stars, the moon, the sun,
Arms of mercy, full spread.
His eye on the surface,
Knowing all that’s beneath,
Never rejecting infinite grace.
High on his cross, his tower,
He died without fear,
Without the cross, all cower.
Swift and accurate, his attack,
Carrying lost sheep in his grasp,
What He holds, will never go back.
David,
love this! The eagle, my Eagle….firm in the grasp of His talons I fly.
David, this touches my heart and lifts my spirits. Damon, your reply is beautiful as well, and I’ll just add my sincere Amen.
Marie Elena
“…What He holds will never go back…” That is so very true! Thanks for sharing, David!
Such a confident, majestic bird…
What a lovely poem – both about the eagle and the analogy David … well done.
Amazing transition, David. Stunning in its execution.
Robin Sighting
Robin bobbin’ searching for worms
Unaware of how it affirms
Humans watching for spring
Feathered of orange and brown confirms
As hapless worm wiggles and squirms
“I saw one!” people sing
Connie,
this one is filled with hope…
OH I long for spring,
for worms to fear,
for robins to sing.
As others are saying and I can’t help agreeing – what a hopeful, happy poem Connie!
That just makes me smile, Connie. So true and clever.
Sweet!
“I saw one!” Nicely done.
“I saw one!” Does that capture the nature of the robin, or what? 🙂 NIce.
Marie Elena
What fun. Athough the robin is very territorial, I saw two together yesterday. Double harbinger of Spring?
! 🙂
A little slice of Spring here!
🙂
I’m ready to see one, too! Love it.
I feel like singing, but I don’t want to upset the melody you provided.
Oh, good one, Connie. So true in that this is what we do, how we react; as if this harbinger, with its song so sweet, is a deliverer of halcyon spring.
THE QUACK OF JOY by Salvatore Buttaci
To the drake god, to the clouds that do his bidding,
Let that rain pour down on this one happy duck!
The dry season of mud dust and arid sitting
Have left me quacking like someone out of luck.
I waddle about on the lakeside, recalling
Those long-gone duckling days when life came easy.
There was a mama and a papa spoiling
Me, busying themselves looking to please me.
And I, fool feathered bird, wanted to grow up,
Fend for myself, be independent, do my thing.
What did I know? Did the lake waters flow up
Or down? Which wind could move my wings?
And now, at a crossroad, close to ending it all,
Debating whether to dash this duck shell of mine
full speed into a very hard tree, I feel it fall:
That rain from gray skies. I took it as a sign.
This lucky duck would subscribe to happy songs.
I would make it my business to clean up my act,
Forget self-pity, get out there and be strong.
Oh, rain, rain, don’t stop falling on my back!
#
Salvatore,
you carried me longing and wanting and repenting to that last line…and I felt the cool relief fall on my shoulders and I actually physically relaxed. Lovely!
Thanks, SevenAcreSky!
Sal, you had me at “duck”. When I was a child, 2 or 3, I told my uncle I wanted to be a duck when I grew up, based solely upon the way flocks of mud ducks fed on our pond, their heads down and butts up, paddling. They looked as if they’d figured out how to have fun. This was a lovely tribute to their duckiness.
Hee, hee…
Thanks, Jane. I love the way a duck paddling on the lake submerges itself when little Billy yells, “Duck!”
This is wonderful, on so many levels. Thanks for posting it!
Thanks, K. It was fun writing it. After all, isn’t that the reason we all can claim for writing poetry?
This is perfection, Sal! That is all I can say about it…perfection.
Erin, perfection is something I’d reserve for poets far better than I, but thank you for liking my work.
One of the things I love about poets is the unique voice and creative brain of each. Sal, you are one creative soul. Wonderful poem.
Marie Elena
Marie, you’re too kind!
I like your lucky duck very much: we need that kind of positivism!
Vivienne, I agree. Sometimes folks get the wrong impression about poets because of so many dark and depressing poems we write, so I try like so many of you to spice it up with a little humor. We should make readers laugh and cry but mostly laugh!
Nicely done Sal – I was drawn in with the story and loved the pay-off; it made me laugh right out …ducks have an innate ability to evoke humour, I think – more than some of the other winged wonders … you did well with the whole idea and of course with the words.
Yes, ducks have that comedic appeal about them. As a young boy making trips to Hudson Park’s lake, I would watch them for hours!
Love how you wrapt this one back to its beginning, with the hopeful, strong rain falling.
Rain has always been a wonderful metaphor for hope and better days.
Such an amazing journey within this verse. You may just have outdone yourself, Sal. Love it. I read it as a soliloquy performed on a dusty lakeside, wings spread though drooped, awaiting reprieve or lightning strike, whichever came first.
Loved it.
I LOVE Sparrow, Marie. Such a wonderful message.
I agree wholly…beautiful. ♥
Aww, shucks. Thanks ladies! 😉
Marie Elena
The Doves
How quiet is the dove who flies alone;
I saw them only yesterday as two
who, nuzzled beak to beak and sang in tones
of love; a murmur midst the dark`ning blue.
There’s silence in her nest where love once bloomed
and colder than the freeze at winter’s crest;
a song of desperation in her tune;
returning to a home where there’s no rest.
The sound of cooing from that solemn bird
the sad-eyed, stately way she holds her head
strikes dead my heart and makes me swallow hard;
to know her need to bring him back, instead.
How proud the dove who coos upon that limb;
still sings for him her everlasting hymn.
Heart wrenching, loved this Jacqueline. You captured the soft sadness of her ‘coo’ and translated it well.
Oh, my. I love sonnets anyhow, and this one is so strong and touching… thanks!
Thank you both. Unless I have made you cry, I feel that I have failed…
what a beautiful sonnet
Love this, Jacqueline! Heart-grabbing and poignant…
Lovely!! Those last two lines bring it in perfectly, Jacqueline. 🙂
Jacqueline, this is, in Erin’s perfect words, heart-grabbing and poignant in message … lovely and flowing in form.
Wow.
Marie Elena
The sonnet form of your poem really suits the sadness of the story. Lovely.
Those last two lines… <3!!
Wow! Thanks everyone for your encouragement. I guess I will keep writing my sonnets…
A very well written sonnet, Jacqueline! I enjoyed it.
This is so beautiful and heart-breaking. Doves mate for life do they not? So – is her wait a futile thing, so you think? I know I’ve experienced similar heartbreak with loons, swans and even Canada geese – I can’t think of a much lonelier sound than one of these birds circling a lake or a pond, calling for its mate, night after night …It makes me wonder just how much we really do know about th
sorry – got cut off before I was done (man, that happens to me a lot) – was just going to say …how much we really do know about things not human. Again, good poem.
Stunning, Jacqueline. I can hear the mourning.
Jacqueline, this poem… within its words are carried many meanings and images, rhythms and patterns of sound that transports me to other places, other times. Yet, within it all was an overpowering sadness that would not let go.
Powerful poem, my friend.
Macaw
It is truly humbling
when your pet is more beautiful
than you can ever be,
when you know he will live longer
than you can ever dream,
when he frequently mocks you
with your own words.
Linda,
Loved it! My first thought is that this poem would apply well to me also, even if I had a buzzard as a pet.
Heh…
No way! My sister was insulted to think that I was inferring that her bird was prettier than she is, but totally copped to him mocking her! 😀
good one, Linda
Humbling indeed! They do have minds of their own. 🙂
Haha! This is great, Linda!!
Ohmigosh! This is GREAT! I don’t whether it is more sad, or more comical, and I love it both ways. 😀 What a great take on the prompt!
Marie Elena
Ha, ha, ha…
Ah! This is perfect. My fave of the day.
Excellent – what a fun take on the prompt – love macaws … good one
I know another who could feel these words at the core, Linda. She has two who do this on a regular basis, very loudly, I might add. Love it.
What made me think of a meadowlark?
How long has it been? There was no house next door:
a hackberry tree where cows had rested in the shade,
tall grasses, brown as sugar in the summer sun,
bending over yellow knots of clover and tiny cedars,
to love like kittens. And the meadowlarks rising sudden
from the sedge like grasshoppers, freckled eggs
in the plaited grass, hidden to be found.
Barbara, your poem is so visual and real to me. They do rise like grasshoppers…wonderful vision.
Visual and real — yes! And so crystal clear… memories, well preserved.
I could totally picture this! Great job, Barbara!
Beautiful images, Barbara.
“tall grasses, brown as sugar in the summer sun,
bending over yellow knots of clover and tiny cedars”
This among many delicious and fresh descriptions, B!! Love it!
Yes, Loved those two lines, also!
