Birds Are So Smart with Dixie Keyes
Welcome to Day 9 of Verselove. We are so happy you are here, however you choose to be present. If you know what to do, carry on; if you are not sure, begin by reading the inspiration and mentor poem, then scroll to the comment section to post your poem. Please respond to at least three other poets in celebration of words, phrases, ideas, and craft that speak to you. All educators – authors, librarians, teachers, teacher educators, coaches, consultants, preservice, retired–are welcome. It’s free. No commitment is needed. Please invite a teacher-friend to join you one or more days because poetry heals. Click here for more information on the Verselove. Click here for the PD tracker if you’d like PD credits.
Dixie Keyes lives near the base of the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas, in Jonesboro, where she teaches at Arkansas State University. She collaborates as a teacher educator with both preservice teachers and experienced teachers attaining advanced degrees in reading. Dixie is Director of the Arkansas Delta Writing Project at A-State, a National Writing Project site. She is a long-time member of NCTE and ALAN and a past-president of the Arkansas state NCTE affiliate. She facilitates yoga and writing workshops in her local community.
Inspiration
The trill of a bird in the morning awakens us to the sun, to hope, and to a unique intelligence. Whether you see or hear the birds, they never fail to gather our attention, especially this time of year. I was recently watching the last episode of a pioneer saga series, where the main character was taking her last breath. A mourning dove came to land beside her as she recalled how smart she thought birds were because they harvest worms so easily after a rain when the ground is softened. That’s when the birds come down from trees and bushes to feast. “Birds are so smart,” she whispered….and those were her last words.
Process
A great artist and songwriter, Leonard Cohen, wrote of his awareness of this unique intelligence of birds in his song “Anthem:” “The birds they sang/At the break of day/Start again/I heard them say/Don’t dwell on what has passed away/Or what is yet to be/”
Take a moment to listen or watch for the birds, or a bird. Perhaps it alights on your deck in the morning and you see it from your kitchen window. Maybe a round of robins scratch for worms in your front yard. Look up and notice how a gaggle of geese take turns leading their arrow-shaped flying party. Notice how smart they are and what we can learn from them, then write the messages you receive from the intelligence of birds.
Here are two short poems about birds that I’ve written in the past.
Two Examples from Dixie
Choral
To carry within us the morning choral—
the chants of the birds, their call and response,
their trills and outreach from neighborhood to neighborhood,
reverberating songs full of life and hope
on the edge of understanding.
To carry within us these staves with messages
of tenor throats and soprano signatures,
To hear not only the song,
but the loss
from the feathered harbingers
of what is to come.
–Dixie K. Keyes
Upon My Mother’s Dying
What if the birds
flying above the rice fields on dark November days
are bits of souls
in transition
from their now to their forever?
–Dixie K. Keyes
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming.
Respond to 3
Respond to 3 teachers today in the spirit of reciprocity. Writing educator Peter Elbow said, “To improve your writing you don’t need advice about what changes to make; you don’t need theories of what is good and bad writing. You need movies of people’s minds while they read your words” (Writing Without Teachers, 1973, p. 77). Please offer a mirror to our writers by sharing what you noticed, what moved you, and what you learned. Responding to one another is a way of saying “I see you” and “thank you for writing” and “I carry your words.” Here are a few sentence stems that may be helpful for you and your students.
In the morning
I am greeted by the song the birds sing
sitting on the tree
outside my window
on a bright sunny spring day
Peculiar Creatures
I wish I could fly
Up with the birds
In the bright blue sky.
The songs they share
Sing with each other
And enlighten the day
Imagine life without birds
Bugs.
And silence.
Their curious minds
Watching our daily lives.
I love how you began your piece and used amazing imagery!
As I gaze out the clear window
I notice three birds
Their actions are far from absurd
Simply sitting on branches
The branches could barely hold a pebble
Yet the birds remained perched
Bracing the lifeless branches
Their heads turn as they keep watch
One bird departs leaving two
The wind also blew
With reckless abandon
Both fly away not knowing where the other landed
Wow, great vividery I really enjoyed your poem.
Up Up Away
Author Freddy Cavazos
As I look up I see birds
Flying so high
Almost touching the clouds
Flying up then back down
Landing on a tree
Headed towards a nest
Bringing warmth of
Their wings cover their nest
The newest members of the family
Have arrived filled with excitement
Reminding us of the promise
Tomorrow will bring
The excitement of starting
A new journey with
Loved ones you
Didn’t even know existed
I love the fluidity in this piece! Very well done!
I love the descriptive words in this piece! Well done!
I love birds and love that you gave us a prompt to celebrate these creatures. One of my favorite exhibits in a nearby zoo is an aviary from a world’s fair and I love seeing all of the birds flying about.
This poem is going to be part of my novel in verse and is about the MC’s mom-who has great anxiety and paranoia, but finds solace in her favorite bird, the Cardinal.
Cardinals
Red Bird
Bringer of luck
A sign of hope
Cardinals
On her dresser
In the kitchen
Good luck birds
Scattered throughout home
To bring us peace
To bring us hope
To bring us luck
Mom is forever hoping
For a cardinal to land
in front of her
To look her way
tell her everything is okay.
Cardinals are my favorite bird! I love how you captured their beauty in this poem!
The bird alights on the branch,
Travelling from parts unknown
She stops for a brief respite.
Her head darts this way and that,
Listening to the crow caw, caw, caw
As other melodies strain to drown him out.
She flutters out a bit further on the branch
As if looking for something or someone
Or maybe just to pause for a moment
While the sun shines down
Making her face al the more radiant.
The imagery in this piece is incredible. Especially in the last stanza, I can absolutely imagine what this bird would look like.
Dixie, I recognized your inspiration as soon as I read it. I LOVED the series, and your idea for today’s poetry writing. Your line “reverberating songs full of life and hope” is an excellent way to describe the power of birdsong.
What I know about Birds
By Shaun
Roosters will crow at any time of day.
That Looney Toons trope is simply poultry propaganda.
You know the one, with Rossini’s English horns
Revealing the calm after the storm.
I’ve heard them cockadoodledoing at all hours of the day and night.
They’re obnoxious.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
I concur.
A very hungry person came up with this one.
Birds of a feather flock together.
Unless a teacher is making the groups.
The early bird catches the worm.
Early or late, worms are pretty darn hard to catch.
They take to it like a duck to water.
This person never witnessed the duck that drowned.
It happens.
As the crow flies.
Okay, Captain Obvious! I’ll just go that way.
Again, more propaganda.
A crow can fly any Goddamned direction it wants.
Period.
It’s an albatross on your neck.
Well, this is quite subjective.
I know some people who will gladly write
A poem every single day for one month,
And it’s not a curse. It’s a blessing.
This night owl is going to put this poem to bed.
Good night.
Shaun,
Loved this. Thanks for the whimsy.
Sincerely,
An Early Bird
Unless a teacher is making the groups.
These lines made me laugh out loud in recognition. I really enjoyed the lightness here; very welcoming to the uninitiated.
This poem is hilarious! I especially enjoyed the line about “Poultry Propaganda”
This is awesome! All of the bird idioms! Your voice in the stanza with “As the crow flies” cracked me up- “Captain Obvious” ha! I enjoyed this poem.
What a great poem! I loved reading this!
Birds are so smart and the exemplar poems were so beautifully composed. I’m afraid I’ve come up with a bit of an indelicate poem. I loved playing with the bird imagery and it turns out alright in the end…
Roadrunner
The purple Plymouth Roadrunner cut me off at the intersection—
“”Meep Meep” ornately scrawled above his rear bumper,
he flies directly in my path.
I dart evasively to my right like a swift starling,
catch up to him at the next light
and flip him the bird.
Words fly out of our mouths—language bluer than buntings—cascading
Out of our cardinal red faces, as we puff our chests—out of our cars now—
in a display of dominance like blue-footed boobies,
we dance dangerously towards unknown consequences.
In a city where a pigeon and a rat fight
over a discarded Gray’s Papaya hot dog,
beaks and claws, talons and teeth are bared for what?
A sodium nitrate bomb more deadly than the battle.
There can be no backing down.
In our death spiral, a remark is passed,
I can’t remember what and it doesn’t matter anyway,
but we disengage and cackle like kookaburras.
Relieved, embarrassed by the absurdity,
we get back in our cars and fly away.
Dave, what a way to capture a moment of road rage. The bird allusions are fantastic. “cardinal red faces” “like a swift starling” “bluer than buntings” “blue-footed boobies”…Wow! Glad things did not end tragically, but I had to laugh at the lines “In a city where a pigeon and a rat fight
over a discarded Gray’s Papaya hot dog,
beaks and claws, talons and teeth are bared for what?”
You created quite a ride and interesting bird flight!
Dave,
The comparison of the speaker’s road-rage incident to bird behaviors is very clever and fun. I can see the “cardinal red faces” prancing “like blue-footed boobies” – great word play.
Thank you, Dixie, for hosting today. I am a bird lover, and one of my favorite places in Keokuk is the Southside Boat Club where you can easily see eagles, seagulls and more. Love the idea of birds being bits of souls.
A Scavenger’s Dream
greedy crows wait to
feast on fish scraps eagles be-
queath−smart birds indeed
Barb Edler
9 April 2022
Barb,
This is a wonderful haiku. I particularly like your use of “bequeath” as it honors the cycle of life w/ it’s focus on giving, on passing down.
Barb – I’m in sync with Glenda’s “bequeath “ comment… it’s a pivotal word choice. A lovely haiku that honors the brilliance of birds. ???❤️ Susie
Thank you for this prompt today. I love to listen to the birds in my side yard.
Waddling along with her flock
Making their way across the busy street
One stopping in the middle of the road
Then a Good Samaritan tried to help
That goose was not happy to be rushed along
Honking loudly for all to hear
Chasing her back to her car
When finally the last slow moving gosling start across
DeAnna,
This is too common in our town with all the creeks and rivers crisscrossing roads. I can’t help but think of the duck crossing sign on Center Street that was seen in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Nicely visual poem–you can see my mind went off! 🙂
DeAnna, yes, I can so relate! Honestly, geese can be scary! Love how you develop this clear scene of the geese crossing and the unwillingness of the goose to be rushed along. Sweet!
DeAnna, I love the use of “honking” and how it could relate to both cars and geese. That was clever! Thanks for this poem!
Great poem I loved the good samaritan tried to help. I had this happen the other day and beeped at the goose to move. It was a busy street 🙂
Thank you for the prompt, Dixie. Your poems are beautiful – especially the second one. You line “bits of souls in transition from their now to their forever?” has stayed with me throughout the day.
As an ornithophobe (scared of birds), this prompt elicited an “oh no” from me. I will not deny the beauty of birds, but I have a personal grudge against pigeons – and birds generally scare the lights out of me. I ended up writing a tanka about pigeons. Here goes:
The pigeons all look
Like they’re scheming against me.
The way they look with
Side-eyed amusement. I think
I’m in grave danger. Send help!
Saba, hilarious! I know those pigeons who “look with / Side-eyed amusement.”
This poem is such fun, Saba. Perhaps your ornithophobia arises from watching Hitchcock’s Birds too many times? 😉
Saba, love the “side-eyed amusement” and the “scheming”! Love the direct voice and the call for help. Great tanka!
Saba,
Tnose persnickety pigeons put all of us on edge, especially when we’re consuming food and the pigeons are plotting to peck a sand which right out of our hands.
Reading your comment made me shiver, Glenda! This is such a scary thing – and has actually happened to me. The perpetrator was not a pigeon, though, but a duckling. A horrifying experience that was.
I cannot stress enough how terrified I am of birds—specifically pigeons. This poem captures my feelings perfectly.
A fellow ornithophobe, finally!
So good I always get scared of the seagulls when I am at the beach.
Thank you for this lovely prompt, Dixie. My story is a sad reality of *progress* in my area, and many others.
Red-Tailed Hawk
you perch high up
posture erect
eyes darting left
and right and left
movement of prey
catches your eye
you lift off and
silently glide
plunge at great speed
talons sink deep
lighting again
to enjoy lunch
unknown to you
eighteen new homes
will extinguish
your habitat
I just finished reading “Cloud Cuckoo Land” (by Anthony Doerr) & your poem strikes a similar chord!! You did such a beautiful job painting the picture of the hawk plunging… and then the turn in the last stanza could not be more perfect. “Extinguish” – an excellent word choice. And the 4 syllable lines/4 line stanzas work so well. Thank you for this!!
Charlene, your poem begins beautifully. The image of the watchful hawk and its movement is perfectly described. The final stanza is such a strident change like a death knell in itself. Tears.
I stumbled across this poem by E.E. Cummings today and wanted to try imitating it! Thanks to Cummings & my little bird friend for the inspiration.
