NaPoWriMo – Day #30!

April bows out
leaving so prettily
though yesterday
was rainy, cold and gray

birdsong
starts this day,
insects flit and buzz everywhere,
and the pigeons low cooing
continues until dusk

Sun and wind and greening grass,
clean smell of growing things
and freshly turned earth
promise gardens of delight
to come
The flowers of May
the fruits of June
and August’s bounty
drying, dying into autumn

We made it!  Congratulations to everyone who wrote 30 poems in 30 days during the month of April!  Well done, you!

NaPoWriMo – Day #7

Otis ear up1

It’s gray and foggy this morning
but the birds are still insisting
we get up and face the day.

Otis, my Jack Russell terrier,
is blind;
has been since he was a pup.
He’s learned where things are
through his other senses.

He goes out in the mornings
and feels for the sidewalk
to lead him back to the house.
There are four steps
up to the front door.
But sometimes the cat
sits on the steps and blocks his way.

He knows the layout
inside the house,
but sometimes
when I come home from work,
or someone knocks at the door,
he gets so excited he loses his bearings
and runs into a door frame
or a piece of furniture.

He hears the morning birds calling
and perks up;
he wags his tail
and wriggles his body
ecstatically,
then flops over for a belly rub.

He doesn’t know
it’s a depressing, gray day.

NaPoWriMo #25

Driving north down 162
I see a bald eagle
soaring on an updraft
then, seemingly, from nowhere
a crow,
much smaller,
attacks the eagle
again and again

And I wonder
if it is the majestic eagle,
victim of the vicious attacks
from this small, dark smudge,
yet flies on, undeterred
is to be admired
for carrying on,
undeterred

Or if the brave crow
protecting family and home
from a scavenging hulk,
a David fighting off Goliath,
is the hero of this story.

Or if they are both, simply,
doing their best
to survive.
No heroes, no villains
except in my eyes

Malaise

There is an emptiness
in these days, a barrenness
Surely we have
taken a wrong turn

Birds keep searching, calling
to one another
endlessly circling the skies
but they find nothing 
with which to build their nests

Oceans are punishing
the shore 
stealing it away
bit by bit
and no one seems to notice

The land sighs and shrugs under
its bitter coat of snow
It has forgotten
how once it
enticed seeds to germinate

I try to turn inward, but
there is a wall
everywhere I look
topped with razor wire

Somewhere there must be a door
but I cannot find it

For the Birds

How do you deal
with the guilt that comes
from splitting
a finite pie of time
to feed the infinite needs
of all the people
depending on you,
like a siege of herons
mouths open
greedy, starving
for your
time?

Remember
oh selfless one
at the end of the stories
in The Picture Book of Saints
the martyrs
always
die

This is linked to dVerse Poets Pub, even though it doesn’t really have anything to do with birds, where De asked us to write something including one or more of the interesting names for groups of birds.