Me, three!
Your words paint a mural in my mind, Barbara. And as is nearly always the case with your poetry, it comes with its own mood.
Fabulous.
Marie Elena
Yes, a beautiful word painting indeed!
Just gorgeous. I like the way you develop the initial thought.
Beautiful… the rising…
This is a little vignette!
So evocative of the lark ascending. Beautiful, Barbara.
As Andrew has said – the image of the lark rising is so clear, and just beautiful … a lovely poem Barbara,truly
Love those images–felt like I was sitting in the meadow–could almost smell the grass 🙂
Marvelous, Barbara. They always startled me when they do that. Love it.
Oh, Marie & Walt — love them both! Backyard birdwatcher that I am, this a a prompt that is near & dear to my heart. 🙂
Timely, too, because I just penned a small stone that fits the bill (pun intended?) So… for now I’m cheating, and putting out yesterday’s small stone offering here — with a link to the picture. But, I WILL be back to read about all the lovely birdies — and hopefully be able to add a new one of my own for today’s prompt. Taking flight for now. 😉
Hungry Hawk
Plenty of vacancies – all perches empty
at the backyard bird feeders; and
right about the time we pause
to consider the cause of the lull,
we catch sight of him poised on the rail –
still, silent, watching, waiting.
He senses the camera click at once,
turning his head completely around,
seeking the source of the disruption.
When I step too close, he deserts his post,
vexed at having been disturbed.
Only heartbeats later
several dozen small birds descend,
entirely too eager to resume dinner.
You can see his pic here: http://wanponpopix.blogspot.com/2013/01/hungry-hawk.html
I’m happy to see the hawk. Too many pigeons spoil the roof.
LOL True, Barbara! I’m always happy to see him come — and happy to see him go, too, so the little guys can get a bite to eat. Always have mixed emotions whenever he comes, though. Hard to know which side to “root for”: http://wanponpopix.blogspot.com/2013/01/mixed-emotions.html
Pamela, how coincidental. I watched a hawk yesterday morning from my bedroom window for about 30 minutes. He watched, and peered, and turned his head round — yes, completely around — and not a thing moved in all the yard. He had every creature petrified. Enjoyed watching him so, and thought later when I saw the prompt, I might pen something about him. You did it so well I won’t attempt this solemn watcher of the world. Loved this.
Thank you! So glad you enjoyed this. It’s so amazing to me when such serendipity (synchronicity?) occurs — similar experiences miles (and minutes?) apart. Sorry I managed to sneak my hawk in here before you wrote yours, but do it anyway! You’ll capture it differently, and your own perceptions and enjoyment will come through. I hope I catch it when you do. 🙂
I just may get that hawk in. The commonality of all our poets experiences continue to amaze me too. That’s one very special thing about this community that Marie and Walt have gathered together.
I love hawks! They are so fiercely beautiful! Thanks for this poem, Pamela.
Thanks for enjoying it, Erin! 🙂
Yes!!! Awesome, Pamela!! Poem and Pic both!! Well done!
Thanks, Hannah! 🙂
:)!! Smiles!
I’m known in my immediate family for being the hawk spotter whenever we drive anywhere. I seem drawn to them in the trees along the freeway, surveying their property (as far as their eyes can see, it seems). You’ve captured them, my friend! 🙂
Marie Elena
Awww, thanks, Madame Hawkspotter! 🙂 They really are amazing. But then, so are those “common sparrows”. (Thought I had a good sparrow pic for you, but, honestly, I can’t tell if it’s a sparrow or a finch! All those little females look alike to me!) :-O
Well, I for one am glad you disturbed the hawk! I know they have their function, and admire their grace in flight, my heart is for the little birds!
Yes… me too…
Funny you should say that Viv (& Hen) — ’cause just a few days earlier I wrote a poem about having mixed emotions watching the hawk hunting in my yard & leaving hungry. You can check it out here: http://wanponpopix.blogspot.com/2013/01/mixed-emotions.html
Oh, that head on a swivel. To see his picture just adds to the poem! Beautifully caught.
Thanks, Andrew! He is handsome, isn’t he?
I rarely think of birds giving one the “stink eye” but this hawk most definitely seems to be giving someone a nasty glare … on the other hand, isn’t he the most glorious thing? Good poem, wonderful shot
LOL Thanks, Sharon! “Glorious” is a good word for them, but you’re right — they really can give one an awful glare when their hunting is interrupted. :-]
Wonderful photo and poem, Pamela!
A common sight in the western states, Pamela. You’ve captured the small event very well indeed. Hawk watches for opportunity. Little ones watch for hawk. Nice one.
[…] Poetic Bloomings asks about birds. Go see what else is on the wing […]
Opus
“A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer; it sings because it has a song.” ~Lou Holtz
A songbird perches on my sill.
I want to sing along with him
but just for now it’s only whim.
I do believe I lack the skill.
The bird then opens up his bill.
His music fills my ears to brim.
I want to sing along with him.
A songbird perches on my sill.
And suddenly I find the will.
The song? An unexpected hymn.
As one, we are two cherubim.
My answer comes, but not until
a songbird perches on my sill.
RJ, I like the repetition here. Very pretty; your songbird…
This was beautiful, RJ. I love your response. Let songbirds sing on all our sills.
Love the quote and the poem.
I know exactly whatcha mean, RJ! This is beautiful!!
Sweet! Title, quote, theme, rhythm & rhyme — all work together perfectly, RJ! 🙂
RJ, wonderful as always. Thanks.
Love this, RJ. I quoted your quote out on FB, and there was some discussion on whether these words should be attributed to Maya Angelo, or Mr. Holtz. Personally, I prefer to think Coach is a poetic soul at heart. 😉
Marie Elena
A perfect form for this enchanting (and enchanted) poem.
Sweet music…
🙂
You rondel-wrangler, you. Beautifully done.
Yes -and thank you Andrew for naming the form (I was grasping for it) – this is wonderfully wrought and lyrical all the way through RJ… a lovely poem that does justice to both form and bird.
Lovely, RJ. I thoroughly enjoy the pacing of this, as well as the rhyme and repetition. I’ll be remembering this one for sure.
Lovely subject to write about! Meg, soo sweet; Walt, it’s always good to be Home…
I’ve written so many bird poems for years. I love ’em! So glad to have another excuse for writing about my feathered friends.
Coffee with the Birds
I take my coffee with the birds.
Each day we sit together;
while they eat seed, I sip and read
circled by wing and feather.
I count them all who flit and call,
bedazzled by their hues,
but bird behavior’s rise and fall,
helps me a favorite choose.
He is so neatly dressed—dapper—
with white shirt and grey tails;
a black scarf matches his short cap,
his morning chirping hails
the sun light’s yawn through every dawn
and wakes his feathered fellows
to rise and sing and hurry spring
with birdsong a cappellas.
Though small, he’s an adventurer,
a chickadee Magellan,
he circumnavigates allure
with subtle colors dwellin’.
Through snow and ice, he’s always nice
to see as he is feeding.
He chirps each day, as if to say
he likes what I am reading.
Chickadees are my favorite birds. You did a great job writing about them.
As one who “coffees” with the birdies every morning, I have to say this was fun, Jane, and your description — so very apt. I always think of them as formally dressed. 😉
These little birds drop by our deck regularly, dressed for the occasion!
Those little chicadees are the BEST! Love it, Jane!
Marie Elena
Chickadees… just adorable!!
🙂
Just charming. A chickadee magellan, indeed! Glad you can read together…
They are dapper, aren’t they? Wonderful tribute to these sweet wee birds – great coffee companions too … an enjoyable poem Jane
Such fun, Jane. And I agree; I’ve always liked the chickadees who never failed to amuse even during deepest winter with their puffed out down coats and their little tilting heads. Love it.
So, Jane–you think they ‘watch’ us too?
I’m sure of it. It must be true.
Your poem affirms this truth, this gem–
The birds watch people watching them.
Thanks, Linda, Pamela, and SAS. Loved your poetic response, 7AS. I know they watch us too, for my guys are always reminding me when their feeders are empty.
Becky feeds ours too…she loves keeping their beaks busy! We swear the hummingbirds are peering through the windows if we slack off!
Ha, ha… yes… to stare you right in the eye!
As the Crow Flies
As the saying goes,
that is the route most direct
from here to there.
Up so high, they must
surely see the trail
unswerving, the path
unwavering, mapped
out amongst the clouds.
But tell me, when
was the last time you
saw a crow flying
in the straightest of lines?
They hunt, forage,
(sometimes at bird feeders)
and mate for life.