________________
who are you,little bird
(in my maple tree)
singing the same two notes for the third
hundred time; into the free
air of an April dawn
(and declaring:that when
you’ve found your song
sing it again)
Rachel, wow. What an inspiration you received and took out a new direction. So many sweet phrases…same two notes, for the third hundred time, and that lovely declaration at the end.
What a lovely ending! Such a call to action to find and declare our song!
Rachel, ahhh, I love this. “air of an April dawn” what a gorgeous line! The end and the parentheses sure demonstrates E.E. Cummings’ style, a true favorite of mine! Well done!
Rachel,
I love how you use the simplistic form to relate such a profound idea of the bird making a declaration after having searched for their song.
Dixie! So nice to meet you here! It was evening as I sat down to write, so I thought back on the birds I saw today: some robins in the yard, and the chickens in my son’s yard, half a world away, which is what I decided to write about <3
WhatsApp
It’s Sunday in New Zealand
Saturday here,
a 17-hour time gap
8000 miles as the crow flies.
Little one points to his ears (taringa)
his eyes, his neck
and lifts his shirt to show me his puku.
His sweet lips press kisses to the iPhone.
Mt. Taranaki rises above the busy little family.
The dogs (arf!) chase the bicycle tires.
The cows (moo) and chickens (bawk) say
We are well! All is well!
Allison, this piece was so happy and animated; loved the sense of activity, of motion that it conveyed — and the build to the call at the end: uplifting. Thanks for this! 🙂
Yes, such a joyful poem! I love your last stanza and the way you included the animal sounds. Sounds convey so much meaning – in this case, “all is well!” What a blessing to be able to connect with family, even 8000 miles away.
Allison, your poem is magnificent. Your opening stanza sets the scene, and I love the “sweet lips press kisses to the iPhone”. Then the closing animals sounds and the repetition of “We are well! All is well!” Truly beautiful poem!
Allison, wow! I love where you took this. I imagine your little grandson might be learning animal noises, and I love the parenthesis you use here. I hope all is well with you ❤️
Allison – So much charm here to think of you connecting with family 8000 miles away. Thank heavens for the iPhone to bring the chickens and Mt. Taranaki right to us. But most important is the love that makes it “all… well.” So lovely! Susie
Thank you, Dixie, for taking me down an atypical road.
Cardinal
Welcomed visitor
Spot of red against the grey
Harbinger of home.
Holy moniker
Stays close to where they were born
Loyal mate for life.
Our regal state bird
Woods and open fields are home
Talking through their song.
Mascot of baseball’s best
Team of the town with the arch
Love birds on the bats
Heart lifts and takes flight
When my eyes glimpse its splendor
Dad has said hello.
~Susan Ahlbrand
9 April 2022
Susan, I just wrote a cardinal poem, too! I love how we both honed in on the coloring, the constancy, and the reminder that they bring of our dear loved ones. I love your poem!
Absolutely beautiful. The collection of haikus works so well here – the last one is my favorite! I also love “harbinger of home” and “talking through their song.”
Susan, Thank you for this lovely extended haiku. Your title made me momentarily think that the cardinal is often known as a visit from a loved one passed before I was then swept up in your “13 ways of looking at a cardinal” (so to speak)! When I got to your final line, I was zapped back to my initial thought! Powerful.
I love birds! This is long, but it is a mix of haiku, doidotsu, gogyohka, mondo, senryu, and tanka Japanese forms. Thank you for the great prompt!
Thirteen Ways of Looking at Birds
An Homage to Wallace Stevens
1.
Flocks of geese flying
overhead while I’m walking
in shadows of wings
2.
The symbolism
of birds taking flight en masse
hits me this season
of graduations and change
students soaring to new heights
3.
Hummingbird flocks are
called a charm
probably because
the sight of them
bewitches one and all
4.
Late fall saw hoards of
titmice outside my window
feasting on suet
5.
When a group of crows gathers
and squawk without melody,
the neighborhood braces for
murder most shady
6.
Robins stalk
the worms as they rise
to the top
of the saturated ground
in the spring.
7.
How do you maintain
the energy for flying
when you’re too small to be real?
Nature’s creations
are always better than the
imagination of man
8.
Ducks of all colors
swimming on the wetland lake
with broods of ducklings
9.
Do you count the chicks
each time you pass by the pond
or do you feign ignorance?
Nature doesn’t care
that your heart is in your throat
the circle of life is harsh
10.
On long spindly legs
the sandpiper zips along
on the insect hunt
11.
Walking toward geese
congregated on
a grassy green field
They turn in accord
like a school of fish moving
off collectively
12.
Delicate wings beat
against impossible odds
airborne in the sky
13.
The engineering
of a bird’s wings are beyond
the measure of man
lest we fall like Icarus
flying too close to the sun
Oh, this was just lovely, Cara! Love the unique form(s). Thanks for teaching me that a flock of hummingbirds is a charm. Loved how Stanza 9 interrupted the imagistic, descriptive sections to wonder and reflect. (“How do you maintain
the energy for flying
when you’re too small to be real?” was just a lovely sentiment.)
Also loved how Stanza 9 made my breath hitch a bit when I read the second stanza in it.
Lovely!
Oh, CARA! How do I love this? Let me count the “ways”! Here are a few lines that delivered frisson (!!):
Nature doesn’t care
that your heart is in your throat
the circle of life is harsh
the neighborhood braces for
murder
They turn in accord
like a school of fish
beyond
the measure of man
lest we fall like Icarus
Wow. I enjoyed this so much. Bravo!
Cara, wow, you were inspired today. This is gorgeous in so many ways. The beautiful, yet matter of fact way you wrote each one made me smile, like in the hoards of titmice and the robins with the worms. But there are captivating lines in each of the 13. Thank you!
Cara,
I love how you used some of your favorite poetry styles to teach me about birds. Stanza #9 is hits home, because I like you have learned not to count the ducklings. Thank you for sharing today.
Holy smokes! What a poem! There’s so much to think about and mull over, and I love each and every stanza. The one stanza that stuck out to me in particular was about counting the chicks because I recently wrote about that (and have been thinking a lot about that!). Thank you for giving me so much to chew on.
I truly love all of the beautiful odes to birds here today, and I tried to approach this with sincerity but this is all I could think of!
Birds are so smart
because they are all drones.
Didn’t you hear?
The American government
replaced them in the sixties.
Age of Aquarius?
More like
Eve of Destruction.
Those pleasant chirps,
sweet songs, and wafting notes
are the whirrs and murmurs
of sixty-year old aerial tech.
So next time you’re admiring
the flight paths of geese
the industry of a woodpecker
the craftsmanship of a nest
remember, God Bless America and
be sure to pay your taxes!
Laura,
We’re both channeling “Birds Aren’t Real” today. I can think of no better way to refute conspiracy theories than to listen to the birds’ songs.
Oh, Glenda, I love it! And yes, let their songs drown out the ignorance.
Oh, my word! I had not caught wind of birds=drones (I might not be listening to the right conspiracy channels), but I think the poem delivers all I need to know! I don’t know if I should laugh or cry!
Allison, check out Glenda’s post or google it. It’s a parody conspiracy theory whose followers have actually done some good!
Laura, what an amazing poem! Birds are the true conspiracy – lol! I love it.
My favorite part:
“Those pleasant chirps,
sweet songs, and wafting notes
are the whirrs and murmurs
of sixty-year old aerial tech.“
Dixie, thank you for the prompt. I’ve been thinking about birds all during the day. I love: “of tenor throats and soprano signatures” Thanks!
What I Learned from the Birds
They serenade with no busker box and
Keep singing when no one listens.
Richard Wilbur was right about the way
a murmuration of starlings flies
“like a drunken fingerprint across the sky“–
doing it with coordination and
without hurting each another.
The way robins build nests for future
generations, without bragging
or competing with their neighbors.
That’s what I learned from you today, too–
the way you serve, love, and live life
without demanding credit for yourself.
I, too, believe there is much wisdom to be gained from watching birds – you have captured this beautifully here. I am most heartened by the line “Keep singing when no one listens.” – what confidence, what self-care! I really like that. Thank you for this, Denise!
Denise, this is great! I love the truth that they “Keep singing when no one listens” and they “build nests … without bragging / or competing with their neighbors.” We can learn a great deal from them! Thank you for reminding us!
Denise, I so enjoy how you reached the final stanza-sharing what you learned from the birds. Beautiful message and love “the way you serve, love, and live life” Yes! Great poem!
Denise,
That’s a very cool shift in the last verse from birds to person (your husband?). The details in the bird lessons function as foreshadowing and underscores the lesson of the one in the final stanza, which is very cool.
Nice catch, Glenda. It was my youngest daughter I was thinking about who put on the shower for my eldest daughter yesterday. Such a beautiful, giving soul, and her husband too. Both such servants.
Hi, Dixie! Thank you for the lovely poems today and the unique and clever prompt! I’m late to the game today, but here goes:
Cardinals: A Villanelle
A blot of red against the winter snow
The cardinal with his grumpy little bulk
Reminds us, though, of cheer that follows woe.
What-cheer! What cheer? How can a heart be so?
And dare to open throat in glad exult –
A blot of red against the winter snow?
How wrong to hear his songs thus overflow
On my wrecked heart, chaotic with tumult…
(Reminds us, though, of cheer that follows woe).
But constancy, as cardinals know to show
Redeem them from their seeming cold insult –
A blot of red against the winter snow –
And wake us from our grieving slumber, slow…
They sing the songs of loved ones, by default
Reminding us of cheer that follows woe.
We know our memories never we’ll outgrow
Acceptance is the mute, resigned result.
A blot of red against the winter snow
Reminds us, though, of cheer that follows woe.
I love a good villanelle, Wendy. Yours is fabulous. I never thought of a cardinal’s grumpy little bulk, but that’s a tough image to shake. I love your play with the cardinal song and what cheer.
Mo,
Grumpy! XD
Wendy
LOL
I want to chime in on appreciation for “grumpy little bulk”!
Guardian
though some know him as
violent predator, I know him as
a gentle giant perched on his
corner, observing my patterns
when he flies, he flaps his wings
in powerful bursts, momentum gliding
his calls for me to circle the skies
at sunset in search of supper
a tetrachromat, he sees shades of me
detecting polarized moods
illuminating ultra violet lights
at frequencies invisible to others
alas he has returned with spring
to his rooftop post, lean from
migration to call me to
our open field for a soar
Sarah, I’ve read this over and over. I love the final lines. You’ve captured one of the thrills of birdwatching so precisely.
Sarah,
This was lovely! Agree with Laura: I love the last stanza, especially! And once again, you’ve taught me a new word (I wish I were a tetrachromat!). 🙂
Ah! I, too, learned “tetrachromat” tonight!
Sarah – I could feel the watchful eye of a raptor. That “guardian “ post. The sense of a bird’s spring return is such an uplifting element in the relationship of birds to our sense of what is right in the world. Lovely! Susie
Birds…such a provocative prompt. I considered writing about the hummingbird, that flash of color, pollinator extraordinaire, but then I walked on the beach today. I held my breath as I noticed that silhouette…it wasn’t my familiar snowy egret in the distance. A great blue heron had come to visit and pose as I crept closer, watching, waiting, drinking in the wonder. Thanks Dixie for conjuring this unexpected meeting today.
Heron Blue
Misty tendrils
the softest breath
caresses my arms, musses my hair
exhaling as I inhale familiar saltiness
Not eggshell blue of soft pastels
or jay blue of bright flashes
today is heron blue
almost gray
dark
but not quite
after the sun fades
but before night arrives
In the distance
curved neck, sharp beak
unmistakeable silhouette
I hurry but not too fast
Your silence matches mine
while wave songs play in the distance
You stretch, becoming a roller coaster
of twists and turns
searching, scanning
hunting
patient
In a slow motion
stretch of wings
you lift
effortlessly launched
shape shifting into flight
I watch and wonder
energized by the power of stillness
and the reverence of blue
from sky to sea
to feathers
heron blue
Kim, I love this! The shape of your poem, with its undulating line length, was so evocative of the subject — very cool. We have a great blue heron living on our lake, and your description and impressions were so spot on. Thanks for this tonight, it was lovely!
Hello Kim! There’s nothing like “heron blue.” I love: “shape shifting into flight” and ” energized by the power of stillness.” There’s a blue heron I watch each season on a nearby lake and I’m always entranced.
This poem evokes serenity, Kim. Both in yourself as observer and the blue heron going about its routine. They are magnificent birds!
Kim – I love that you brought us a great blue heron. Especially the “slow motion stretch” into flight. And they do strike a certain silhouette. Cool! Susie
Pecking Order
The seed wreath that hangs below the eaves
entices birds of all sizes.
The little birds peck at the tiniest pods
making holes for better prizes.
Bigger birds are awaiting for the best grab
of sunflower seeds by making a jab
of seeds in the circle ready to drop
to doves at the bottom waiting for that plop.
