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The Bird Feeder

Sometimes,
not often enough,
I stop my morning routine
to watch the feeding drama breathe feathered flurries in and out,
on,
and under,
my side-yard bird feeder

Outside my kitchen windows
over this morning’s sudsy sink,
looking across a twinkling white field
of early March snow,
simply breathing us all in,
boundary framed inside/outside
by my southern neighbor’s brown-stained fence.

I find myself aggressively prejudiced
against the voracious grey squirrel invaders.
NonElite sparrows share my disappointment
with squirrelish selfish ways.

Usually the squirrels scavenge the ground
and snow below my feeder,
my free-will offering
intended to seduce cardinals
and woodpeckers
and finches
and, yes, the humble brown sparrows,
whose ghreat number of heads,
present today and missing tomorrow,
healthy and harmed,
is indeed an epic mystery
offered in return for my pre-invested feeder.

But, one squirrel,
who usually shows up with a friend,
maybe a girlfriend,
I don’t really know
the texture of their ongoing harvesting journey,
reaping through family life,
romance,
play,
foraging for nutritional climax

But, regardless,
This one squirrel likes to challenge
my daily vegetable-oiled
round
brown
metal pole
that holds a clear plastic feeder
enclosed by a squirrel-deterring wire defense,
which acts more like a perch for equi-poised access
than an effective wall
against unwelcome over-consuming rodents.

I am equally at war with crows,
not because I don’t like them as a species,
which, unfortunately, may be my inhospitable issue
about greedy squirrels,
but because crows travel in aggressive gangs.

And, they don’t live here, in my felt ownership sphere,
They hang around this side of the river
but they don’t live in my neighborhood
because they aren’t suitable
for any one properely humane place.
They need a grander sense of cooperative space.

Rowdy crows do, occasionally, flock and swarm in
to clean out my one inadequate consumer-feeder
and produce poop on everything in sight
but I do not tolerate these assaults
in silent Win/Lose acquiescence.

I run out
to shout
against them.

They listen and rise
to move away
but watch and wait to see and hear
if I will continue this lively scarecrow battle.
Which seems to mutually please us
to repeat twice,
or even thrice.

I repeat these roaring toothless threats,
Until we win together,
drawing more appropriately apart.

Then, too,
I notice some of the blue-jays are more tolerant of diversity
while others poke at smaller birds.
This bothers me.
If some can get along,
why not Win/Win all?

Still,
I seldom intervent.
We have only two blue-jay couples,
so I put out plenty for all
If we are patient enough
to work and play and breathe around each other.

The mourningdoves always salvage off the ground,
winter through summer
They look fat
and dark suit preacherly
as they waddle
and forage what their more flamboyantly aviary cousins
leave for them
underneath my humble feeder.

So little consumer invested
for so much dramatically productive grace,
mutually feeding place.

Yet, I still wonder
why I am so incensed
about the scandalous squirrel
who defies my obviously over-powering will
to not feed him here,
or anywhere
in my garden
or on my struggling fruit and nut trees.

I suppose rodents remind me
too much
of my me-feeder consumptive shamelessness.

 

 

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Uncategorized

Cardinal Love

I host many song birds,
but never enough.

I steal them from neighbors
with lavish tax-relief offers,
free food
and housing
in exchange for their relocation
and entertainment.

I love them all
but especially red cardinals,
him with her.

They hang and fly together.
An integrity couple
more than the robins
and sparrows
and bluejays
and finches I have flinchingly noticed.

I’m not so sure how mourning doves might compare
with red rapturous cardinals,
him flashy patriarchal
and her graceful matriarchal
sharing worms and seeds
with a bilaterally grateful kiss.

Sometimes,
watching them carry on
from tree
to garden sea
to nested night to be,
I feel alone
longing to belong
mutually beloved,
paired
and not so autonomously impaired.

Kissing oneself
and our own past life investments
in mistrust of goodbye
without farewell
is better than no healing kiss at all,
yet falls awesomely short
of cardinal couple kisses.

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EarthTribe Sanctuary

Bird chatter echoes mutual greetings
psalms reciting Other’s praising morning light
promising their co-enrapture of return
before light fades to dusk this night.

Birds echo cathedrals of tree majestic chatter,
underflight of bees and insect buzz growing conjoined refrain
evening’s glad sung massive eulogy
consecrates this flying day’s compline,
grace delight.

Liturgy of Earth flight song
echoes through shattering light,
entering as exiting each shared dark mythic night.

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Dipolar Flight

We fly together

expained the hen.

Or crawl separately?

implied the worm.

Our choice?

asked the hen.

To informate or calculate

irrationally

too negative

not double-bound enough,

forgetting (0) graced balance

and swooping octaved harmonies,

imagined flights with distant cousins,

replied the longish worm.

 

Birds and butterflies!

said the hen.

Comets and stars,

leptons and quarks,

yin and yang,

surfing systems up and down

around and back again,

sighed cavish cocoon.

 

We fly together,

or dissonantly burn and bury

and throw ourselves,

our nutrients,

positive-exformating value,

away,

sang regenerating radiant song,

 

Where they will

eventually

learn to crawl together

toward regenerated flight,

ventured the pregnant butterfly.

 

The sky is falling!

said the hen.

Or you have taken flight,

said the worm,

de-caying in the hen.

 

We fly together!

exclaimed the hen.

And crawl together,

implied her wormish warmth.

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