Plus, they’ve garnered
quite the bad rap.
A ‘murder of crows’.
Seriously?
Now geese, on the other hand,
they know how to stay
the straight
and narrow, and go
so far as to point
the way for others.
And they honk just
to be sure
you are looking—like
the roving revival tent,
set up
on the outskirts of town.
But, ‘as the goose flies’
just doesn’t quite
have the same ring.
Maybe because geese
only raise their ruckus
twice a year.
But crows, when don’t
you see (or hear them)
around?
Ellen Knight 1.27.13
Oh fun! As the goose flies, indeed! And I love the “roving revival tent”, Ellen — nice! They do have a bit of a bum rap given that they are often guardians, protectors and… clean up crew too. 😉
I’m glad someone did crows and you did it so well. They’re such smart birds, very social and witty…and yes, LOUD.
I love your musings on the language for birds. Crows are not my favourite birds, but the geese have much to teach us.
! 🙂 This one made me smile…
🙂
Thanks for sticking up for the humble crow! Well said, Ellen.
Crows are in abundance where I live and sometimes annoying but also amazing, I must admit – great poem, esp the geese ref (also in abundance here)
Love this one, Ellen.
Exactly, Ellen. They’re always watching to see man’s doings, always ready with a laugh of derision. They’re very at their vocation. A wonderful, fun read.
Ah ha! Ellen, you do know your crows! Loved this. They are amazing birds to me.
Thanks SeverAcre. They really have gotten a bum rap. They are truly amazing.
That they are, as is your poem. So glad to see you out here, Ellen!
Marie Elena
The Kingfisher
The river slides like time away,
the button-willows’ branches sway.
My boat slides through a silence vast,
as gray-sky, whispering, overcast,
asks if I’d put my oars aside
and look
and hear
and pray
and glide.
I do.
A chattering from the brushy shore
draws mind and eyes and ears and more–
yes, draws my heart–to a flash of blue,
that flies from limb to branch. I view
a fisherman at the river’s side.
Blue crest,
black beak,
minnow
his pride.
I see.
I feel his pride, his royal content.
He’s satisfied. The dives’ intent–
the minnow that he sought to seek–
is clasped within his hungry beak.
I take my rod and reel and fly,
throw out
my line
breathe deep,
and sigh.
I fish.
Damon, this is wonderful!! I love how each stanza ends; it all fits somehow. You are amazing!
Breathing deep, 7AS, I read and marveled. Stunning verse, so vivid, so much beyond me.
Lovely, lovely, lovely. Wow.
This is poetry, and how!
OH, I love this one. I like the form, the wording, the rhyme. Everything works together perfectly.
Thanks Linda,
it came out so easy. Some pieces I must dig for, but my experience was base to this one from countless treasured moments that were just exactly what the poem describes.
Really like this!
Thanks David…my favorite moments are among my many moments spent on a local river, the Ouachita, that runs out of the hills of western Arkansas and down into and through piney-bayou country here in the southeastern corner. The river bottoms are in my childhood and my old age. I love to kayak and kingfishers are always there among goldfinches and bitterns and numerous species of ducks and other fowl. Glad you liked this.
Oh, I DO love this — the calm, quiet peace of 1st stanza, interrupted by kingfisher’s call in S2, then connection & communion in stanza 3. The whole is lovely! 🙂
Thanks Pamela,
I like pieces that come out like this too, with progression from description to observation to inspiration. That’s probably some technical poetic theory I’m not smart enough to know about, but so many of my favorite poets have used that approach.
Simply lovely. The form suits the whole so well.
Hear, hear. Loving your poetic voice, Damen. You never seem to faulter. LOVELY.
Marie Elena
Thanks Marie, this one felt so complete when I was done. Not all of them feel that way, so this one is special to me, now.
Thank you Jane, your work inspires me.
I guess that makes us a mutual admiration society. I love reading your work. Just keep doing what you’re doing.
This is to me the perfect bird poem, with its interraction with the poet.
Oh, I love the flow of this…
Such a well–crafted poem,
Thanks so much Sheryl.
Love how you wrap this one around itself. Fishing together – so well observerd.
Thanks Andrew.
`I see, I fish’ – such a lovely poem.
Thanks Purple…it was one of those I felt so satisfied with when done.
I came a little too close to facing my mortality this week hence theis:
Phoenix Rising
The golden plumes
tired by life
worn ragged
by the trials and tribulations
frazzled by excess
The glory days long gone
burnt out
washed up
on the shores of desolation
beached and breathless
The burning starts within
echoed by the sun
flames leap
consuming all that once was
now ashes and regret
Smoke slowly swirling round
and up as a bird might
new feathers form
new wings flex and spread
life springs anew
The Phoenix rises screaming
freedom and life reborn
the new dawn
fresh opportunities beckon
a time to start again
Iain
Sadness, regret & hope all intermingle in here, Iain — very well. Hope all is OK and life’s back on track.
Oh, Iain … so beautiful and powerful. My goodness, I hope you are alright.
Marie Elena
Iain,
loved your expression here of the power of rebirth. “Screaming freedom…” Really liked it.
Oh, Iain… I hope you are okay… I also loved the “power of rebirth”!
Thank you for the comments & the kindness.
I’m fine – improving all the time – just had a bit of a scare & I’m making some life-changes 🙂 All for the good.
Good to hear, friend. Let us know if we can do anything to help, encourage, nudge …
Warm smiles to you this morning.
Marie Elena
What a relief! Hugs and prayers to you, Iain!!
So glad that all will be well, my friend.
I’m really struck by the way you fold regret into the burning. Here’s to new life and new wings, my friend.
Stay well, Iain. Sad, but lovely poem.
Thanks again my friends 🙂
Iain, whatever prompted this poem had to be strong and sudden to reflect as it does this decay and uprising of Phoenix.
Hope Phoenix finds its freedom in peaceful skies and long days in the sun.
This is my first for today. Call this a memoir review in Haibun.
Keepers of the Law
For the First People, Crow guards Creator’s Sacred Law for all, bringing his reminders to those in need at times of crisis. So it was with Jim, Mother’s tame Crow that lived in our midst, laughing at his own jokes, entertaining us with antics of avian kind. Jim’s laughter rang out from roof’s peak, greeting visitors to our home, startling in its volume and staccato delivery. Who would expect such sardonic address to the simple act of opening a car door? Like any child too short to reach the doorknob, he knocked for entrance and waited to come in, ready with a tale from his daily wanderings. Acting as escort on berry-picking trips, he rode Mother’s shoulder, constantly scanning the skies and woods as her security detail, and always ready to act as food tester lest some berry be unsavory on the brambles. For all his hilarity, his adamant regard for tobacco found him destroying Mother’s chosen habit, pulling cigarette after cigarette from her pack, stomping, picking, and shredding until scattered fragments blew away on the breeze. His message, his condemnation, met with disregard. Is that why he chose to tease Dad’s bird dog and have his last laugh?
Mom missed Jim’s message,
Paid death’s price for ignoring
Crow, Sacred Law Keeper.
Claudsy,
Wow, what a vivid picture of a vivid character. I wish I knew more…how did she come about having Jim? What’s so neat is I just finished reading a middle-grade novel about a native American boy with a crow as a pet. This was just a tease! They are quite curious birds, there are always several in my yard. I often wonder on their society, their language, their nerve…
I’m glad you liked it, Seven. The mischievous tattle-tales always watch us to see what we’re doing. It’s a Corvus trait. But Jim was something special. He talk himself to talk and did quite well. It’s a fallacy that the tongue must be clipped. Mom wouldn’t have stood for the procedure and then we found out it wasn’t necessary anyway. I listened to many a long chat between the two of them. They always seemed to understand each other without difficulty.
She received him from one of our friends. He came as a chick with his clutch mate that didn’t survive. They’re nest had been blown from a tree during a storm. Mom was known to take in orphan wildlife.
Clauds, you’ve done it again. Excellent haibun – perfect choice for your amazing story, IMHO. I’m glad you told us more, too. Maybe you should consider writing a book!
Marie Elena
I have no time for additional projects, my friend. I’m glad that you enjoyed my efforts. If I ever get time, I’ll consider a small book perhaps about Mother’s Kitchen Zoo.
I would buy that book! Write it, Claudsy!
An extraordinary piece, and a salutary lesson!
Thanks, Viv, and yes, it was indeed.
Just beautiful, Clauds… what a capture… I especially Loved how they communicated with one another…
It naver failed to amaze me, Hen. I’m glad you liked it.
<3!!
The story and form fit each other so well here, Clauds. I went straight back and read it three times. Wonderful.