There is an order of eating. Just waiting in line
for their turn to come each turn to dine.
We can learn from these birds
there’s a place for all.
Take your turn and share
if you’re big or you’re small.
Truer words have never been spoken! I really enjoy watching this pecking order outside my window. You’ve described it perfectly.
Susan, I loved your careful observations and thoughtful insights in this poem! Loved the careful observation of:
“The little birds peck at the tiniest pods
making holes for better prizes.”
And the sound devices of:
“of seeds in the circle ready to drop
to doves at the bottom waiting for that plop.”
Nice insights!
A Duel
By: Emily Yamasaki
That flash
Again
He’s threatening me with
Powerful, beating wings
Thrusting his orange plumage forward
I warn him but
He matches my every swing
I chirp aggressively
I swoop, he swoops
He ducks, I duck
Wing for wing
Chest for chest
A worthy adversary
I challenge him
Meet me here by this
clean window tomorrow
Love the tone of this speaker, Emily. I see the birds as metaphors for co-workers (projecting some here), but really, this image of the speaker taking on “his orange plumage” and then the “He ducks, I duck” makes me think of the game duck, duck, goose. It is playful yet fierce at the same time. The word “clean” in the last line is so clever, gesturing at the owner or some being potentially watching or just that the speaker appreciates a clean window. So great, Emily.
Thank you,
Sarah
Emily, this was so cute! Well, clever and poetic, really — but I laughed out loud at the ending. Loved how my mind went to thinking your were describing a pair of humans, in conflict, in bird terms until the surprise last stanza. Very nice. 🙂
Emily, your poem is so fun! Caused me to laugh out loud at the final lines. We’ll played ?
Emily, I really enjoyed this! I loved being in the perspective of one of the dueling birds. Thank you for writing and sharing this!
Dixie, I want to touch on Choral, because that’s where my inspiration came from. This stanza resonated with me: “To carry within us the morning choral—
the chants of the birds, their call and response,
their trills and outreach from neighborhood to neighborhood,
reverberating songs full of life and hope
on the edge of understanding.”
Your reference of call and response reminds me of my early church days because it was there were the saints did find song “full of life and hope.” Sometimes, I wouldn’t mind to be a bird, being free to glide, zoom, and gaze from above. Sitting, singing, puffing out my chest to let the world know that I am here and an important part of the neighborhood, no matter how annoying some may find me. Thank you for hosting and sharing today! Here’s mine.
Morning Glory
Oh mockingbird!
Your steady home every year is in that one particular bush.
As much as I want it cut down,
I am guilty of peaking to see what lies
in between the stems.
I don’t know why it is your favorite.
Maybe because it’s the one where we pass by so often.
I see you nearby,
listening to the singsongy
wails of my son
or the murmurings of my grumpy
daughter who isn’t a morning person,
but yet, you are. I hear you bright and early…
And my neighbor’s dogs.
A battle for peace and pain.
I wish they could mimic you.
I would much rather awaken to your glorious verses.
Trills, tweets, and twangs of the latest gossip
of who perched on the gate to sing the National Morning Song,
who targeted Carmen, my black Santa Fe,
and who is preparing to build a nest for an upcoming pregnancy.
No scandals here, just a bird’s life.
That concluding line, Jessica — is everything. Love it.
Thank you Sarah!
Jessica, this was glorious and rich. So fun to read because of the layers of meaning and different peeps of meaning and action: you looking into that (intrusive!) bush to muse about the attraction; the perspective of the bird listening to the “songs” of your kids; the “battle for peace and pain” (evocative!); the trills, tweets, and twangs”; and the laugh I got to think of the birds gossiping..and that one troublemaker who targeted your Santa Fe! This was just so rich and beautiful. Thanks!
Thank you so much Wendy! I learning to become more in tune with nature. She tells fun stories!
Jessica,
These lines: “Listening to the singsongy/wails of my son/ or the murmurings of my grumpy/ daughter” made me smile. I’ve had many of those mornings with my kids wishing to hear something more pleasant.
I’m glad you feel my pain Tammy! I just want to listen to what makes me feel happy.
Thanks for your kind words and connections, Jessica. I love the friendship you describe with your mockingbird. He’s almost like a sentinel who watches and wishes you well. Lovely!
You’re welcome Dixie. I’m not sure why all of these animals are in my space. Maybe they are trying to tell me something….
Murmuration
How do they know
when to turn, swirl, spin
in such perfect synchronicity?
Is there a “conductor bird”
who leads?
Or are they just all
so attuned to each other
that they naturally
move as one?
The bigger question is
why?
Why such extravagance,
flagrant beauty
that halts my mind’s
incessant susurration momentarily
as I gaze, awed?
Hello Julie, your alliteration moves with perfect synchronicity too! “my mind’s incessant susurration….” We are all asking lots of questions today through our poems. Smiles!
Julie, how many times have I looked up at the sky in awe asking these same questions? I like that you chose to ask questions since so often when in awe that’s all we can really muster: how? Why?
At home, I see this “swarm” of crows in perfect harmony as they merge from all corners of the city to roost in a grove of trees by the river. So spectacular to watch! I have asked the same question about “Is there a conductor bird” to orchestrate.
Julie! I looked up the word “murmuring” to see if it was a bird term or just a clever term for gossip or talking under one’s breath. Love how poetry invites investigation. So many great words in here characterizing the flock with “extravagance” and “flagrant” and “susurration”! I am going to use susurration all the time now! I am awed!
Peace,
Sarah
Julie,
This is beautiful. I love the ruminations about their “perfect synchronicity” and their “flagrant beauty”–it just pulled me in in a lovely way.
Julie, I love this! Great questions all. How do they do that? And why? And I really enjoy your line ” that halts my mind’s / incessant susurration momentarily.” So good!
Julie – There is almost nothing in the world more beautiful, more mesmerizing than a murmuration. An exquisite phenomenon. Scientists have determined how the birds communicate to make this “scarf in the wind” occur. It’s a bit of mathematics actually. Every bird communicates with , I think, five or six of the fellow fliers right next to it and in turn as each bird does that , then the entire flock moves with that same pattern and thus they seem to float in unison not smashing into each other. It’s the remarkable result of teamwork and communication . I know I haven’t explained this marvel very well but … well, I’m totally rapt with the communication between birds. It’s amazing. And your poem took me there. And my niece reminded me that schools of small fish in the ocean do this as well… moving in those almost geometrically perfect waves of rapid movement and none of them ever whack into each other. Thank you! Murmurations rule!! Who said humans are at the top of the chain? ? Susie
I am struggling quite a bit, but did get emotional while I pushed through it…. Thank you for the challenge!
Birds never called my attention
no matter how often my mami
chirps encyclopedia facts
any time she sees one
Now I find myself enchanted
by the flapping that enchants
my baby boy as he trills,
“¡MAMI, MIRA, un pajarito!”
Together we flutter our own wings
as one flaps overhead,
delight in exclaiming “pío pío”
in response to its singing
We squeal that he could not say
‘Gabi’ for Gabriel, instead aptly
nicknaming his little brother
Águila: strength, tenacity, fearlessness.
Britt, thank you for this poem. It feels like a hug and offers a flutter to our hearts.
My love for birds and all the natural world grew exponentially with my own children’s discoveries of this magic, as you so beautifully write here –
I always hear that parents are a child’s first teacher but I seriously wonder if it is the reverse. I love how this poem made me feel!
I am also enchanted by a little bird that trills “¡MAMI, MIRA, un pajarito!” How lovely!
Brit, this is beautiful and feels powerful and moving at once. Love how quoting the bits of conversation brings it to life even more. And the way that the “bird language” (the chirps, trills, and squeals) highlights the human actions: very cool. Thanks for this beautiful piece!
Britt,
This is both a gorgeous memory of your mom and a beautiful one you’re making w/ your children. I love the code switching. It honors your culture and reminds me how much we need all peoples as we need all the different birds.
This prompt caught me unawares. I rarely write about my natural surroundings so this was a good opportunity to mix it up.
Bird related thoughts
It’s grim to say what we say about two birds
And one stone
When what we mean is supposedly
A good thing.
From here to there might appear to be
As the crow flies
Yet we make no mention of the crow’s clever
Hiding places that
We can’t see and hardly will.
Also
Keep your shoddy insult that refers to size and not
Capacity
Surely a bird brain serves well enough
To avoid
Single stones flung poorly into
The air.
By Ravenclaw, how DID these cliches come into being? Your title brings forward the dry irony here, and I love how you connect back to the stones at the end.
I love this poem! So clever and of course, you are right. I will never repeat such shoddy insults again!
Sherri, I love the way you advocate for birds in these common idioms. Thanks for the fun read!
Sherri, this was so cool! Love your unique take on the prompt. The last stanza very much made me smile. Thanks1.
Sherri – a totally brilliant take on the birdie prompt. You made me smile, and I loved your poem! Especially the “two birds one stone” “grim” reality. Susie
I pay more attention to birds these days. I am not sure why. Maybe it is because life is quieter, and I am in the beginning of my own empty nest stage. I was leaving my school this morning when my husband pointed out a hawk at the top of the pole. That was my inspiration. I hope this poem guides me as I move on to the next stage of my life. I used the Tanka form for this poem.
Majestic hawk perched
resolutely on the pole
surveying the land
good things come to those who wait
snatch the mark and fly away
Hi Heather, I do wish good things to come your way…thank you for expressing this through a tanka.
The tanka form is perfect! I am captivated by hawks, too. I love the hawk’s meaning you captured here –
Heather, I want to be where you are. I find myself caught up in activities, fussing at my children, and trying to get to Point B from Point A that I totally miss God’s glorious creations. I want to be that hawk. These lines: “surveying the land
good things come to those who wait”, is where I strive to be. I have finally come to a point in my life where I am in a good place as far as reaching some goals. I need to wait patiently so I can “snatch the mark and fly away.” Mission accomplished. Thank you for sharing.
Heather,
I can visualize your poem so vividly in my mind. I’ve seen this playout more than once. Thank you for sharing your poem today.
Dixie, I appreciate this prompt so much; I am very fond of birds and have written many times about them. Your poem “Upon My Mother’s Dying” really resonates with me – I have long found solace in special sightings of birds and other animals when a loved one dies.
Just today, I had the gift of seeing a mourning dove who had nested at the top of a ladder!
I’ve attempted to attach a photo, too –
Idyll
you found
idyll
on a ladder’s ledge
sized it up
liked its fit
gathered grass
stems and twigs
settled in
and there you sit
expectantly
I have much to learn
from you, mourning dove
I’m so glad you included a photo, Maureen, and that you snagged the title of “Idyll.” Mourning doves are one of my favorites, as is your poem!
I have much to learn from this bird and poem. What a treasure you found this morning. I wish I stopped to take a picture of the bird that inspired me.
Maureen,
When I saw today’s prompt I knew you’d pen a magnificent poem. You did not disappoint. Like the bird’s nest that has just the right size, the perfect thresh, the idyll spot, your poem hits all the marks. I particularly like the word economy and repetition of sounds in “idyll, ladder, ledge, liked.” I wonder if these are the sounds the bird hears while building.
How wonderful! I love the way birds find homes – or as you say – “sized it up”. Thank you for sharing this!
Aren’t these mourning doves interesting to watch when they nest? They are so persistent and loyal. I remember seeing a dove rebuild her nest over and over again as storms would make the nest fall. Wonderful to see them settle in and wait. Thanks, Maureen.
Maureen – How cool! Those dovies will nest almost anywhere, and how fun that you found her on a ladder, for crying out loud!! I loved these lines especially:
Witty! Cool pic too! Thank you. Susie
Wow, they are not afraid of sitting on a flimsy little nest, are they? I’ve learned a lot about mourning doves this spring. I’m so glad I have two little eggs warming in a nest in my yard. Wow, to learn to find an idyll “on a ladder’s ledge” would be a great lesson to learn. I’m with you in the hope. Thanks for the photo.
I loved the poems you posted, Dixie, and don’t think I’ll ever again see the birds flying above a field on a dark November day without saying a little prayer.
Didn’t understand the lure of birds
till we moved into the big white
house behind the feeder.
Nest and blue bird boxes are everywhere here.
Back by the fence,
there’s even a six door condo long fallen
into disrepair.
Last time I checked, angry squatters
zipped outside flapping
their small-winged chainsaws.
(I haven’t been back since.)
I do most of my watching
from behind the glass,
seldom getting involved—
not even to chase away
the squirrels who also
frequent the feeder.
Who am I to say feathers
are better than bushy tails
when there’s seed enough for all?
Only time I rap at the window,
only time I open the door
is when the blue jay comes squawking,
scattering the chickadees and sparrows,
the cardinals and the house wrens.
Someone has to chase away the bully.
Someone has to say enough.
Someone has to defend the innocent.
