Tag Archives: birds

NOT QUITE SILENT

Photo by Karl Byron on Pexels.com

I listened for the voice today.

This is all it had to say. 

My teacup is filled only 1/3 of the way.

Too little water to boil in the pot.

I shall brew my tea and keep it very hot. 

Then add cooler water to the cup.

No harbor will see tea fill it up.

Not exactly as I had willed.

Seeing my beloved democracy killed.

But who am I your will to sway.

My cup does not “filleth over” this cold day.

The half-empty cup seems a blatant warning.

I refuse to name and bring to life

fearfully expected wounds and strife.

The sun blares and cuts the cold air,

melting frost gathered everywhere.

It lies on every surface it seems.

In schoolrooms, libraries, museums,

in corporation and university board rooms. Next,

on airwaves  and in chat rooms and texts. 

In law firms hallowed conference rooms,

and in SCOTUS decisions which seal our doom.

Hard to find a place where the cruelty of iced hearts 

has not settled in, stopping hopefulness at its start.

Hard to know how this day should begin.

Hard to see how we might win.

No birds gather in the yard to eat, drink and sing.

Worms like words stretch frozen on cement pathways.

Hard to stand and walk boldly, or to see our way.

May will bring flowers in graceful bouquets.

But, June, I think, will have the final say.

May summer be full of grace, I pray.

I listened longingly for the hopeful voice today.

But, this…this is all it had to say,

as I watch sunshine melt the frost away.

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Filed under POETRY, POLITICS

IF ONLY

If only I were a bird

Fluffing feathers to increase my girth

And insulate my true worth

Staying warm this way instead,

Despite the bitter cold and dread.

But I am no bird. I am but a girl

Old enough to know better

On such bitterly cold days,

Watching my freedoms iced over,

Under Nazi salutes

And executive dis-orders.

Instead of fluffing feathers

I reach for carbs to increase warmth

And fill a need birds too feel

When cold grips the air we breathe

And hot words blow smokily

To cover the lies and foolery

Meant to limit our ability to fly.

We have a lot in common, the birds and I.

We are both on endangered species lists,

Fearing our days of flying free are numbered.

We both try to increase in size

That we may create warmth and strength inside,

And fool bullies not so wise,

Who would block our way

On freedom’s journey to better days.

If I were a bird, could I simply fly away?

Instead, I wait and fuel my body.

I wait in trust for better days.

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SPRING WILL COME AGAIN

ALWAYS HOPE FOR SPRING, acrylic on canvass, Louise Annarino, 2024

It has always been

understood and too often

forgotten. Spring comes.

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Filed under art work, POETRY, POLITICS

HAIKU

Now comes the junco

from his northern clime to mine

singing garden rhyme.

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Filed under POETRY

AUTUMN SONG

Photo by David Selbert on Pexels.com

The birds and I are bereft of their brethren.

Eagles have left their nest along the Scioto behind.

Egrets and herons have left their stance in the ponds

to return to a hidden pre-historic time.

The ponds nearby are no longer over-run by geese on the fly.

Hummingbirds no longer hover and pass by.

Too quiet and too tame is the garden scene; 

no more fights over the bird bath.

No more winners to take wet bows.

Choruses no longer compete.

All is quiet except for the short, solemn cheep

of a brown sparrow looking for lost insects in the heap

of dropping leaves and wilting flower heads

weighed down by darkening-swelling seeds,

and cold nights, and morning fogs.

Winter’s notes hang briefly in the autumn air

drowning out bird song, as bees and insects weep.

The sun rises too low, for too short the hours needed

to warm the squirrels’ bowers and keep them safe.

Even faithful house wrens have moved on

taking with them a suitcase of song.

I remain behind, unable to follow along.

Night no longer allows the body to count

breaths in and breaths out, unable to time

the body’s rise and fall.

Quickened change distorts all

the moments of our lives.

We no longer know where we come from,

nor where we go.

Autumn is all upheaval

so much so

that we yearn for the heavy weight

of winter’s blanket of snow

to comfort us and control our breath,

to hold us safe, to hold us tight,

to quietly get us through the darkest night.

And so, I rise at first light

to gain as much insight

as shorter days allow.

I take up my pen and write

the silent rhythm of Autumn’s song.

I sing with all my quiet might.

Come, and sing along.

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BIRD BATH BEAT

Photo by Mason McCall on Pexels.com

Spirited sparrows and wrens so dull and drab

mingle with cardinals beautifully clad.

Sultry robin pulls closed her robe

leaving her breasts cleverly exposed.

Flicker rounds on the oldest tree 

and begins a steady beat.

Sweet arias of birdsong lift to compete,

their voices familiar and strong

while mourning doves amble along,

chaperones staying and swaying in step.

Listening and watching such beauty I wept.

Each bird’s note has a place in the chorus

of avian talent displayed before us. 

Each wing and beak in flighty choreography

tells a breathtaking story of bird glory.

Insects hiding beneath dark-dank spaces

have no chance amidst such diving graces.

The sun arises each morn as do I

to enjoy their dance before birds take to the sky.

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GENUS GOPUS

Cowardly Cowbird

A prairie-homed species is spreading across the nation,

a parasitic bird of the GOP family, Genus 

GOPus, species TRUMPus. Lest we ignore the us,

remember it is a bird like each of us.

Most birds lovingly care for their young

sheltering their eggs in protective nests

safe from predators, high winds and the rest.

the genus GOPus preys on other birds’ nests

using TRUMPus to lay its egg in host birds

treasured space, hiding in plain sight

as if its eggs belong as its solemn right.

GOPus/Trump-us uses deception

to use the efforts of hard-working birds

to birth, protect, and feed a parasitic species

bent on the host birds’ destruction.

Whole species of host birds now face extinction

from parasitic GOPus/TRUMPus infection.

When deception does not work to overtake nests

these mafioso birds bully and intimidate

and if all else fails, eliminate

the host birds’ own eggs until all that is left

is a nest abandoned and  birds bewildered,

angry and bereft.

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Restless Night and Day

Good morning yellow-beaked robin redbreast.

I see you quenching your thirst in the bird bath of cobalt blue,

Your brown feathers closed and at rest.

You look toward me wondering why

I am not digging earth to reveal

The worms and insects for your next meal.

Like you, I must first

Have breakfast and quench my thirst.

Some mornings start late after hard nights

Catching the painful dreams in my fists

Anchoring my body to the bed as I twist

The anger and fear as shells fall

On Ukrainian apartment buildings,

Killing the old and the very small.

As a young Black man with a traffic violation

is cut down in volleys of bullets on an Akron street,

Joining other Black men and women throughout the nation.

As nine year old rape victims must flee

to another state to be made well,

and women no longer are free where they dwell,.

As thought police with hateful derision of history

block teachers with facts from teaching truth.

In truth, I cannot rest,

dear robin redbreast.

And you, little bird, may already sense the threat

against you and all creatures of earth

from man’s annihilation.

How can anyone rest with such frustration?

Soon, soon, I will join in the garden,

Weeding and dead-heading, disturbing the earth

and drawing the earthworms nearer to you.

Be kind, dear robin, only take what you need

and never, never, be guided by greed.

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Birds in Flight

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Filed under art work