Bless you, Andrew. I’m so glad that you enjoyed it that much.
I love this, and the tone of it was pitch perfect!
Thanks so much, purp. I appreciate it.
titmouse
Whoever named you, little one,
knew you not at all.
Why else would they bequeath you
a name so far beneath you?
Tiny in appearance, perhaps,
inconspicuous, unobtrusive,
but, truly, there are few
who could be as fierce as you.
Tenacious, curious, courageous, you
are smarter than any starling,
sentinel as a crow may be,
out-braving any chickadee.
Wily, dexterous, deceptive, you are
no doubt a super-hero
(who’s itty bitty size
is a most discrete disguise.)
[You can view his disguise here: http://wanponpopix.blogspot.com/2013/01/titmouse.html%5D 😉
Loved this cheer to this brave little one! Sweet Pamela!
Thank you! They are cheery, despite being such tough little guys — for their size. 😉
🙂
🙂 — back at ‘cha, Hen!
I commented on your site. 😀 SOO glad you posted the photo, too!
Marie Elena
Thanks, Marie! The photos are often my favorite part — especially when it’s “Gone to the Birds”! (Call me a bird brain!) 😉
Well said. My favorite line is: out-braving any chickadee. High praise indeed! Here’s to tiny superheroes.
Exactly! The little guys are always the tough ones! LOL Thanks, Andrew! 🙂
Pamela–Excellent, excellent (hands clapping!!) love the titmouse 🙂 your poem is perfect
Awww, thanks, Sara. So glad you enjoyed it! 🙂
I’ve only lived in one place where we had a titmouse, and he wasn’t supposed to be there. Loved seeing him around the house, poking into every hold and corner, looking for foodstuffs that others might have dropped.
Wonderful poem, Pamela. I’ll be coming back for another read.
Echoes of Loco
Twirling, twirling, twirling
on your perch.
Singing, singing, singing
“Old Kentucky Home.”
Laughing, laughing, laughing
to show mirth.
Crying, crying, crying
catching your breath.
Talking, talking, talking
“Hello Loco.”
Playing, playing, playing
with a spoon.
Fluffing, fluffing, fluffing
your green feathers.
Dilating, dilating, dilating
your orange eyes.
Giving, giving, giving
us such joy.
A precious parrot? Sounds like a great friend! Loved this Sheryl.
Yes, Loco was a double yellow head. My dad bought him for my mother when I was a teen, and he died about 33 years ago when our son was a baby. He was so much fun!
!!! 😀 !!
He sounds fun, and so is your form! It seems to suit his personality. Well done!
Marie Elena
Love how the words echo echo echo.
Andrew, this reminds me of sometimes when people point out something in my pictures I did not plan. When I used the word echo I was thinking of remembrances. Now when you point out the words echo, I think, oh, yes, they do. Isn’t it neat when we do something like this?
Great profile of any parrot, macaw or mynah, except for the color. Loved this, Sheryl. It is so accurate.
Thanks, Clauds.
BIRDWATCHING
There’s a dot,
a silhouette unmoving, blurred
against the purplish cotton wool
of the sky.
I twiddle frantically
the knob on the binoculars,
until the fuzzy edges
come into sharp focus.
My friend the kestrel
is hovering there,
searching for prey
in the pasture below.
The scene loses clarity
as the hunter dives;
a whirr of wings as he swoops,
to soar again, satisfied.
I love that you help us bring the bird into focus from the very beginning. Nice work, Viv.
Yes!
Viv,
Well done, like Jane it led me from obscure to vivid acute view.
This is just lovely, Viv! It should accompany a photo in a coffee table book.
Marie Elena
Well done.
That first stanza catches the blur of the binoculars so well! I love how we never quite catch up with the kestrel – so true to life.
Kestrels are such gorgeous birds and fast in the air. We had near the ranch in the NM Rockies. Lots of little prey there.
I could watch this in my mind’s eye as I read and I could fly with him at the last even as I watched through your binoculars. Good one, Viv.
This is my last contribution for today. Yes, it’s another memoir piece. I can’t seem to get myself out of that mode for some reason. I wonder why.
Peeper
Mom’s narrow shoulder
Supported his tiny talons,
Kept his shaking body
Inside jacket’s hood,
Allowing drying time,
Without risking sickening.
Peeper, Mom’s feathered
Baby with eyes huge, shocked,
Unknowing of his rescuer,
Huddled, shook, and warmed
By gentle human helping hand.
Fallen owlets fail often
And Peeper was not fledged,
But a fluff ball of down
And moaning peeps of hunger
Growing louder by the mile.
Held next to human heart’s beat,
Fed a raw meatball from bag
Warmed to temp and fed to
Gaping beak, he settled and slept,
Housed snugly in half-peck basket,
Months moved on with his growth,
Lessons in Hooting came in time,
Followed by flight and fight,
And taking prey from above,
All things owls needs to survive.
After release into adulthood
Peeper returned with mate
For Mother’s look-see approval,
Leaving no doubt to his health
Or continued well-being.
This one, oh so sweet! Both pieces are very real — descriptive — the bird’s personality coming through strongly in both. Peace & comfort, Claudsy.
Thanks, Pamela. They were each members of the family for the time they lived with us; each with different strengths and weaknesses but both precious to us. Those are some of the best memories that I have of that period of my life.
I just searched to see if anyone else had written of the owl…you did!! And it is wonderful, Clauds!!
I love the entirety of this memoir piece and the last stanza makes my eyes dewy!! So sweet. ♥
Thank you so much, Hannah. Those are two stories that I will never forget because they were so much a part of us during that time. I’m glad you liked it.
Oh Neat Claudsy! Loved this story too, and I’m glad you’re going down memory lane this week. What stories to treasure.
I could have written no others, Seven. This hit too close to home. I’m glad you liked them.
Oh… so… Sweet… <3!!!
🙂
Wow! What a story. And what a testimonial to your mother that he returned.
“Held next to human heart’s beat” … my favorite line.
Marie Elena
Aw, thanks, MEG. He was such an experience. I can still close my eyes and see, hear, and feel him.
Very descriptive. I love the ending, Claudsy.
Thanks, Sheryl.
Claudsy, you are on a roll. Both wonderful.
Thank you so much. I’m glad you enjoyed them.
with the setting sun
a V-formation of geese pass by,
a game of follow the leader
creating an arrow without a tail
in the evening sky
Darn. That is supposed to be formated like a V-formation. Obviously, I know nothing about spacing rules when posting. (sigh)
Even without the v-formation, the image was captured well.
Agreed! I had a clear vision of the picture, even without the formatting. 🙂
Absolutely! Nice work, Linda!
Marie Elena
thanks 🙂
Awesome in brevity…I saw it!
I did too, Linda…the point of the arrow, minus it’s shaft.
You drew it well enough with the words.
(But I wish I could figure out how to post formats…there are often lead spaces on lines that I think are important, which disappear when I submit. )
Mysterious Perfection in that arrow…!
Great word picture.
Wonderful!
I can see them!
With or without the inverted V, this is a marvelous poem, my friend. It said so much about what we feel when we see them in the air, whether coming back or going away. Love it.
Thanks so much, Claudsy, (and everyone else) for your kind words.
The Visitor
While she sleeps bathed in moonlight
and loneliness he hides in evening
shadows, black capped and silent.
When early sunbeams break through
the crevices of leafy boughs, she finds
him right outside her bedroom window.
Prepared, she baits him to come closer,
aims carefully, shoots, then grins.
A perfect photo of the chickadee.
Made me grin too! 🙂
Fun little friends! Neat picture of the moment, Linda.
Lovely… and then she captures it!!
This one makes me smile. Thank you, Linda!
Marie Elena
I love the surprise at the end.
I’m smiling.
I’m smiling here too. Chickadees are sooooo adorable! Well done, Linda!
Ah, good one, Linda. A small story.
Awakening
The
lovely
Whip-poor-will
calls me from my
dreams…
I love reading your poems, Hen! You always manage to say so much with so few words. ❤
What a wonderful way to wake!
Oh yes! A lovely way to wake! 🙂
Mmm…hmmm… Thank you, Pamela… 🙂 !
Thank you, Shannon!
Aww… thank you Erin!
His call is surely a dreamy sound, Henrietta.
Always makes me pause and peer into the balmy dark night around me.
…dreamy sound… yesss… <3!! Thank you, 7!
Walt’s Whip-poor-will! You did it justice, Hen. 🙂
Marie Elena
Thank you, Meg!
🙂
!! 😀 !!