Ann, I loved how you said: “the big white / house behind the feeder” as if the feeder was there first! I also loved watching the scene as the bully blue jay pushes all aside for a snack. Those pesky jays! I agree that a squirrel is OK but a blue jay crosses the line! Thanks for sharing.
Yes, Ann. They bully. Don’t be a Jay. The line that was most remarkable to me was this: “till we moved into the big white / house behind the feeder.” I love the centering here and repositioning…our dens and plumbing are secondary to their green-ways and feeders. When I owned my first home in Clarksville, Indiana, I realized how quickly a building can give way to grass, kudzu, squirrels, mice, and birds. I imagine they’d take down a mall within 3 years if we let them. Loved your poem.
Hello Ann! If there’s a “six-door condo,” that place was a bird watcher’s dream!
I love that you intervene when the blue jay comes along bullying – and offer almost “a moral of the story” at the end of your poem, reminding me of Aesop’s fables…I must admit, I laughed at this description of ‘angry squatters’:
Thank you Dixie for this wonderful prompt! With spring in the air, a poem about birds is just perfectly timed. Here is mine about an incident a few years back but one I will never forget!
Blue Jays
I once saw an owl perch in my backyard tree.
I imagine her weary and wary as she seeks
Shelter for the day waiting to continue her journey
Into the night.
Poor owl, so wise in the books did not know that she
Entered a rather hostile situation.
Blue Jays nestled nearby and were not afraid of
Protecting their turf.
Battle cries commence! Shrieeeek! Shrieeek! Like pilots on a mission
Blue jays nip the owl on both sides daring her to retaliate.
But wise old owl just closes her eyes and fluffs her brown speckled brows
She is too tired to deal with ornery young parents and frankly just wants
A nap. She nestles into herself but does not brace herself for
Shrieeeek! Shrieeeek! Shrieeeek!
The attacks are incessant. Unforgiving. Bold. Determined.
But the owl just turns her head with a mild hoot and continues to rest, too weary to care.
By the evening all is quiet again as the owl continues her journey and the birds sleep safe knowing they’ve protected their future youngsters and
perhaps have a story to tell them
When they are old enough.
Jinan I loved your story and somehow the the birds became personified for me, or at least characters in a real drama (I can relate to the old owl, too weary to care–haha!) Very nice.
Hello Jinan! Thank you for portraying this scene. I enjoyed the tired, old owl ignoring the “ornery young parents.” This would be a fun children’s book, I think. “The battle cries commence!” I can see great dialogue ensue.
Jinan, such a fun poetic description of this wild scene! I love envisioning this wise old owl, who
There is so much to see and learn from watching these animal interactions!
This story poem is full of drama and urgency. It reminds me of the time a mockingbird attacked my husband’s family’s Shiba Inu! They sure are fearless.
Dixie, I spent some time today listening for the birds. Thank you for the invitation. Both of your model poems sparked emotions in me from the vivid images. I decided to follow suit with rhetorical questions:
Hummingbird Watching:
What color are you?
Your head is a disco ball–blue light shimmers in all directions,
but now you are green like the morning grass covered in dew.
As you hum near the feeder, you flash a fuchsia sequin collar.
How can you be all of the colors at once?
The sunlight reflects to create a new
image of you–different to everyone.
It is hard to follow you, to track you down,
to get to know you.
Hey Rachelle I really appreciate the poetic truth of color here . . . how you reached for and captured that sense of luminescence as ever-changing. And then thought about how those changes were related to “knowing.” Really nice.
forgot to say–“head is a disco ball” ha–love it.
Rachelle. As I read your poem, a deep “Mmmmm” emanated from my throat. So many hues in birds and in all of us and it’s so hard to track it down and to get to know each one. I love the recognition here that we can be so much all at once. Thank you.
Rachelle, this is such a great description of a hummingbird, particularly the flash of a “fuchsia sequin collar.” We had one nesting outside our home last year and it was such a treat to watch it flit here and there. Thanks for sharing this poem.
I love hummingbirds, but they are so hard to find and watch. The way you described the colors and how they change really reflects their quick movements.
Rachelle, lucky you to be able to watch these beautiful birds! I love your question – “How can you be all of the colors at once?” It is so true of hummingbirds! I suspect that it is very protective for them, making it difficult to follow them, just as you discern.
I just love the color descriptions Rachelle. My favorite line, “As you hum near the feeding, you flash a fuchsia sequin collar” reminds me of a fashion show, but instead of taking off and putting on, there are many wardrobes firmly attached, changing with the position of the sun. This is beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
I fell in love with the first line. So beautiful! I wish I could get a closer look at a hummingbird. But I suppose that’s part of their charm and beauty!
I love this observation. I have never thought about maybe the hummingbird is many colors at once. You describe the color changes so well. I need to sit still a little longer and watch to see if I can come up with an answer to “what color are you?”
Rachelle,
This is such a wonderfully spot-on description of the gravity defying hummingbirds. I love the metaphors you create to describe their colors–they are amazing little gifts from nature.
Rachelle,
You have perfectly captured what it is like watching a hummingbird. The move so quickly and the sun reflects yet a different color with each flap of its wings. Thank you for sharing today.
Rachelle— I really liked the sense of prism here. All those colors at once in a dance with the sunlight. I love the close observation! Wonderful! You did the hummer proud! Susie
today I am your
Home Depot
backyard barn swallow,
how many trips
back and forth
back and forth
does it take?
you tug tug tug a
scraggle of failed plastic
lawnnetting,
pull it up from my yard,
ours,
nest-walling materials
Aisle 11
wing off quick to your project,
ours,
under one roof.
Keven, I really like how you intertwined the two narratives: barn swallow and yard work. The use of “ours” creates a feeling of community.
Love the repeat “back and forth”
Kevin,
You’ve crafted a fabulous metaphor comparing the “backyard barn swallow” to someone embarking on a home improvement project and making numerous trips to Home Depot. This resonates w/ me given the many projects we complete in our home and our redundant trips to home improvement stores.
Hi Kevin, this is an episode I’ve seen while waiting in the long spring lines of the Depot. Your words captured these business birds perfectly.
Ubiquitous. Universal, these Home Depot warriors. What do you mean today? Aren’t you always backyard barn swallow?
Those swallows really are involved in the most ordinary ‘bird work’ of the yard, I think, which fits so beautifully with your opening
I love how you captured the parallels of the back and forth, one thing after another, just as we do at that illustrious hardware store.
“today I am your Home Depot” –loving that sense of opportunity shopping from the backyard barn swallows.
Dixie, thank you for this prompt. I really enjoyed both of your poems and the idea of getting outside, but this made me think of the birds that live in our imagination, too. It made me think of childhood obsessions, the animals we identify with, and what that says about what we value, and hopefully still do.
Macaw Girl
As a kid, I loved the encyclopedia page with all the tropical birds
Colored pencil vibrant birds in motion, all together – regardless of species
cooing, preening, soaring, hunting, resting, caring for young.
My imagination longed for macaws, I hung a stuffed animal parrot above my bed
Adding primary color to my dreams and protecting me from fear of flying or falling.
I spiced up a secondhand phone with parrot stickers & read by the light of a toucan lamp.
It made me wistful to see them at a zoo or a pet store, sitting still & sad-eyed & sterile.
I longed to trek through the jungles and see that vibrant blue floating freely above me
Finding its place to settle amongst its song-filled family in the bright wet leaves.
Emily, I really connected with your poem and appreciate how you thought of the birds of our imagination as well. As much as I am in awe of parrots and macaws, I also recognize what you mean by “sad-eyed and sterile” and wanting to experience them in their natural habitat. Also, how we always connect birds with freedom and independence and what that means when we cage them literally and imaginatively!
Emily, your discussion about imagination, childhood obsessions, and values really made me think of some prompts to journal about. Thank you for that and for your poem. I really liked this image sandwiched in stanza 2 “Adding primary color to my dreams and protecting me from fear of flying or falling.”
Hi Emily! Wow. From the “encyclopedia page” to “its song-filled family in the bright wet leaves” takes us to the reality of freedom (a notion that has come up in several of today’s writings) and how we yearn not only to have it, but for our animal friends to have it too.
Emily – These images are so dear… “parrot above my bed”… sweet! Those moments as a child enamored with the macaw evolving into the wish for the real tropical trip to see that color fly above your head. Dang, that’d be so awesome! Those “colored pencil” colors… yes! You’ve offered a slice of your growing up that takes me back to the kiddo in school… you were and still are precious. Love, Susie
Just to be…
Just to be winged,
to flash that boa,
sashay before the backdrop;
just to train an eye
to a flutter in the grassy distance,
half an acre away;
just to tuck my entire head
under my limb
to shutter my eyes;
just to warm a clutch of eggs
with my fanny in one settling curtsy
upon my nest of loved ones;
just to dance wildly, unabashedly
in the path of a lover
till it culminates in a cloacal kiss;
just to bob whimsically
on roiling waters and wretched tides,
plunge fathoms to the depths for mollusk ambrosia;
just to soar on thermal currents
among trusted confederates,
wing to wing with my compeer;
just to know that my tears
like your tears,
cleansing of the unwanted;
just to sing in note-worthy pitch and tones
with trills and lilts
that stop all the noise of human blather;
just to find my inner bird,
and lift to the heavenly cycles:
in glorious transformation!
by Susie Morice, April 9, 2022©
Susie, I love the repetition of “just” and I imagined every stanza from the sashay to the tears to the glorious transformation, so appreciate the movement both literal and metaphor in your poem!
Susie, what splendid visual and tonal imagery from top to bottom. I love the anaphora of “just to” at the start of each stanza–it emphasized a mood of longing. Thank you for sharing this.
Susie,
So many possibilities in those two words, “just to” and the verbs that give them flight: be, train, tuck, dance, bob, soar, know, sing find. Of v cb purse, those w/ in each verse are wonderful. The lines I love most are
“just to warm a clutch of eggs
with my fanny in one settling curtsy
upon my nest of loved ones;”
These lines comfort me by reminding me about what matters most in my world. I needed that today, and so I thank you for this amazing poem.
Dang, Susie! Just to enjoy the ride of the language here…. would be enough! You really packed all of the joy of birds in here, each motion and snapshot so clear and action-filled. I love the soaring on the thermal currents “among trusted confederates / wing to wing with my compeer” and “cloacal kiss” – ha! Awesome and definitely elevating our human blather. Fun and beautiful!
Hi Susie, this reads like an ode that senses the inner desires we have, but that we see by observing nature. I love every stanza and your word choices (sashay; flutter/shutter; fanny). The stanza with “thermal currents” reminds me of dreams where I have flown–perhaps many of us have had that dream.
Susie,
This poem’s use of language rose far above “human blather.” I loved imagining every scene with you as you wrote and I loved the repetition of “just to,” as if you would be happy “just to” experience these things once in your life. Thanks for sharing this poem.
You create a compelling list of possibilities at once fantastic and very real. I think my favorite lines are about warming a clutch of eggs – the word choice and image you create are superb.
“just to tuck my entire head under my limb to shutter my eyes” –I so love the the just to refrain throughout the piece. Definitely an ode to birds! Thanks for this.
Only YOU, Susie, can make me want to “find my inner bird…” and turn that into something glorious!
Gosh, you have given me reasons to pause and wonder at the marvels of birds’ lives. Beautiful images, perfect words, lovely poem!
❤️
Oh, SUSIE! I am so glad I searched out your poem tonight. I love the lusty tone! Line after line celebrated the flash, the sashay, the flutter! And then this, my favorite:
just to warm a clutch of eggs
with my fanny in one settling curtsy
upon my nest of loved ones
“my fanny in one settling curtsy” was divine! YES! I want to be that mother bird!
I did not know the term “cloacal” before tonight, but my new favorite phrase is “cloacal kiss”! How perfect!
And this was wonderful:
just to soar on thermal currents
among trusted confederates,
wing to wing with my compeer
You touched my “inner bird”!
<3
Susie, wow! What a joyous celebration of all the beautiful things birds do! I particularly liked your clever word choice throughout, but adore your end “just to find my inner bird”. Yes, wouldn’t it be wonderful as wonderful as those chickens you so brilliantly describe “settling curtsy/upon my nest of loved ones;”
Imagine hearing a wild chorus of bird song now applauding your outstanding poem!
So fitting a prompt, Dixie, for this time of year here in Michigan. And your poem is utterly beauuutiful for me today. That one long line had me envisioning those birds flying overhead. I am definitely using your poem in my art journal! Thank you!
Spring Awakens to Song
The shift to spring
is heralded
by morning birdsong
Those cozy quiet
winter mornings
snow-covered silence
windows shut tight
give way to warmer days
sooner sunrises and
warbling migrators’ return
No more sleeping in
first songs begin
just before
the break of dawn
I welcome warm breezes
and the hallelujah chirruping
that readies me to rise
each waking day
Awake and alive
I sing my own song
Awake and alive
Denise – I really enjoy the “hallelujah chirruping that readies me to rise” among many other lines. You capture the transition from the sleepy, silent winter “snow-covered silence” into the birds’ migration home. You honor both winter and spring and I feel the gratitude and joy these songs give you. Thanks for this beauty!
Hi Denise, I will enjoy imagining your art journal! Thank you for the reminder of “sooner sunrises” and “no more sleeping in…” Wonderful poem.
I have heard that hallelujah chirruping in the mornings; it truly does make one awake and alive. “I sing my own song” So beautiful!
Birds of Comfort
By Nancy White
That day we motored out on the boat,
The mourning boat we’ve chartered twice before,
each time carrying sacred ashes to their resting place in the sea.
This time we were carrying the ashes of our son, our only son, forever our son, Philip.
It was late afternoon
and as we said our goodbyes, hugged, cried,
and turned to head back to the harbor,
The seagulls began to follow us,
First a few, then a giant flock,
Escorting us back, hovering over us,
a comforting presence.
“We are with you always,” they said.
They were all there.
Philip, Mom, Dad, Grandma,
and all those who’d gone before, saying,
“We’re here!”
We just knew it and felt them all with us.
And as the sun set in a glorious display
the birds circled and hovered,
beautifully silhouetted with the orange and red and magenta backdrop of sky,
“Goodbye,” we said.
We got in our car,
and noticed only one car, our’s, had been the lucky recipient of bird droppings.
We turned to each other laughing,
and simultaneously said,
“Philip!”
A heartwarming piece that reminds us that “Goodbye” isn’t always “Goodbye.” Nature has an interesting way of reminding us that.
Nancy – my heart! On this trip that is so solemn, you manage to bring us the beauty here. The giant flock, the comforting presence of gulls in a heartbreaking moment is beautiful. This is my favorite stanza:
And as the sun set in a glorious display
the birds circled and hovered,
beautifully silhouetted with the orange and red and magenta backdrop of sky,
“Goodbye,” we said.
The imagery of a sunset and saying goodbye. And then, as is so often the case, laughter opens us up after a moment of sadness. I love the bird dropping moment at the end. Thank you, Nancy! Just big, big hugs to you.
Thanks, Emily! ❤️
I agree with Jairus–this is a heartwarming piece with a message of, “We are alright…you be alright too.” And the flair of humor at the end seems to keep you all together even if you are headed to different homes.
“the lucky recipient of bird droppings” I love this surprise at the end and the warmth in the remembering of beloved family.
Nancy,
I am so sorry for your loss. Your lines “the birds circled and hovered/silhouetted with orange and red and/magenta backdrop of sky/Goodbye” were beautiful and heartwrenching. I love the message Philip sent!
Birds over Baghdad
It’s too hot for songbirds to fly
The beams from the sun inhibit their flight
Carrion eaters are the only beings in sight
Ripping and clawing at any corpse they find
These creatures have learned the fact of life
We are bound to the environment where we reside
Jairus – thanks for this reminder that all birds have a part to play in the world. There is truth and motion in each line of this – each line packs a punch, and each line layers onto the image of a hot, desolate moment, that is still a part of the environment. I like that you chose an unexpected type of bird intelligence. Thank you for this offering today. I really enjoyed it.
Jairus, almost a hellish environment seems to unfold here through your choice of language: “Carrion eaters…ripping…clawing…corpse.” Takes me the bounds of hell.
Survival means adapting to our environment and you capture that fundamental truth here with rich descriptive language.
bird perched on a windy morning
we think birds are free,
but your hunched-in wings betray
the burdens of flight
Paul,
Your economy of diction and the way your words force us to confront our assumptions about birds speaks to me. “Hunched-in” is concise and precise. That compound word makes me think about how changing one word impacts meaning. It works so well w/ “burdens of flight.” It really must be work for birds to fly so far and so long. ‘Preciate having my thinking pushed today.
Thanks for the generous comment! Part of the fun with haiku (a go-to form for me) is trying to be precise and working through how a small change will necessarily make a big difference. “held in” vs “hunched-in”, “your eyes and [single-syllable word] wings betray…” — the possibilities are endless! A great classroom thing too: make a change, talk about the difference it makes, what it adds or takes away, and so on.
Hi Paul, I’m thinking of what “free” might mean…and wondering how far birds may have flown when we see them in this state.
Hi Dixie! First, thank you so much for the prompt. It was fun to put together a short piece this morning! As you note in your comment, “free” is an external perception, a projection of perceived shortcomings. Humans can’t fly, and so have always thought of how great it would be. But there is a superficiality to that, of course; things that look great on the outside aren’t always what they seem.
wow. seeing the world in a different way today. So much said in so few words! Hunched-in wings betray the burdens of flight. Beautiful!
Thank you!!
A Little Bird Guide
A virus rampaged across the planet
and Earth’s vibrations stilled
A world paused to breathe
nature unfolded beneath
A symphony resonated
a vibrant palette generated
damaged souls healed
A little red bird appeared on my path
I followed him on a journey of discovery
to reconnect, to revitalize, to recovery
The song he sang, a joyful chirp to life & hope
with Nature’s music the device
a joyful tune to stamp out darkness and fear
I followed a little bird here
Such a powerful piece, the redbird is a way of life and death- but most importantly reincarnation. I have read this guide multiple times and every time I realize another path. Thanks for sharing such an amazing piece.
I love the hopeful image of following the little red bird. Nature has so much joy and hope to give if only we slow down and observe. Well done!
I love the way this red bird represented hope and also how birds do tend to bring us joy and “stamp out darkness and fear”. I watched many of those Dodo Youtube videos and there were so many with wild cockatiels or other birds coming and enjoying balconies and humans befriending them or perhaps the other way around. All to say, as long as we have connections to nature, we are never truly alone.
Hi Tammi, “I followed a little bird here.” So much hope we can find if we are looking. Thank you for your poem.
Tammi, I love your last line, “I followed a little bird here.” It resonated with me because oftentimes we look for the fanfare, a big bang, or a knight in shining armor to save the day. When sometimes it’s the simplest things, people, or animals. Birds are heroes, they are symbols of freedom, and they carry the good news. And in your poem, birds lead us to where we long to be. Thank you for this!
Spring
By Mo Daley 4-9-22
Spring in the Midwest
means rain, snow, and wind
and an invitation
to the Eastern Towhee
to scratch and scrabble
under my burning bushes
*I love this prompt. As I was staring out the window contemplating it, a fox sparrow landed under my feeder. I’ve never had one in my yard before. Serendipity!
Hi Mo–so glad the fox sparrow found you. I’m pondering the “burning bushes.” Thank you!
Love the use of sound in this poem! The “i”s in “Spring” and “Midwest”, and of course “scratch and scrabble” (scrabble is a great word!) and “burning bushes”. In a shorter poem, these sound links really add shape and poetic quality! Awesome!
Mo,
Surely the fox sparrow felt your spirit celebrating their winged friends. Your use of alliteration in “scratch and scrabble” and “burning bushes” invites me to hear the hum and whir on the birds’ songs. Lovely!
I love the different birds in the poems. I looked this one up. I love “scratch and scrabble.”
I’m duly impressed by folks who can name bird species exactly. I like the way you usher in the Eastern Towhee with the shifting weather of “Spring in the Midwest”.
Ah, the towhee! I love this. Catching a look at this creature just made me smile … delighted in your good fortune. Hugs, Susie
Hi Dixie, thank you for the prompt today. Your second poem, especially moved me – the fact that it’s a poem in the form of a single question, and such a powerful, hypothetical one. Thank you.
I will preface this by saying I am not a bird lover. I rarely read poetry about birds or anything about birds. I don’t know much about them, but of course this experience did something to me. I don’t think I will become a bird lover but I am in awe of what took place on my balcony.
Planting a Pigeon
My husband planted capsicum seeds in a pot
and put it out on our twelfth floor apartment balcony trough.
It grew rapidly until a bird came along with other plans
of destroying it, eating it –
we thought it only wanted food, but those smart birds, right?
My husband’s green thumb hated that bird
and soon there was no longer anything but dirt.
Then one day there was an egg;
I thought my husband was playing a joke on me and placed one of our eggs from the fridge in the pot,
so similar to the ones he cracks and cooks for me.
But one day there was no longer an egg,
just a squab in the nesting pot.
But no mother
and I was worried.
Each day I would look out at *him*,
in the still sometimes 10*c Kuwait winter
dreading the day I would find him dead.
But each day I looked out, he cranked his eyes in my direction and stared very alive,
although I didn’t know how he was surviving.
Then one day another bird was there.
It looked like it was eating the squab’s head, like a snake about to swallow its prey.
(oh no! Oh no!!! LET GO!)
Until it let go and he was ok,
craning his neck to receive more.
The next problem I worried myself with:
how will he learn to fly?!
How can he even practice?
One wrong move and he could fall twelve stories.
Then one day he was out of his nest
fluttering those wings,
mimicking the others.
Every day after work I would rush to the window to see if he was still there.
I hoped that I could catch him fly away *successfully* – the human in us, wanting to know, wanting to be part, wanting.
And one day he was gone,
after almost two months of watching him, worrying, feeling maternal.
I looked on the ground around the apartment building, no dead birds.
Wherever he went, I hope he made it.
Hi Angie! Your title is ideal for the experience you share. There’s another poem below that shares a similar observation. I love the part about the “human in us, wanting to know, wanting to b a part, wanting.” Thank you for sharing this 11th story poem!
I liked the ending because it really speaks to how we observe animals in nature. We watch them for as long as they decide to stay. We develop a strange bond and then, one day they’re gone. We give our wishes for them to have a long and fruitful life, always keeping an eye out in case they ever return.
Hi Dixie, thank you for this prompt as I sit in the morning light and listen to bird songs. HOWEVER, you’ll understand from my poem how I’m feeling. ?
Your second poem resonated with me because I have often wondered if our loved ones are showing up in various ways or through other creatures. “bits of souls in transition” such beautiful wording!
I wrote three haiku today.
Feathered Fears
Don’t blame the movie
I loved the horror of it
Absurd fears are real
I do not love birds
Hummingbirds are somewhat cute
I acknowledge them
I am bird-phobic
God’s magnificent creatures
Sing songs to me too
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/9/22
Stacey- I am bird-phobic too so I really connected with your poem.
Hi Stacey, your trio of feathered fears is appreciated! I’m sure you’ll have some avid readers in the group! Smiles!
Stacey, when I read the prompt this morning, I immediately thought of you, since you’ve mentioned this in comments on some of my poems. I love how you approached the poem. Your last stanza really spoke to me.
“I acknowledge them” HAHAHA! Awesome.
From afarrrrrrr!!! LOL! Thanks!
Stacey,
Fabulous title. ❤️❤️❤️ the allusion to Hitchcock. Hummingbirds are cute! I’m omitting the qualifier on purpose. Your poem reminds me of riding my bike to the post office in 5th grade, and a bird shitting on my leg as I rode along. In that moment, I did not like birds, and I’ve had an irrational fear of a repeat performance from a flying bird.
Stacey, I immediately thought of you when I read Dixie’s prompt, wondering where you’d go with it de. You gave us that clear voice, and I’m delighted. Your “absurd fears” is so true… your discomfort with birds is every bit as real as my utter terror at drop-offs in the mountains… scary mountain roads and birds… well, it’s real. Love you, my friend. Susie
Birds, sometimes,
get a bad rap.
We say someone
is feather-brained
or a loon or a quack;
you might call
someone
a chicken
or a turkey
or flat-out
cuckoo.
You might
quip that birds
of a feather
fart together
if you’re talking
about Bassian
Thrushes or that
they share a name
with an infection
of the mouth
and throat or
genitals.
And although,
the “real” Big
Bird didn’t
school Cruz
in a Twitter
feud, he could
have.
So disrespect
our avian friends
at your peril.
(Keep in mind,
though,
that crows
come in murders
and actively
seek revenge
on humans who
have wronged
them.)
__________________________________________
Thank you, Dixie, for your engaging prompt and wonderful mentor poems today! (Your second poem wondering about your mother’s passing and those “bits of souls / in transition” on “dark November days” was simply lovely!)
Scott—the murder of crows may come for you about the Bassian thrushes stanza!! My middle school teacher mind loved it!!
It’s always the wit for me, Scott.
“And although,
the “real” Big
Bird didn’t
school Cruz
in a Twitter
feud, he could
have.
Nice.
Oh yea, nice idea to start the poem off with the many bird insults…hadn’t realized there are so many!
AMAZING. Bravo!!!
Hi Scott, I love the voice in your poem and am always a fan of quotation marks and parentheses to bring voice forward. You gathered many sentiments shared here today in our community and made me smile with murders and farts and feuds. Thanks!
Scott, I am shivering. LOL! I promise I don’t disrespect them. Please tell me they won’t seek revenge just because I fear them.