Ah, Hen, I’ve always loved the Whipper-will. We used to call then the will-of-the-wisp when I was young, because seeing one was so difficult, if they didn’t want to be seen. Love this.
Oh!! I Love “will o’ the wisp” ….. Thanks, Clauds!
You’re welcome, Hen. I was in middle school, I think, before I learned that the two were different things. Okay! So I was a bit slow at times. It comes with being from the rural Midwest.
So many beautiful bird poems today. Mine is not, but inspired by my morning jog.
Goose
Don’t shake your feathers at me
I didn’t ruffle them.
You’re the one blocking my path,
riddling my road to health.
You could at least let me pass
without wondering if you will
or won’t move.
I know you hear my breathing
the thumping of my shoes
the jingle of my keys.
But you wait until I’m upon you
before your flock
lifts and takes flight,
leaving me to bob and weave
through goose poop
once you disperse.
LOL Some days (and geese) are like that. 😐
Your geese must be kin to the ones around our local pond, our walking trail. They are fussy and do not like to be disturbed.
You have pictured their honky attitude and their commentary deposits well.
Lol!!! Don’t forget to close the gate to the tennis court…
Oh no! Would my husband ever agree with you, Shannon! 😉 And yes, you’ve captured their attitude quite well!
Marie Elena
🙂
Bobbing and weaving through goose poop. Oh yes – I know that scene well. Love it, Shannon.
Good one! Some of my friends have ducks so I know what this is like…
I love this!! and fun wordplay at the end “disperse” indeed 🙂
LOL, oh, Stockard, I can relate. We have a park here with long winding duck pond, where the ducks and geese congregate all year. They won’t move for anyone; always wanting and expecting hand-outs from park visitors.
I laughed and anticipated and thoroughly enjoyed this romp/jog with you. Good job.
Show
Young turkey gobblers
preen beneath the oaks, showing
off their tail-feathers,
fanned out like a winning hand
of cards, posturing for hens.
I love this Jane…especially ‘yodeling at work.” That’s priceless.
A bird whose pride never wobbles…it just gobbles.
Ha, ha…
HA! Good one, Damon!
And good poem, Jane. “Fanned out like a winning hand at cards.” Perfect description!
Marie Elena
I love the word picture “fanned out like a winning hand
of cards”
Me too!
Well said, Jane! Love the winning hand of cards.
Oh, yeah, Jane. That’s no joke. Great little poem about the vanity of toms.
This is an older quatern, but I think this bird needs “representation” here 😉
Among the trees
A flash of red among the trees
pulls me from window to window.
Binoculars in hand, I wait
in silence, ears leaning, tuned to
a pileated woodpecker,
a flash of red among the trees,
like a pterodactyl reborn
in black and white, red plume rising
like flame to crown him as he delves
deep for insects in dead branches,
a flash of red among the trees,
yodeling at work, keen on ants.
He does not know I wait for him,
ignoring other feathered friends
for my uncommon visitor,
a flash of red among the trees.
I just adore the woodpecker!!
“…red plume rising like flame to crown him”
So very poetic! There is a pileated in the forest where Keith and I go for a few days at least annually. We’ve never seen him up close. Keith wants so badly to catch him with his camera.
Thanks for giving him the representation he deserves. 😉
Marie Elena
Oh, I hope Keith won’t give up on him, squirrelly bird that he is. I got 3 really bad shots from a window but he was a bit to far away and the image was grainy. He’s a lot clearer in my brain anyway (wiinkwink).
Beautiful, Jane! Woodpeckers are amazing birds!
Oh yes! Right there with you, Jane! Caught a glimpse of this guy in our yard exactly once. (Couldn’t believe my eyes. Woke my husband up to see him!) Here’s hoping Keith gets a photo (or two or three!), Marie — and posts ’em for us all to see! 🙂
Absolutely love this one, Jane. I could follow you as your stalked the elusive one. Great job.
[…] GONE TO THE BIRDS – PROMPT #92 […]
Of the Wild
Day has closed its weary eye,
dusk gives way to dark;
opalescent iris is on the rise.
Horizon holds its breath
for the silver lining moment,
the unveiling of the magic.
Creatures of the night-realm
await the whispers of predecessors
in limb and leaf and twig
and in every living thing,
ancient secrets of the wood
are exhaled mightily by the wind.
A most magnificent species sits:
Its posture’s upright and alert,
eyes echo a true lunar appearance
as wide and as bright as the moon itself;
round and haunting they pierce the silent sky.
Stealthily it swoops through an opening in the forest,
feathers snap lively against the cloaked blackness,
the air is still till suddenly a scream-the kill;
she has successfully gathered a meal.
Aloft in the nest her young owlets rejoice,
soft-succulent strips of nourishment
a well-earned feast of rabbit meat.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013
Oh Hannah, you know what I’m going to say: I love it! It’s so hauntingly beautiful in the beginning and I love how you never really reveal its identity. Absolutely perfect!!
Beautiful tell.
Hannah, what a great picturing of the mysterious dark sentinel of the night! This had me wide-eyed, waiting for that drama that you led us to through dark branch and soft moonlight. Like Erin said, hauntingly beautiful.
Yes, absolutely hauntingly Beautiful!!
Wow … an amazing capture of mood, setting, and persona. Absolutely brilliant.
Wow …
Marie Elena
Just don’t let our k8e314 see it. 😉
Marie
🙂 I think I am about to close my weary eyes, too. I hope I make it to the end. There are so many good poems here.
Found this on your blog first, and commented there. Still love it. 🙂
Thank you so much for both comments, Pamela!! I’m super glad you enjoyed it!!
Ooh, this was like a campfire story.
Thank you Sarah!
Yes! Hannah, this was terrific; such a wonderful re-enactment of the hunt, the kill, and the reason. Love it. Great job on this lively story that reads like a psychological thriller.
Thank you, Claudsy!! 🙂 I’m so glad you enjoyed this.
SEAGULL
I watch you dip and flow
over the foaming waves,
a dancing spector against
the setting sun
Lovely, M! This is making me think of one of our favorite vacation spots. Love it!
WA or OR beach?
Washington definitely!! A little town called Ocean Shores. We love it! It’s one of the most beautiful spots I’ve ever been.
We are scheduled to be in Ocean Shores Sept 29 -Oct 6. 🙂
Really!?!?!?! That’s about the time that we usually go!
We are with WorldMark the Club, staying at Mariner Village
Oh. Our church owns a beach house not too far from Worldmark. That’s where we stay.
Marjory,
I sit beneath a picture my daughter gave me for my birthday, a canvas painting of a beach scene with these amazing birds in sway over foaming waves. It’s as if you saw it over my shoulder as I read your lovely poem.
Thanks 7 – your comment is a upper for me tonight, Thanks.
Ohh… I see them sailing now…
Thanks Hen, I enjoy watching them move.
Lovely and succinct!
Marie Elena
🙂
😉
Lovely, Marjory. Many times have I watched them, never tiring of the dance.
Thanks, Claudsy, daily entertainment at the Bay.
You’re welcome, Marjory.
Kildeer
Particular about where their pinions
touch ground, kildeer strut
their long legs back and forth
in shallow puddles along side
a golf course, two block maximum.
We never see them
on any other streets. They crouch
down in grasses, like dogs
on their haunches, legs hidden
by round bodies. When dogs pass,
they stand to full height, skittering
quickly away, only to lie in wait
at the next mound of grass, knowing
the dogs will never catch up to them.
Kildeer, black and white striped
necks like bird cons, lift, shake
out their feathers, white underbellies
mooning frustrated dogs.
I am not familiar with them… Thank you for this, Sara…
Oh, now that I have looked them up, I do believe that I have seen them before… 🙂 !
Welcome. They never fail to make me smile.
Nice work, Sara! We have them around here. They are actually quite the little actors. If they have little ones they feel are threatened, they will act like they have a broken wing to draw attention to themselves and away from their chicks. Comical to watch!
Marie Elena
Thanks so much for this additional information. I love these birds!
Very Descriptive.
Thanks, Sheyl!
You’ve caught them well! They do seem to tease and taunt. (I think I’ve been “mooned” trying to catch a photo myself. LOL)
Thanks, Pamela!
Marvelous, Sara. They do that indeed. We had one that decided to build her nest in the middle of our gravel driveway. She didn’t get distracted when cars thought they would go over her. She would rise up to stand, shake her wings and tail, and be pitiful in her dance of desperation away from her eggs/chicks. For several weeks everyone parked at the end of the drive so as not to disturb her or cause her injury.
That’s so cool!