You’re the most entertaining poet!
Such a hoot! Oh, wait, is that disrespecting those that hoot? ???
Scott,
This is so clever. I love the puns and like Bryan, marvel at the Ted cruz-Big Bird Twitter feud. I’m always available for trolling TC. I’m thinking about some folks here who don’t love birds and hoping the crows don’t come for them! I really need to work on my humorous takes w/ poetry prompts; I’m pretty good at writing humorous prose but have a default serious button w/ poetry. This poem certainly sets the standard for lightness and fun.
I like the broad view of bird wisdom and the humor, Scott!! Thank you for sharing this!
I want to have a corvid as a friend. Until then I will be satisfied with a crow’s editorial “Caw!”
A crow
high
in a cedar,
silent, bright eyes
surveilling,
seeking,
shiny,
notices me
hugging my wife goodbye.
She drives away
and I stand,
observed,
in a freak sleet blizzard,
an April fool.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
Flap! Flap! Flap!
Those crows are observant, aren’t they? What is it about them that rattles us- their size? Color? Sounds?
Terry,
Love your depiction of the crow surveilling the scene and the idea that creatures in nature are watching us.
We also had that same April Fool’s joke in Cleveland!
And crows have such a miraculous memory, so having been observed as a kind human, hopefully they will remember you as such. Not that they’ll trust you any more, but, I always think it’s a good idea to stay in their favor. And, yes – freakin’ freezing here in Bay City, Michigan. Not funny at all! Caw!
I’m also a corvid lover, Terry, especially ravens. They are such clever creatures, and of course there is “nevermore.”
Dixie, your prompt and poem samples evoked a memory of the passing of one of the Mother’s of the Church and love of cardinals. Traditionally, out of love and respect, we call the senior women in our congregation “Mother” or “Mom”.
The Cardinal Call
The calendar hung to the left on the wall
That November when she got the call
Lying with pillows plumped behind her head
This is what she may have said
The skyway is clear. The time is here
He’s come for me. It’s time to go
Be of good cheer. It’s Dad you know
Who’s waiting for me over there.
The cardinal was Mom’s favorite bird
Brilliantly red against the snow, no chirping sound we heard
It perched primping on the porch post, not at all like a ghost
More like a welcome escort from the heavenly host
Goodbye, she said to her family there
She points out the window at the red on the snow
See, he’s here. He’s come. It’s time to go
Who of us really can know?
In her 85th year, in the winter she went
That cardinal may have truly been sent
To escort her to her heavenly home
This terra firma no longer to roam
(Picture adapted from https://tinyurl.com/mkfa8x7p)
Hi Anna, so beautiful. Indeed, “who of us can really know?” At my mother’s burial, my sister and I saw a woodpecker land on a tree right in front of us. My mother constantly fed the woodpeckers in her yard. A fitting tribute.
Anna — Beautiful poem. Loved this stanza: “Brilliantly red against the snow, no chirping sound we heard/It perched primping on the porch post, not at all like a ghost/
More like a welcome escort from the heavenly host” and the representation of the bird as a heavenly guide. I also was thinking of birds as guides in my poem today.
This is so beautiful, Anna, and similar in meaning to the seagulls poem I wrote today. I do think there’s something about birds escorting our loved ones home.
Hello Dixie!
Thank you for sharing this prompt and your poetry. I was so excited to read that you are from nearby in Arkansas (hello from Cabot).
It’s so funny to me that this poem comes today when I just restocked the birdseed for my feeder. I took your advice and spent some time watching the birds eat from it this morning, before I was reminded of a thought I had recently when the debate came again about getting rid of the time change for daylight savings. I recalled having the thought that no matter what we do with our clocks, birds are always going to come out with the light is out. Why can’t we be smart like the birds in that sense? That’s what inspired me to craft the following sonnet:
A Sonnet for the Wisdom of Birds
Every year, as our clocks are forward drawn
in spring to save our time and set it right,
we see the birds will still be singing on —
gleeing and greeting each new day’s soft light.
They have not a thought to our childish terms,
worry not to Spring Forward or Fall Back.
Birds will all wake and rise to eat their worms,
yet somehow we think it is they that lack.
When we will, every year, the same debate
of whether to keep this biannual routine
always find the excuse needed to wait
and not even attempt for some new scheme.
How foolish to think that we can define
when the birds have perfected: rise and shine.
Hello Erica! Great to meet you! I have some former students from Cabot who teach there. I love the focus of this sonnet on time and the when. Beautiful.
Erica — I really enjoyed the message of this poem. The wisdom of nature and birds really comes through and you are right. It really doesn’t matter what humans do with the clocks.
Erica, this is my favorite line from your poem: “gleeing and greeting each new day’s soft light.”
I can use it to describe the ducks dashing around out my back windows. They seem to be “gleeing” indeed. Remind me of middle schoolers joshing around in the halls between classes!
I really like this poem Erica ~ you’ve truly gleaned wisdom from our small winged friends We always think we know better…while the birds sing on!
Kudos! I find sonnets very difficult to write. This one was fun to read. When will we learn? I love your rhyming couplet at the end.
Honestly, the topic this morning made me cringe. I have a fear of birds. I have never thought of them as magical in any sense.But, I decided to take on this new perspective and see if I could see this intelligence. Looking out my window, I saw birds in various groupings sitting on wires strung across the sky.
A staff stretches across the sky
An electricity pole declares the beginning of the composition
Black dots broken by open spaces
balance on the lines in triplets, pairs or ones.
Are they composing the rhythms and chords of their
bird song melody?
Cathy, the interweaving of musical vocabulary in this poem is wonderful, especially in light of your fear.
Hi Cathy–I wondered when I planned this prompt if someone out there would feel this way about birds, so I VERY MUCH appreciate this writing! I love how you see this image and ask this very meaningful question. The notion of awareness comes forward here again! Many thanks.
Lovely images here described so vividly and love the question that brings it all together!
Beautiful, Cathy. You may have some “fear of birds”, but you obviously have watched the carefully. To be able to use their sitting on wires as a metaphor for writing takes some creativity and insight. Thanks for sharing.
“the trills and outreach from neighborhood to neighborhood”–this is what wakes me up on weekend mornings. I’ll write about my relationship with the neighborhood birds today:
On schooldays
I am up before dawn
before birdsong
dressed for work, I
scoop up birdseed
carry it outside,
around the house
to the feeder hanging
from our children’s old
playscape
Rarely do they visit
before I leave for work.
On weekends
I sleep in a bit
fill the feeder just
as the sun fully rounds
the horizon
and watch, from
the kitchen window,
the morning feast.
A cardinal pair
mourning doves
European starlings
and the raucous bluejays
(I bang the window
to scare away
marauding squirrels)
chickadees
house finches
Bewick’s wrens
and my favorites,
the little tufted titmouse.
Sometimes
I can sit on my patio
and they will visit
mere feet away
having learned that
I mean them no harm–
Soul-filling, that trust.
My favorite word/phrase is the end,”soul-filling, that trust…” which so many of us crave from the animal life we are in connection with. Each stanza leads us to this pensive ending. I love that craving for this special communion you’ve so eloquently shared. Thank you.
.
cmargoc, what a relaxing scene you paint. Sitting on the patio as bird skitter about near you. They know to suck up to a feeder who feeds them in their feeder. 🙂 What fun to read the “stories” of birds. Thanks for sharing.
My jaw just dropped at that final line. Yes! I also wrote about the ‘waking’ life with birds. I love how you also make note of our lives shifting around their waking hours, smart birds, not up before the dawn!
Dixie, “bits of souls in transition” will be how I see the murmuring of skies from this point on…you’ve offered a ‘soprano signature’ I’ll never forget Beautiful, as is/was this prompt. Thank you.
Birds of a Feather
~b.r. crandall
It goes back to Lois,
sitting on a back porch
listening to frogs
and naming the wonders
(before she became
a cardinal to remind us
we’ll never know).
“Don’t be a Jay, Crandall.”
Blue feathers bully cats.
She moved in one summer,
Lois’s sister, after a house sold
and the ocean wasn’t ready yet.
“Do you have a woodpecker?”
she asked. I wake up in slow motion
and with snark.
“No. It’s flesh like every other fellas.”
I did have woodpeckers, though,
northern flickers feasting
fiendishly on lush larvae –
carpenter bees laboring and lumber-jacking
into rotting wooden frames.
First came the buzz-nuggets,
then came the wooden regurgitation.
It never took long for peckers to follow,
drilling the home
into swiss cheese (caviar, I suppose).
(I buried one who fancied himself Narcissus.
He wouldn’t leave my bay window alone).
And I’ve taught chickadees,
swam with ducks
and spread ecological literacy
with black-capped herons along creeks
where bears once ate yucca.
I’ve picked blueberries
with cedar waxwings,
cursed at Danish magpies
and chickens who were
as stubborn as the sun
that never set.
She was my
witness
when Eagle
found his nest.
Together we pray
to Lois, a memorial,
whenever we host burials
on her patio.
We listen to frogs
and name wonders
along the Sound.
The
eye
of
the
sparrow
is
my
alarm
clock.
We
can
only
hope
for
white
cranes,
the sandpipers.
Time in a sparrow’s eye
is different than
in the black button titmouse pupil.
Very different.
Love. Lois. And how she’s now a cardinal. I’m wondering who the “we” is on the back porch now. The last two stanzas wrapped me into the hands of this poem and enlivened it even more. Thanks for this, B.
So bawdy! Hahahahaha! Why I’ve never heard that woodpecker joke is beyond me – though no one has ever posited that question to me. I don’t know how you can jam-pack a poem with so many images and references and still have it feel so focused and grounded, but this does. Favorite lines are these:
It never took long for peckers to follow,
drilling the home
into swiss cheese (caviar, I suppose).
(I buried one who fancied himself Narcissus.
He wouldn’t leave my bay window alone).
And the fact that I know a Lois whose home is at the trailhead near the bird sanctuary where we ride our bikes – I couldn’t get the image of her out of my head and wonder if she will still be with us each new season. Lovely read today – thank you!
Oooh, what a wonderful prompt today, Dixie! Thank you! Your poem about your mother’s passing was so vivid (“dark November days”) and I love to think of birds that way.
We have been watching the birds at the feeder from our kitchen window all week–each day brings a new one to the mix. For this poem, I asked my family what their favorite birds were and why, and then added in a few of my own.
Decisions, decisions
I sometimes wish I were an oxpecker
riding along on the back of a towering rhino
defended through friendship
But, to be an ostrich racing
using my God-given abilities and always
making lemonade out of lemons
Or, maybe a playful penguin
flying through gelid water
acrobatics and antics all day
Though, imagine the electrifying thrill
of a peregrine’s winged dive
from the top of the steep rock
No, a hummingbird living a tiny life
with my face ever in the flowers
and feathers a rainbow
Wait, then there’s the cowbird
letting others bear the nurturing burden
while she is free (as a bird)
Although, the steadfast owl is surely blessed
fending and feeding her young and
watching them thrive
Alas, let me be the cardinal
staying put in the winter
a beacon of cheer in the snow
I love how each stanza features a different bird and its uniqueness.
Hi Chiara…This one, no this one, but what about this one? It’s wonderful we have so many beautiful options to consider. Thank you for bringing this to us today!
OMGosh, Chiara! What a great collaborative approach to this poem! I could see doing this with students in my classroom to get them to develop specific details, work on condensing language, and – the big bonus – using transitional language to start their stanza – and not having any of it repeat. This is fantastic. Love so many of the playful perspectives included here, not just statements of fact, but perceptions of these magnificent creatures in our lives. Thank you!
This morning I thought I misheard
But indeed it was a bird!
Initially, I was blurred
Focus finally occurred
I woke up by this, stirred
Not speaking a word
Oh, the song that I heard
From this glorious bird!
Transcendence is the word
My mood ultimately transferred
Hi Jennifer, I enjoyed reading your poem aloud and hearing the nuanced rhyme. From stirred to transferred, from glorious to transcendence. Lovely.
A bird song wake up alarm beautifully stated through rhyme.
It’s always better to be waken up by something from nature instead of an alarm clock. My mood is also transferred when awaken by the song of a bird.
I love this, Jennifer! Almost like a rap. Your use of rhyme and descriptive words like “glorious” and “transcendence” make us feel the mood shifting. Nice!!
Birdsong is often so loud and profound around my home that I stop just to listen – it does transform one’s mood, almost instantly. Your rhyme captures this transcendence so delightfully!
Hi Jennifer,
I’m glad that you are having a pleasant experience with birds. I have some that are a nuisance to me. They are always building their nest on my roof and are extremely noisy.
https://youtu.be/t54hF5hDVyw
We live on the Bayou Teche and have a Ring doorbell camera inside a wood duck nesting box. On Monday the baby ducks jumped from the house, 24 hours after hatching. It’s a miracle every time. I’m working on a book of tanka about the wood duck nesting process.
For the First Time
Feathers touch water;
instinct tells chicks swim, swim, swim–
surprise times 13!
Ripples of tiny duck feet
choo-choo-train across bayou.
Margaret! This brings the image to me so immediately of those beautiful moments when we go to the lake for a walk and see the tiny ducks in their choo-choo trains. The power of instinct comes to life in your poem. Let me know when that book is out!
The picture is exquisite–and the choo-choo train across the bayou? perfect image!
It’s so easy to imagine this family of ducks reading your words, especially that choo choo train of ducks. I’m left with a smile.
and I can’t wait to see this book!
Your words create such a vivid image in my mind. I smiled as I envisioned 13 little ducks choo-choo-training across the water. I always look for the one that is a little behind.
Margaret, I have a new way to easy my active brain before falling asleep now. I am going to picture “Ripples of tiny duck feet / choo-choo train[ing] across the bayou.” Thank you.
A perfect tanka and perfect image ot the line of chicks on the water, Margaret. THIRTEEN-! Exponential joy!
Thank you, Dixie! I especially loved the lines: To carry within us these staves with messages of tenor throats and soprano signatures. And I do believe that birds are “bits of souls in transition” – brilliantly said. Your poems reminded me of my poem – Common Warbler.
Common Warbler
A bird – dusty drown
Barred wings,
Bright yellow breast,
A perfect display of colors.
She’s lying dead near the garage door.
I stand over her staring at her lifeless beauty.
Goldfinch? Oriole?
No, just a common warbler,
I find some garden gloves and a trowel,
Gently pick up the golden warbler,
And walk across the street down the hill
To the woods at the bank of the river.
I dig a deep hole underneath a magnolia,
Place the bird in and cover her with dirt,
I find stones to place over her grave,
Flat gray ones, piled in a circular pattern,
A testament that she was here,
Flew free for a while,
As I return up the hill,
I begin to sing.
Oh my. My hands went to my heart as I read this. Reverence. Joy for what was once alive. Honor for the energy and song that continues. Bless you.
Thank you so much. Your kind words mean the world to me.
My heart broke a little, but your poem beautifully illustrates reverence for life and its cycles; the ending uplifting, breaking the sadness. It gave me a wistful smile.
Really appreciate the shifts in this poem. Four lines of description that use alliteration nicely, then a clear, straightforward “thud” statement. The shift from “common warbler” to “golden warbler” indicates a deeper perception/appreciation, which sets up the transfer of song from the bird to the speaker in the last two lines. Terrific!
Thank you!
Oh no. I’ve often thought how rare it is to find a dead bird, considering how many birds there are. That you should sing after burying the warbler is such a loving tribute – even if reading your lines sliced off a whole section of my heart.
Thank you. Fran!
I LOVE how you describe the placement of the stones, “a testament that she was here” and how as you ascended the hill you began to sing. I visualize this as mourners singing a hymn in reverence to the soul of the departed. Beautiful.
Thank you!
Dixie – Both of your mentor poems are beautiful. Birds are, indeed, a remarkable gift in our lives… your lines remind us of that. The “bits of souls” …that is brilliant. And “… tenor throats and soprano signatures” captures the music birds write into our lives….that line, again, is terrific. It’ll be fun today to pay attention to the birdies. ????????? Thanks for your prompt today. Gosh, we’ve had super prompts this month. Thank again to all you poets! Susie
Hi Susie! I’ll be listening along with you. Thank you for your kind words. 🙂
Dixie, I found your prompt to be very inspiring and love thinking about bird smarts. That second poem w/ images of birds as souls is gorgeous. I love the image and the idea.
Note: Birds Aren’t Real is a parody conspiracy theory created to bring attention to conspiracy theorists and their destructive nonsense. Check out the website and news about it in the NYT.
Birds Aren’t Real
I wonder what falcons trill
when they hear, “birds aren’t real.”
Do they sing a siren song,
warning that something’s wrong
with this selfish human race
on this planet where we face
destruction of our mother earth
where each spring birds give birth
to more warblers’ songs of hope
on our earth, turning gyroscope.
—Glenda Funk
April 9, 2022
Hi Glenda!
Here’s an article from my state’s major newspaper on this, “the feathered conspiracy.” The satire of our lives today…thank you for placing it in a poem!
https://www.nwaonline.com/news/2019/jan/10/birds-aren-t-real-20190110/
Dixie,
Yes, there are many news reports about the satirical conspiracy theory. It’s easy to find both the founders’ website and news reports about it, which is why I did not link to a specific one. I do hope the poem itself, and not just the conspiracy theory, merit response from this community.
Hi Glenda, of course! Your poem is definitely the spotlight here 🙂
I love this clarion call.
Hi Glenda! Love the off-rhyme that starts this off — a touch of discord that is a great setup for the subject of your poem. Recalls the Wordsworth line: “For this, for everything, we are out of tune.”
Bravo, Glenda! I do wonder what the falcons (and all birds, animals, trees, and more) are thinking of us –
Glenda, in a word: Stunning. Surely the falcons DO “sing a siren song that something’s wrong with this selfish human race”… which is why nature offers such deep and abiding peace (providing we don’t leave the Earth in pieces) So much is out of balance in our world but birds coming again each spring to “give birth to the warbler’s song of hope” – well, that’s so we don’t totally lose heart. Such a gorgeous poem!
Yes, Glenda! Thank you for that voice of reason! I love the rhyme here and the logic of which we all need a lot more. Amen, sista! Susie
Great topic today, Glenda. I see you did see Laura’s poem of birds as drones. A good paired reading today. As usual, you are a prophetic voice. “warning that something’s wrong / with this selfish human race” Thank you.
Thanks for sharing Dixie,
Your poem made me think of the Eagle. That’s my nickname.
The Eagle
Strong brilliant bird
Always aiming for higher heights
Many along they way try to bring down the Eagle
But the brilliant bird flies higher and is not distracted
The Eagle symbolizes excellence
Strength even in the midst of adversity
The Eagle is not easily distracted
Resilient and brave
Hi Dee! What an awesome nickname! “Resilient and brave”–wonderful descriptors for you and that I’ll carry on into my day!
The eagle is like your totem animal. What a wonderful symbol of strength to turn to!
Dee,
Thank you got honoring the eagle today. They are fairly common in the mountains around here. They’ve made a remarkable comeback from the brink of extinction. “Brilliant bird,” indeed.
Dixie—your poems gave me peace this morning, and something to think about as I imagine the flocks taking our loved ones aloft with them. Thank you for that image.
However, my mornings are not so peaceful…
Someday…
Mollie and Cassie
(Dachshund and little-mutt)
anticipate their victory.
Today is the day
they will succeed.
They are sure.
Today is the charm.
Look!
The birds are OUT there!
On the GROUND!
Eating breakfast!
We’ve GOT this!
Let! Us! Out!
Now-now-NOW!
I open the door.
Two small dogs
Jostle for first place,
then erupt through the gap,
sure that this IS the day they will win.
The birds
fly away.
Again.
But,
tomorrow…
GJSands 4-9-22
Hi Gayle! Your writing made me smile! I love how our furry friends sometimes wrangle with our feathered friends! Thank you for this fun poem!
You described that just right! I’ve been there – out with a little dog conqueror – who never seems to grab his quarry. Wonderful. Thank you!
Ah, yes, Gayle. You’ve captured the morning urgency at the dog. I remember this so well. I used to think my dog just loved to watch them flutter-fly in the morning scramble. The internal dog-lines… I loved that. Yes, “we’ve got this.” Fun! Thanks. Susie
Gayle, I love the image of the dogs jostling for first place to chase those birds but glad to hear no one wins… today. It seems we have similar endings to our poems today!
You capture the voices of your dogs so well in this verse.
Great poem. I love the last line, But tomorrow…and how they jostle for first place. I can picture this because of your details!
Gayle,
I’m cheering for team bird. As much as I love dogs, I don’t like seeing them win the battle w/ birds. Your poem paints an excellent image of the dogs’ anxiety and the birds’ escape,
Gayle, the hunter instinct is so strong for some! I’m glad that they did not get the birds – we used to have an outside cat that would wait and pounce, and then leave gifts at the door…..I did NOT like that! My great hunter Fitz is all about catching lizards. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow is always his day for catching one. Until then, birds and lizards both are safe.
I have a dachshund (Dennis) and I SO understand this — these little dogs are in charge of THE WORLD. Those birds – I can almost hear them sighing! Such a fun and all-too-true poem – you capture the dog-spirit, indeed.
Dixie, your first line drew me in: To carry within us the morning choral—
the chants of the birds, their call and response,
their trills and outreach from neighborhood to neighborhood
I love waking to the sounds of birds. And with windows open now the sounds have become my morning alarm, I mean choral!
Today, with your inspiration, I revisit a memorable moment I witnessed from last week where an eagle attempted to make lunch out of a duck. My poem today is written from the point of view of that smart duck!
He’s overhead
That majestic bird
The one that everyone
Thinks is so grand
I say he’s a nuisance
A braggart
So full of himself
Thinking he’ll make
A lunch out of me
He may be bigger
But I am smarter
And can swim deeper
Than his talons do reach
I’ll simply use my gift
To bob up and down
Until he runs
Out of steam
Ah…
He’s gone
Exhausted
And surely hungry still
He sits alone in a nearby tree
Defeated and ashamed
I smile at my adeptness
My cunning crafty ways
He may be bold and mighty
But I out smarted him
Today
That one word at the end……today……is the wild animal’s ongoing saga of survival. This is so cleverly written from the perspective of the duck! He was indeed a crafty little survivalist, knowing his own gift and using it to see another day.
Hi Christine! I adore how you brought forward the “little guy” in this episode. GO DUCKS! Your writing reminds me of the ways Natalie Goldberg guides us toward observing–I can see you sitting on the bank watching this interplay unfold. Thanks for putting it into words.
Love the shift in point of view. Got me re-thinking this morning. Thank you. Horray for the small ones!
Christine – I love that duck perspective! I wouldn’t have thought of that! So cool! I spent the better part of a day at a bird reserve a few days ago, so this really rang true for me. Susie
I love how you created the voice of the duck and its outsmarting the eagle. It’s a daily battle to survive in the wild.
Christine I love that you decided to share this memory and, even better, write from the perspective of the duck. I enjoyed how you captured his thoughts towards the eagle and gave us a different perspective of a bird that most people admire a bit more than the poor duck.
Christine, I kept thinking duck, duck! in my head as I listened to your crafty bird. I have watched eagles pull fish from a lake, a mesmerizing way to wile away time, but hadn’t thought of this from the prey’s viewpoint. Until now. Thanks for sharing!
Dixie, what beauty of words – that “what if”
of bits of souls in transition will keep me pondering on the beauty of that all day.Thank you for hosting us today! I actually had a bird moment yesterday morning with an owl. I heard but didn’t see him.
Uber Owl
The Great Horned Owl
was an Uber horn in my dream,
the real sound from the
front yard woods
whooo whooo whooo who whoing
in my sleep
to hurry me along.
I woke up, heard the flurry
of feathered friends
kicking up a
cacophonous fuss
and fumbled for my shoes
and phone,
ran out onto the porch
in my pajamas and robe.
Great Horned Owl
was having it out
with a wild turkey
using fowl language
as the songbirds
chattered with joy
ignoring the dispute,
greeting the new day
with no rebuttals.
(Nite: the turkeys live in the woods behind us, but the owl comes and goes in the woods out front. A turkey had meandered out of bounds – the video of sound is at kimhaynesjohnson.com today with some dog tags jingling)…
Kim, I thought of you as well this morning when I saw the bird prompt; I wondered if a hawk would be materializing <3 I meet instead, with delight, your Uber owl. “Using fowl language” – perfect example of your mischievous wit at work. Love how the songbirds carry on with joy despite all. That is what they DO. Just yesterday as I was driving home from school, a wild turkey flew from the woods across the street, right in front of me (fortunately there was a safe pocket of space; I didn’t hit it, was just awed to see it sailing by at windshield level). And oh, I can see you so clearly, grabbing your shoes and going out in your pajamas and robe to see what all the fuss is about; conjures images of a mountain woman in my mind, shotgun in tow (!!). You, however, come armed with your intense interest. I love every line of this!
Hi Kim! I think anyone who reads this will immediately be immersed in your neighborhood of fowl. It reminds me of how the Universe carries on no matter what the humans are up to. My favorite part is how the songbirds continued in their joy! Thank you so much for your words.
BRILLIANT KIM! Loved most –
Great Horned Owl
was having it out
with a wild turkey
using fowl language
as the songbirds
chattered with joy
What a picture you created! THANK YOU!