It was stressing. That’s for sure. We were always afraid someone would stop by the house and run over her and the nest because they couldn’t see it.
They are certain and confident teasers. Love this, Purple.
Thanks, Seven!
One more…I drank tea for supper, and it wasn’t decaf….
—————————————————————————–
I AM CHICKEN
A billion?
A zillion?
How many have died?
How many have pecked
and then clucked,
and been fried?
How many ran circles
in Mawmaw’s back yard,
their heads in her hands,
after chops quick and hard?
Would drumsticks and wings
be too numerous a sum?
Through drive-thrus just
how many nuggets have come?
And if I knew the answers–
what questions might come?
Would I then have to wonder,
if chickens arise,
is humanity doomed?
Will hens be our demise?
If they all pecked together,
would we all have a chance?
Would brave red roosters rule?
Would chicks take a fowl stance?
Do they know…
…that a zillion gazillion have died?
The barnyard might not be
the best place to hide.
Damon, you crack me up!! This is so good! I couldn’t stop laughing.
I’m still grinning too! This was SUCH a fun prompt!
I know! One of the best!
Oh my… I don’t know whether to laugh or cry for them… you are hilarious, 7!
HAHAHAHA! Thanks for the chuckles, Damon!
Marie Elena
(Heck…I just realized reading again that I doubled a rhyme with ‘come’ and ‘come’….I’ll have to fix that. )
🙂
Ha! A good one, Damon. I used to have students write about whether or not they would be vegetarian if the animals they love to eat spoke in their own language and argued for clemency. Your chicken might have convinced them.
I’m expecting a revolt any moment…
LOL Yup, it’s enough to make one become a vegetarian. 🙂
Can’t even begin to tell you how much I love this poem! Very well-done 😀
Thanks Mary! Hope it made you laugh!
It made me laugh and made me decide on chicken for dinner tonight lol. 🙂
Haha! We had chicken too!
Considering one of our old roosters, I think this might well be true. You’ve make me laugh hard and long, which is something much needed this evening, my friend. I know. You thought I was going to rhyme that one. Surprise! Love this.
So much fun, Claudsy!
If what I write down draws a laugh, bumps a chuckle, prompts a smile, slows a heartbeat, wrinkles a brow, trickles a tear, or frees a sob…I have done my work as a poet.
And you do it so well. How ’bout that.
Thanks, Claudsy.
You’re welcome, Seven.
… Right on!!
HOw did I miss this before? I love it.Very funny.
Thanks Linda! I think chickens are hilarious!
Lark’s Song
The sun lifts her fiery head
Over the horizon;
Night, old and weary, flees
Her red splendor in dread.
And one clear call
Rings out, a sign
That morning’s come
To us
Again.
Lovely… especially Love the words and placement of your last two lines!
Yes … the placement of your final two words is very effective. Nice.
Marie Elena
Thanks guys! I am definitely having fun with this prompt! 🙂
I love the punch at the end too.
Thanks, Damon!
Oh my Gosh, I just realized that flees is spelled wrong! Oh dear…
Well it was, but Marie fixed it. Thanks Marie! ❤
You betcha! 😉
Marie Elena
Beautfully written, Erin.
Thank you, Sara!
Beautiful, Erin. This is really nice.
Aw, thanks Clauds!
(If only you could make certain magazine editors that I know about realize that! ;))
When you find resistance at one magazine, send to another. There are too many out there to give the privilege of reading your work to only a few. 🙂
BADMINTON BIRDIE
Times you’ve chased and lapped the sun
badminton games and solstice queen won
winding back focus to let birdie fly
revealed new worlds through swatted eye
through luminous light birdie flies higher
while children dance round crackling pyre
watered down laughter dissolves jubilation
still birdie soars on wings of elation
A soft breeze, a nudge, an angel’s hiss
downward spiral overtakes inertial bliss
A lobbed sensation of parabolic flight
spinning smashing style evokes Olympic might
~Randy Bell ~
Delightful, Cloud!!
Creative take on the prompt, and well penned. Great work, Randy!
Marie Elena
Randy,
this line is so visible and real:
“A soft breeze, a nudge, an angel’s hiss”
I can see the birdie pause in mid-air, bumping on something unseen, twist then spiral down. Liked this.
😉 Birdie indeed!
Creative!!
Got me on this one. Chuckles!
Love this spin on the prompt, very nice!
Fun take on this prompt, Randy. Love it. It shows exactly what a game is like and what that birdie really does.
The Grackle
The grackle is coming,
that bully in black
with dangerous rainbows
adorning his back.
The grackle is coming,
there’s no time to waste.
The sparrows all scatter
the seed in their haste.
The grackle is coming.
He’ll take all he sees,
commanding the feeder
as every bird flees.
The grackle is coming
but I am on guard.
There’s no room for hoodlums
like him in our yard.
The grackle is coming
but he will soon learn:
It’s best to go elsewhere
and never return!
LOL!!! U.T., Austin, Texas!!! Thank you for the fun (yucky, if your car was parked under their trees) reminder!!!
Yes! Memories of grocery store parking lots in Texas, too–and what a screech they have. The grackles, not the parking lots. Well done, Andrew.
Perfect mood, threatening rhythm, fun rhyme, great poem!!
Marie Elena
Love this, Andrew! No room for bullies in my yard either!
Just as I always see them, stomping with their beady eyes arrogantly around my lawns, raw and mean, the bullies among birds. Great poem, Andrew!
I don’t know what a grackle is, but your poem is great!
The repetition and rhyme lend that great sense of urgency, and what you say is true. Man, between grackles and cowbirds, my feeders are terrorized and monopolized. Great job!
Andrew, I love the grackles!! ( how can you miss with a name like that?) And that line about dangerous rainbows across their backs, is absolutely perfect–except I love their iridescence–I think they’re gorgeous 🙂
LOL Perfectly done, Andrew! Love those rainbows, and the rhythm and rhyme — adds excellent tension. Right there with you on this one. Those bullies need to be taught a lesson! 🙂
This is wonderfully Dr. Suessish.
Excellent one, Andrew. Could see it, hear it, and live it. Wonderful meter and rhyme.
DROP-IN AT DUSK
With a soft whistle and
shuffle of wings,
a little Northern saw-whet owl
swooped down to perch
amidst the empty branches of a red maple tree
on the snow-covered front lawn.
Eyes wide open,
this little feathered creature
just stared down at us
with wise round eyes–
mere humans
thinking we owned the place!
Teehee! Thinking you owned the place, eh? You are probably spot on! Nice poem, Patricia.
We had a saw-whet hang out right outside our office window at home for practically a full day. Keith caught some great photos of the little guy. 🙂
Marie Elena
Aw! Owls are the neatest things…
They are such intriguing creatures! I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a live saw-whet. Loved this little one’s condescending view of squatters in his world. You read him well.
🙂
How adorably sweet is this!! I just Love owls with their large eyes!!
Very nice Patricia!
Sweet! Never seen one of these, Patricia, but I’d like to. This made me smile. 🙂
Patricia, I’ve always wanted one of these little beauties. They actually make decent–dare I say it–pets. I knew a falconer who flew one from his news. Sweet little things.
So glad to see someone else admires them, too. I so enjoyed this one. Brought back many memories. Thank you.
Marie and Walt, love your sparrow and pigeon… but some birds I am not so fond of…
For the Birds
Flicker, you really are a handsome bird—
I give you that.
I watch you on the garden path, head poised,
wings furled, tail flat,
stalking whatever tidbits you might eat.
Still, you’re a brat,
greeting the dawn with roof-vent serenade,
rat-tat-a-tat—
I jolt awake—my house is falling down?!?
TAT-AT-AT-AT—
who said you got to be that loud? Not I.
Scat, flicker, scat!
Cute one, KatiePie! We get flickers here, but I don’t have any complaints. 😉
Marie Marie
Yes, Katie…they have the potential to be pecky pests. Great poem.
🙂
Hee, hee… and they don’t even know they are noisy :)!!
Haha! Great one, Kate!
LOL — Oh the can make a racket, but… they are so beautiful. :-]
Ah, Kate, well done. They can be noisy little creatures, but they can be clowns, too. Had such fun with this poem. Good one.
Dove of the Morning
I open my window to the morning
To the sky flushed with dawn
To you, little wake-up singer, your
Soft lonely note repeated in my sorrow
“Coo, coo, coo…”
My eyes sore and aching
From lonely night weeping
Your song is my sadness…
“Coo, coo, coo…”
Now I can see you
Perched on the handle
Of the old pump he kept
In the garden to remind us
Of happy times gone by
The sunlight has awakened
The grass bursting with shadows
You tilt back your head and pour
Forth your greeting to the world…
Singing joy to the morning
A new day is upon us
Seek the beauty in the moment
In the notes of my song.