Oh, Kim ! I would’ve been right there with you in my pj’s with my binocs grabbed off the shelf, ready to see anything I could magnify. The owl is a fave… I have a barred owl ? who frequents my back yard and is a pretty successful hunter/huntress. I LOVED the “no rebuttals “!!! Susie
Kim,
“using fowl language” is a wonderful pun. You and Fran are punning twins today. The alliteration in
“kicking up a
cacophonous fuss“
is so good. I can hear the owl and turkey. Of course, the dogs have to check out the cacophony, too! This whole fowl debate gets no rebuttal from the songbirds. Love the framing of nature here.
Kim, your title drew me in, as the owl is my chosen “spirit animal”–one rests perpetually on my shoulder, fantasy green against a blue moon, holding a book, of course. I never imagined an owl would “have it out” with a turkey, so you have given me a nature lesson with your poem. I love the inclusion of the songbirds at the end, blissfully ignoring the ruckus.
Kim, there may be no better play on words than “fowl language” – I literally whoo, whoo, whooted in laughter! How fun to explore your website, along with your words today. Owls are a favorite. And it seems as if the GHO could have taken on and taken away a turkey, despite the size of a turkey, though that must have been quite the “having out.”
Dixie, both of your poems moved me this morning (I love their morning wake up calls). There’s just a hint of foreboding in the harbingers. But your second poem is exquisitely crafted, bringing hope from sorrow. The pair of them, as a mirror of emotion, moves from joy to loss and loss to joy (though tempered in hope).
In Spring:
(a report on housing trends
from starter homes to apartments)
With a collection of twigs and grasses –
dried, sturdy, woven
built from the inside out
using the wrist of a wing
(who knew birds had wrists?) –
the nesting begins.
A raccoon spent hours dying
in our back garden
writhing amongst the ground myrtle and ajuga
in a macabre dance before
the chickadees arrived,
plucking a fur lining in
an ovation to its final movement.
The bluebird house
played host to its namesake
for only one year
before the sparrows took over,
taking advantage of the hole
made larger by the mice who’d
chewed their way through
during a winter stay.
A report … perfectly framed technique that sets voice into motion … like a researcher on the scene of an unfolding poem
Kevin
Jennifer,
I love this journey of homes and nests — the way the birds show us the burrowing (returning to your prompt) and nesting that is at once invasive and yet embedded as part of the cohabitation of Earth. “chickadees arrived, plucking” and “sparrows took over”. So artistic to position our dwellings with theirs. Each move is a different form of a “winter stay.”
Peace,
Sarah
With a collection of twigs and grasses –
dried, sturdy, woven
built from the inside out
using the wrist of a wing
(who knew birds had wrists?) –
the nesting begins.
Your words intrigued me and make me wonder about nest building. A wrist? Yes – who knew. I must learn more!
Hi Christine,
Birds are smart they build their nest from straws in some of the most peculiar places.
Jennifer, the housing trends had me
chuckling! Every year, we have a family of bluebirds that comes to the house outside the window of the reading room. I noticed yesterday that a Tufted Titmouse was making its way in and out, and I hope the house has not been taken over by them – your sparrows taking over is what I might be seeing too. I am going to do the side view and stick my camera in there today to see if I can figure out the activity. I should rejoice for any bird, I know, but I would miss my blues. Your poem speaks of change and the dying of one season and birth of another is seen in that poor writing raccoon. At least his fur was recycled. Maybe that is the trend in birdhouse couches this year – the Raccoon Rotunda.
Oh, Jennifer. A report that resounds deep in the heart. The word that comes to mind is continuity. Circles of life, finding what is needed, adapting, dying, leaving in the wake some useful offering to another creature. The poor raccoon, now the lining of a nest for new life. I have long admired the stunning artistry of the finch nests on my front door wreath – strand by strand, made without hands – miraculous to me. One even had had tiny flowers around the rim (that pair of finches being true mixed media artisans). Thank you for this stunning verse. I am savoring and re-savoring it.
WOW. Jennifer. Life and death. Death and life. Each stanza reflects movement over time and brings new life over time. This is one of my all-time favorite poems I’ve read on this blog! My favorite part where my heart stopped: “in a macabre dance before/the chickadees arrived, plucking a fur lining in/an ovation to its final movement.” I wanted to simultaneously swish the birds away from the racoon and revive him, but also acknowledge to both that it’s all okay–continue on.” Sigh.
Someone must have put out some kind of poison in the neighborhood and my small son spotted the poor raccoon first. As a new mom, it was traumatic.
Jennifer,
The reportorial, objective journalistic style is perfect, both for emphasizing the fry humor in “housing report” and for teaching about the nesting cycle. The voice of Richard Attenborough is in my head as I read and reread. Love all the dredging details. Wonderful poem.
Jennifer, I am offering a standing ovation for these lines, ” A raccoon spent hours dying /
in our back garden / writhing amongst the ground myrtle and ajuga / in a macabre dance before the chickadees arrived.” Seriously. Stunning.
I enjoyed the balanced imagery — things dying giving way to new life and new homes. I found a surprise in each stanza and it did not go the way I was expecting it to. I think my favorite stanza was the middle because of some of the words you used like “writhing” and “macabre.”
What a great sort of back and forth about nature and homes! I also greatly enjoyed the aside- “who knew birds had wrists” 🙂 Great writing Jennifer.
On this day’s walk,
just before dawn,
in daybreak dark,
one bird’s song
called us forward,
carried us along:
from road to poem
to morning psalm
— Kevin
Perfect rhythm and rhyme, Kevin. How I love this succinct imagery of birdsong carrying the hearer “from road to poem” and the sense of sacredness.
Oh this little journey to a poem is a delight! The whole thing is beautiful. It’s one of those “feeds my soul” kind of poems– it just really speaks to me. Thank you.
So glad it resonated, Stacy
“Called us forward,/carried us along:” love these lines expressing the bird’s power. Simple and lovely.
Kevin, there is something reverent about bird song. And I just might have to adopt the term bird psalm. Love that you carried us with you on this walk today.
Kevin,
I love how the birds know where we must go. I see them flying ahead, circling back, leading us on. There is a trust in this poem established with “song” and the word “carried” is a tender word of accompaniment. Lovely– “road to poem.”
Sarah
I love the idea of a birds song being a morning psalm – so sacred and holy in it’s purest form. I’m happy to hear them each morning upon wakening and now I’ll think of them as a prayer.I
Kevin, a song to call us forward is what the world needs most. The early morning walks are so rich with thought and insight. Just like a psalm!
From road to poem/ to morning psalm. Kevin, you took the wind out of my sails. I am humbles by this small phrase.
(humbled)
Kevin, I love this homage to a morning walk, to the birds who welcome and cavort as we seek the peace of daybreak. Beautiful.
Beautiful like a prayer. Simple. True. Thank you!
Geez, that’s gorgeous, Kevin! Just darned gorgeous. You captured what morning moments outside do for me… I thank you for that and marvel that your words gave me this morning’s psalm even before I hauled myself to my feet to face the day. Kevin, your early morning poems really are a collection… publish these! They are so rise-again-today worthy. Please! I’ll buy the book and extras for my friends. Susie
Such kind words and as always, deeply appreciated, Susie
‘from road to poem,’ Kevin! A prayer in 8 lines. LOVE IT.
Thanks, Bryan
Kevin for a short poem there is a lot of musicality packed in here. I felt like I could hear the bird song with you. I especially love how the song became a poem and then a psalm.
Kevin, I especially appreciate the imagery of “one bird’s song called us forward.” I wonder if song birds understand the optimism they bring to our days?
Hi Kevin,
I like how your poem mellowed in at the start of the day with the birds song…can be therapeutic.
Dixie, your short poems are full of power. Birds themselves have ethereal power, being possessed of wings and the ability to fly. Birdsong stirs my soul – I write of birds often and enjoy reading about and tapping into their symbolism. I wrote of a turkey buzzard earlier this year: it would not leave its mate, which had been hit and killed on the road. Buzzards don’t have the vocal mechanism to sing or cry… it had to grieve in silence. The spiritual element in your poems, both echoing loss, stirs many deep emotions. Thank you for this birdspiration today.
It so happens that I wrote this poem a few days ago. Every year a pair of house finches comes to make a little nest in the wreath on my front door; they hatch 3-4 eggs. In March 2020, the month COVID struck, the finches built a nest but never laid eggs. In 2021, the mother laid five – a record. This year, something even more mysterious occurred…
Dear Little Blue Egg,
In all the generations of finches
hatched in wreaths on my front door
I have never known
a mother to lay just one egg
and leave
but that is what your mother did
last Sunday.
Here you’ve been ever since
resting in your nest,
forlorn in the freezing cold
day after day after day
one blue egg
one blue door
one long blue silence
one blue human
(that would be me, Franna,
sad self-appointed custodian
checking on you every morning)
until Friday
when, out of the blue,
there were TWO
of you!
On Saturday, three!
On Sunday, no more…
although I heard
the most beautiful singing
at my door
then on Monday… FOUR.
Little Blue Eggs galore.
I do not know
where your parents were
during the five days
of your cold blue lonesomeness
or how your mother could withhold
her charming clutch
for so long
but I know this thing:
your father and mother sing
every morning
like tiny angels
in eggsultation
and so
do I.
Note: The word ‘charming’ implies the collective noun for finches: a ‘charm’. Some sources say only the father sings; others say the mother sings in spring. The songs on the other side of my door are loud, full joy – that is what these birds symbolize. In my stress over the one little blue egg seeming to be abandoned, I researched and learned that a fertilized egg can be viable for up to two weeks after it is laid; if the mother is scared away, she may wait some time before returning, as to not reveal the location of her nest to predators. Once incubation begins, however, she has to stay on the nest…birds ARE so smart!)
A Charm of Finches … love that.
And these lines:
“one blue egg
one blue door
one long blue silence”
Kevin
Fran I have a similar story to tell, some differences, hope I don’t steal any lines, but know I will not be able to tell it as beautiful as you tell the story of this egg. I like how you‘be framed it as a letter and my favorite is what’s in the parenthesis. Thank you for sharing.
Fran, I love spending time with you each day. Your words never fail to elicit emotion in me that I hadn’t expected – today I became invested in (and distraught over) the seemingly orphaned egg. Thankfully, eggsultation returned with each appearance of a new sibling. Thanks, too, for all the tidbits of learning at the end. There’s nothing better that sings louder than a good collective noun.
Fran, I the reflection of mothering here is very telling for the tiny angel that lives within this poet here. This exploration of family makes me think about a picture book of different family and what parenting looks like in each.”Eggsultation” is a lovely wink!
Sarah
I love the line: one blue human- I related to that line as we get drawn into these little creatures lives. You drew more in too and I wait with anticipation for their arrival from afar.
Fran, when I saw the prompt today, I thought of you, knowing how birds are so near and dear to your heart. I am thrilled that the line egg that was there for days alone is now being tended and warmed. I’m thrilled that the birds are back and will thrive and live on to celebrate the late spring and summer! Kinda makes you wonder, though, what happened those five days. A family emergency in another tree,
perhaps, that called them away? All kinds of stories that may have happened – it’s fun to imagine in bird thoughts. I can’t wait until they hatch – I know you’ll keep us posted! I love reading about your birds.
Fran—this should be a picture book—do you know any illustrators? Your story has all the feels—anxiety, sadness, anticipation, joy. And I love the phrase a “charm of finches” and the nature lesson.
My daughter-in-law has a degree in art… hmmmm…
Oh, I SO agree, Gayle! This should happen.
Hi Fran! Thank you for sharing your birdspirations and adventures. I want to read the turkey buzzard piece if you’d be willing to share? Smart, indeed! I love your lines of “blue.” I also adore the way the parents had to leave to ensure safety and life. Your writing will inspire me to watch the birds ever more closely.
Dixie – I am delighted to share! Thank you for asking for the buzzard piece. I have two recent poems about it on my blog (in a whole category, “Bird Stories”):
The turkey buzzard staying faithfully beside his roadkill mate: https://litbitsandpieces.com/2022/03/05/carry-on-2/
A buzzard as a “bird of pray” (they aren’t predators): https://litbitsandpieces.com/2022/03/27/buzzard-on-the-steeple/
And the original of todays’ poem, with pictures of the little blue eggs in the beautiful nest and a clip of the parents’ song: https://litbitsandpieces.com/2022/04/05/eggsultation/
Thank you again for all the lyrical birdjoy this day <3
Fran,
It’s a treat to visit your finches again this morning. Thank you for the eggsplanation of “charm,” which I did not know. As you. can tell, I’m sure, I love a good pun: eggsultation. Fun word.
The little blue eggs that could! Love the uplifting poem.
LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE. I rented a farmhouse while doing Break Loaf School of English in Vermont…I was adopted by barn swallows (Okay, they hated me). I documented every move they made that summer – the mother, one of the most magnificent creations in the universe. The love. The perseverance. This was a wonderful way to wake up this morning.