Beautiful and touching. The hope and strength in the final stanza delight me.
I agree with our Kate, Marian. She expressed my own thoughts perfectly.
Marie Elena
Beautiful sorrow…
I know what he was signing, Marian.
‘Sorrow may endure for the night,
but joy comes in the morning.’
Comforts to you. It was a lovely poem.
Well done.
Sad sweetness…
Beautiful poem with wonderful ending.
This is such a moving piece, Marian. It draws me in, brings into the feelings, the drama, and then let’s me slide down the sunbeam to renewed hope. Lovely.
Rionero’s Swallows – the Sky’s Acrobats
Bladed feathery sky seekers soar above mortals
Hover high over Hades but still below Heaven
They trail skeins of surreal snowflakes
Slice blueness to reveal scents –
Fill mouths with the flavour of strawberries over-ripe
Then, like Icarus, they’re on the wing, climbing again
Taking the sky, ever loftier, blending blindingly
The beating of thousands of wings, the coliseum’s roar
Those that soar, might just as easily plummet, but no,
Observe – they dive, they swoop, yet never collide …
S.E.Ingraham©
Another swallow lover! This is so beautiful, Sharon! Love it! ❤
Lovely, indeed … especially partial to your first stanza. Bravo!
Marie Elena
Sharron,
those first words name the bird well:
‘Bladed feathery sky seekers…’
Love that description.
Well done.
Beautifully, mysteriously, Amazing! : “…Observe — they dive, they swoop, yet never collide…”
Breathtaking, Sharon. It was a painting come to life. Love it.
New Names
Unopened boxes still piled in the dining room,
two of everything, at least,
from forty-plus years of marriage,
from sixty-plus years of living,
twelve years at the last stop,
thirteen before that,
another twelve even earlier,
now in their Forever House, they laughed,
because the next one is the Old Folks’ Home.
Lots of work to do,
so much to give away,
find new homes for old favorites,
find the garbage can for lesser lights.
Some friends called them hoarders,
themselves, they thought romantics,
memories buried in those things of theirs,
a comfortable history, togetherness stuff.
The boxes could wait, though.
So much more important to do.
Barbers and dentists and grocers to find,
An honest mechanic, a hairdresser who’d listen.
A new vet, maybe top of the early list,
the cats as demanding as ever,
even with their new window spot, cat tv,
new birds to track, new names to give.
In Sedona, they’d had a hummingbird highway,
Palm Springs provided ducks and geese and egrets,
making their way south in winter,
Marin had, of all things, a few eagles, and many hawks.
What would the southland bring,
America’s Finest City, the signs said,
America’s Best Weather, the slogans rang.
So far, some overweight doves,
many finches and wrens,
ironically, an eagle-eyed cooper’s hawk,
and one mightily bossy and possessive hummingbird,
all feasting at our feeders,
all surely named by Max Cat,
though, so far, he’s keeping it to himself,
content with his avian cinemascope.
Wondering, do birds name themselves,
or one another?
Something’s going on between them,
chirping and peeping and singing all day,
some of it to let us know the feeder’s nearly empty,
a lot of it some form of tree-to-tree repartee,
still more a type of alert., that hawk being so near.
That bossy hummer’s words are clear – Mine! Get out!
The doves’ coos are less evident – sweet nothings?
(or are they simply simpletons?)
The wrens don’t have much to say. They come toeat.
Whatever the communication,
there’s some sort of community out there,
in the trees, on the fence, at the feeders.
They must be sending messages to other trees and rails,
new visitors approaching every day.
Remindful of our distant friends,
a gentle jab- keep in touch, make that call, write that note.
New friends to make, of course, new names to learn,
but old ones to maintain, familiar names to cherish,
and maintenance it requires, surely worth the effort.
Unopened boxes still piled in the dining room,
Some containing photos,
others with cards and letters, mementos all.
We move every dozen or so years,
our history and friends trailing behind.
We always own, since Barbara always says
she doesn’t rent, she nests.
This might be the last stop,
our feathers thinner and grayer,
names getting harder to remember.
This might be the last stop.
Daniel, this is absolute perfection! I love how you bring out that there is a little community out there. Good job!
thanks Erin…love your photos
Aw thanks! I didn’t even know you could get to my blog from here! Interesting…
So beautiful, Daniel.
thanks, Sara, and thanks for not noticing that, writing a long poem over two days can lead one to shift from third person to ego…love your recent work, here and elsewhere…you have found a voice I enjoy hearing
Thanks, Daniel.
“… themselves, they thought romantics,/memories buried in those things of theirs,…” ❤ !!
I’m sitting here smiling, Daniel. So much detail, and all of it with feeling attached. Love how you equate actual birds and your own little love nest. Nest away … you’ve found a new home.
Marie Elena
Such a wonderful inventory of a life, Daniel. We do carry it all with us, even when it’s no longer traveling in our boxes and bags. You’ve carried your community with you by wondering if birds had their own.
This was a sweet, soothing read because it said so much about each of us who read it and what we identified with. Treasures, all, these lines, these memories. Marvelous.
I think this form is called Triquatrain…does anyone know? The hummers always fuss at me if their feeders get low, but seem more keen on territory than food. Thus, the poem.
Hummingbird Lessons
The hummingbirds do not mince words
around the feeders’ flowers.
They never lack for sneak attack—
can fight for hours and hours
against their kind—no, they’re not blind—
just territorially mad;
the nectar’s there, but they don’t care
and that is very sad.
I give them food, no need for feud;
they hardly sit and drink it.
Instead they battle, squeak, and prattle
like children over a trinket.
I love their hues, their greens, reds, blues,
their aerial acrobatics,
but zooming fuming warfare grooming
suggests they’re just fanatics
with wings and beaks; with zeal they seek
to take the feeders captive,
to plant some rag of feathered flag—
they’re not at all adaptive.
They so remind me of the kind
of wars humans engage in;
when sharing might have served the right
we manufacture raging.
In each attack and or fighting back,
the purpose we defeat,
destroying gift with foolish rift
so no one gets to eat.
Folks like me just love to see
all creatures small and great,
but realize we are unwise
if we only feed our hate.
So sad, but true. Hummingbirds are so pretty, and I love them, but they’re little brats. This is really good, Jane. I like it!
Hee, hee…
Quite lovely Jane–they are territorial little critters–love the way they zip around–beautiful words 🙂
You caught them perfectly, Jane!
Correct on the form Jane. We had highlighted the Triquatrain in the IN-FORM POET WEDNESDAY feature. See our link here:
http://poeticbloomings.com/2012/08/29/in-form-poet-wednesday-triquatrain/
Great cadence and you’ve capture the tiny beauties perfectly … little stinkers that they are. 😉
Marie Elena
This has power, Jane, in its comparison of bird to human. You capture those habits each has taken as normal behavior to the point of instinct and hung them on the line to show the world the silliness and futility of it all and the results of it for all.
This is one I’d read over and over and to many others when I had a chance. The pacing seems perfect as a marching rhythm.
Bird Brain
When you’re raised
With the smell of leather case
Snap of latch, and cold, hard metal
Of binoculars
Dog-eared bird books
As company in the back seat
Wonder surrounding all things avian
Is not questioned, it’s like breathing
A reflex
To check a flash of feather
Pause and peer
Through light and leaves
Find that bird shape
Check markings and
Mentally file for
Later identification
Though
Most are known
Deposited during decades
Of watching parents point
And classify
Blue jay, Scrub jay, Stellar’s jay
Mockingbird, Bushtit,
Yellow rumped warbler,
Tennessee warbler,
Red bellied woodpecker,
Downy Woodpecker,
Red tailed, Red shouldered,
Or Cooper’s Hawks
My feet automatically stop
To watch any flock
Fly overhead
Shifting from shadow
To white or color
It’s a love forever
Nested in my heart
–Couldn’t pass this one up 🙂 Thanks you two!
Couldn’t agree more! I can’t identify all of them, but I always, always stop to watch them. Good job, Sara!
Hi Erin! Thank you very much, I’ll think of you when I’m watching them 🙂
Wow! I wish I had that knowledge.
It was wonderful, in CA, I knew everything and then I moved to Florida and had to learn new ones. My parents are so jealous because we have egrets, herons and ibis running around the neighborhood–in CA those are rare 😉
Delightful title… I Love that that is how you remember your parents!
Hi Henrietta! you always have such sweet things to say 🙂 Thank you. It is a fun connection–it’s part of our weekly phone chat (so, what’s in the backyard this week?)
<3!!
Wonderful memories shared beautifully.
Hi! Thank you so much 🙂
Beautiful work, from another whose feet stop when there are birds overhead. 😉
Marie Elena
Had fun reading your birding list, Sara. Terrific job getting all of that into one poem and making space for encouragement to others who might want to try it, too..
Gull-Grey Gales
They dip then dive –
I watch full-winged seagulls
painting the dull grey sky
with the tip of their wings. But one,
he is translucent in winter colours
of clouds, tossed and loose,
a spirited curl on currents of wind,
and he calls to me of free earthly
bounds. A gust of wings whip
torrents of rain into a spectral
mirage on tilt feather. This one,
he’s an acrobat, circus bound –
plucked from the seashore, tossed
up and over, further and more
distantly inland. He soars under
the big top – a circus runaway
from his familiar salted sand.
And he is tossed again on the tip
of wings, flying on gull-grey gales.
Beautiful, Misky!!
Thanks, Erin. 🙂
Gorgeous Misky!! Love the acrobat analogy and painting the sky with the tips of their wings
Thanks, Sara! 🙂
Hear, hear! LOVELY, Misk!
Marie Elena
!! ❤
🙂
Another winner, Misky. I don’t know how you do it.
I AM out here. It’s turned into one of those weeks, and it’s only Tuesday. I am loving the work here again (no big surprise here) and don’t look forward to Saturday where I have to choose only one of you to carry the torch. Well, at least my half of it anyway. Will TRY to comment individually if opportunity presents itself.
🙂
Toucan Weather?
Unseasonable
~warmth lingers~
filling me with joy…
Nice! We’re already heading for Spring here too.
…Lovely feeling in the air… I Live for such joyful moments… Thank you, Erin.
You’re welcome, Hen!
! 🙂
😀 !
meg
!! 😀
Poor things would shiver and quake up here right now, Hen. Long to have a short drift of such wondrous warmth so I, too, can think of the tropics and their birds. Good one, Hen.
Aww… thank you Clauds, their little colorful selves would be shimmering…
I wish you warmth… tho our temps have dipped also!!
It must have worked, Hen. We got sunshine today and above 40 deg. Amazing what good thoughts will do, isn’t it?
[…] Written for Poetic Bloomings. […]
Mocking
Bird, it’s shocking
(absurd)
how much you don’t
have to say, just
mumbling away
on another’s song.
I suppose there’s
nothing wrong with
humming along, but
has it really been that
long since you
knew your own
heart?
.
Love this De! 8)
Thank you, Mary. 🙂
This is so cute, De!!
Oh my De! It thrills me to see your work here again.
Marie Elena
Aha! De, you’ve asked the impossible. Isn’t the mocker as bad as the catbird who can’t decide species either? So fun. Terrific!
Sparrows
Sparrows huddled against the cold,
Remembering the warmth of spring
While suffering the bitter sting
That wintry winds will surely hold.
Those sparrows are a welcome sight
To one whose heart is weak and lost,
The line between two worlds uncrossed
By birds bathed in angelic light.
The spirits of loved ones who passed
Return to keep watch over me
With loving eyes that still can see
The shrinking shadow that I cast.
On feathered wing they venture near,
Reminding me I have their love,
Small angels sent from up above,
Those sparrows holding hearts so dear.
Lovely, Mary…
Thanks Hen!
A beautiful poem Mary!
Thanks Sara!
Love the voice and flow of this, Mary. Lovely!
Marie Elena
Thanks Marie!
Wonderful, Mary. So smooth, so soft.
Thanks 🙂
Just had to take another stab at this prompt with a little homage to Alfred Hitchcock (and by extension Daphne du Maurier.)
Birdsong of Destruction
Where others see serenity in flight,
I see demons on the wing,
An airborne menace girded in razor talons,
Waiting for the perfect opportunity,
Screeching caws echoing
From the depths of Hell
To signal their wanton attacks.
Humans are ill-designed
To defend against
Predatory aeronautics
From such indiscriminate foes,
Beak and claw ready to disembowel
Perceived invaders to their turf.
Some say the world will end
In a hail of fire and brimstone,
But I know the apocalypse approaches
With feathers and birdsong.
The Birds!!! Well done, Mary! You’ve captured the eery mood brilliantly. Smart and spooky!!
Marie Elena
Thanks! It wasn’t particularly hard for me to channel that sense of terror from the movie, birds frighten me to no end! (except, perhaps, on my plate with a side of potatoes and gravy.)
Love it, Mary. I know others who could sympathize with you. Marie’s right; well captured and tamed.
Thanks! Sometimes I think it’s the “quite contrary” side of me that likes looking at a prompt from a slightly twisted viewpoint, but in the end I guess it’s all about bringing the poem to life. 🙂
That seems to be the bottom line, Mary. Sometimes the poem goes where your mind isn’t tracking, which means Muse has taken control and will darn well take those words wherever she wants. And sometimes, it’s best ti ket go of the reins. At least for me, it is.
Love all these poems about our feathered friends!
Mine’s about bats-I know, not a bird but it flies!
http://lolamousedroppings.blogspot.com/2013/01/bats.html
Lovely rhyme. “birds of the moon” indeed.
LOLAMOUSE!!! So good to see you!! As always, your cadence is flawless and “take” on the prompt is original. Bravo!!
Marie Elena
Indeed. Too much fun and too accurate by far. Well done.
This is my halting attempt at prose poetry with nods to both Coleridge and C.S. Lewis.
Albatross
I used to pretend that I was different, that I wasn’t born with it around my neck, but the smell of death was strong as hell, stinging my eyes like sinking ships. Through a blur of salt and pain, I saw the shadow of another pair of wings stretching east to west (or maybe top to bottom?) across the blackened sky. They reached with hands that knew my name, knew the whitewashed hollow I’d become. He took away the dying things, the cages I had fashioned into shiny things, to plant something beautiful and green inside the ashes.
very nice
I know this is an over-used phrase, but “hauntingly beautiful” is what comes to mind. “They reached with hands that knew my name” … this will stick with me.
Marie Elena
Thank you, Marie. I didn’t try to “write well” with this one, I just wrote from an honest place, if that makes sense.
I agree with Marie on this one. Haunting, yes. And lingering in the back of the mind, I think, because of the perspective. Excellent.
47 poems, 455 comments…only one of the reasons I love this place
This poetic COMMUNITY is exactly what Walt and I had in mind. It’s amazing, humbling, and warms my heart greatly. You all totally ROCK. 🙂
Marie Elena
Aw, shucks… 🙂
Winter Birds
Oh, how to pick just one
as they sit there in the sun
eating seed
and squawking for their spot
not satisfied with what they got –
But he darts in quick
to get his taste
and back to a branch, with haste
to eat and savor –
He never squawks
nor causes any fuss
just minds his business
with his sweet face mugging for us.
Unlike these fickle winter birds
he stays all year
to be heard,
his little song
and sweet, sweet face
always cheers me up
and brings me to a sunny place.
He is the Chickadee-dee-dee.
Fun one, Michelle. Love it.
🙂 !!
Black-capped Chickadee
With his hat of black
and matching cravat,
he makes quite the dapper fellow,
bringing style and charm
(he looks good on anyone’s arm)
and his voice
is a happy whimsical song
(which can right a wrong)
and puts a smile on your face
and give you a little grace
no matter the season or place.
Michelle, the black-capped chickadee is one of my favorites, and I love both your poems. Well done!
Marie Elena
Love this, Michelle. You found a marvelous voice for this one, too.
Yes!!
Test run to see of I can change my e-mail address when I poat this….
Well – ‘post’ that is – it worked. See Tommorow if I get the next prompt at my new address….:) another step on the learning curve.
Hope it works! 🙂
Marie Elena
Good luck!
Hummm – I’ll see soon; My previous address with earthlink is in the detail box below, not my comcast address …. I may just need to re-register into the Garden!
Would that make me a two-time follower in the Garden? …and I’ll most likely get a ‘face-lift’ in the little picture box!
Dove (a Cinquain)
White dove,
Lovely symbol
Of God’s heart, sent down from
Heaven to grace His beloved
Son’s head.
Lovely…
Thank you, Hen!
Very nicely done Erin, Have been doing battle with my computer and have not been able to do much in the way of reading and commenting this week. Maybe I’ll get with the new prompt. For now…
Think I’ll just go get some Zzzz’z
Thanks, M!! And we definitely missed you on this prompt…glad you’re back!