In Praise of Stiff Wind
walking around the reservoir
blasted by invigorating wind
all we can do is laugh
at the immense blessing
of being given to one another;
of knowing someone else
who sings this song
Tag: birds
migrating snow geese
migrating snow geese
some days joy hides
easy to forget the contours of its cheek
or the scent of its shirt in the closet
some days awe is a memory
stored under basement boxes
at risk of disappearing into a cobwebbed corner
but today
the snow geese stream by
loose white black-studded Vs against
clear blue sky
and we gasp over and over
at the spectacle of black/white/blue
at the never-endingness of the drifts of white
coming in on the wind
it’s an unfamiliar abundance
that we in this time of diminishment
imperilment risk extinction decline
fragmentation extirpation catastrophe
have little acquaintance with
and the rush of wings and bodies and joy
all these beings requiring essentially nothing of us
no intervention no advocacy no sacrifice
is so welcome we blink back tears
my son says if the sky had a necklace
it would be made of snow geese
we sit in wonder
not just listening to their cacophony
but feeling it inside our skins
the collective vibration of their thousands
of hearts and synapses
the air itself trembling
at holding such tenderness
Red-naped Sapsuckers, Early July
This is in response to a prompt from Radha Marcum’s workshop Write Your Life in Poetry offered by the Boulder Public Library.
Red-naped Sapsuckers, Early July
you can’t help but hear them
the insatiable insistent peeping
hungry beaks open and shut
almost as fast as hummingbird wings
inside a perfectly round O
perforating smooth beige aspen bark
with binoculars you can peek inside
and after a few seconds of dark blank staring
a small striped head and desperate beak
pop up into view
like the start of a puppet show
now and then she collapses
then eventually works her way
eye-level with her window on the world again
her pleas the same tempo and volume
wherever she is
the dogged parents fly in and out
red crests and napes brilliant
against backlit aspen emerald green
on approach they issue a rough nasal call
swoop in, load the mouths
take a deep breath
look out toward their next dead tree to loot
then fly off with great up-and-down flap-glides
it gets easier
I want to tell them
you should talk to the hairy woodpeckers
just up the road
their handsome son just joined them
out in the trees
and he calmly plink-calls them
now and then while they hunt together
and enjoy each other’s company
while sometimes just listening
to the quiet ruffle of wind
through needles and feathers
but the ragged sapsuckers don’t have time
to even listen to our encouragement –
the little mouths never stop begging
and the hole is never filled
nests revealed
nests revealed
while waiting patiently
for the hairy woodpecker mother
to bring the very large flying bug
to her babies
two more nests reveal themselves:
a flicker flies straight to an aspen
where a branch becomes a hole
and while watching him
a mountain chickadee is
swallowed by trunk
when we’re silent and still
not rushing
the world brings us into
her inner circle
meeting Camilo the green-cheeked conure
meeting Camilo the green-cheeked conure
his little golden body hesitated
then his small pale beak
gently probed my index knuckle
and, finding it firm, fleshed, human
(though likely not as kind as my son’s)
he bridged the gap
between my son and me
straddling his hand and mine
then stepped over
accepting me enough
to enter my sphere
what joy
to hold another life
sweet as pineapple rings
glowing like sunset
to be found worthy of trust
at least for that moment
in this world
split into us and other
with limitless capacity
for cruelty,
like my sons
this little bird reaches out to me
and holds my hand
entrusts himself to my care
allows us
a chance to be gentle with each other
to see life
from another eye-level
conscious breathing
conscious breathing
Every time you breathe, you exhale some 25 sextillion (that’s 2.5 × 1022) molecules of oxygen – so many that with a day’s breathing you will in all likelihood inhale at least one molecule from the breaths of every person who has ever lived. And every person who lives from now until the sun burns out will from time to time breathe in a bit of you. At the atomic level, we are in a sense eternal.
Bill Bryson, The Body: A Guide for Occupants
breathing in the breath
of every being
that has been
fueled the same way
as despots and saints
breathing out the breath
that will become
part of every being to be
we are not so different
not so separate
not so alone
I take in courage and compassion
send out forgiveness and love
in case you need it
you –
my sons
Rosa the flycatcher patient on her nest
the bright orange wallflower feeding the fritillary
the garter snake sleeping sound under the tree roots
the man who tossed his cigarette butt on the trail today
the unmasked righteous person somewhere in my path
breathing out sentences nobody sees
Lorica for my soon-to-be-teenage son
Lorica for my soon-to-be-teenage son
at Moon Creek today
I call upon the winged ones
who have fired my son’s soul
since he was small
between him and adolescent angst
I place these birds and their powers
a living shield
to keep him whole as his life shifts
I place the chickadee with his confidence
and the albatross with her ease
the junco with his acceptance
and the eagle with her righteousness
I place the Arctic tern with his strength
and the loon with her devotion
the condor with his perspective
and the kakapo with her contentment
I place the bluebird with his optimism
and the snowy owl with her resilience
the trumpeter swan with his self-esteem
and the Verreaux’s eagle-owl with her wisdom
I place the little blue penguin with his connectedness
and the wooly-necked stork with her lovingkindness
the bird-of-paradise with his persistence
and the falcon with her focus
I place the bowerbird with his artistry
and the woodpecker with her grit
the blue-winged macaw with his compassion
and the ptarmigan with her warmth
all these memories and powers
I place between my sweet son
and all darkness
all despair
between his kind, trusting heart
and all forms of doubt
between gentleness
and the hard world
at Moon Creek today
I gather all these wonders
to encircle him
with their soft strong wings
to sing to him in the dark
that is not yet dawn
to remind him what a gift it is
to be here in the wide world
where hummingbirds survive hurricanes
and plovers calm crocodiles
with their grace beside him and within him
I send him out into the world
trusting he will be true
to who he is
what he loves
and what he stands and kneels for
a hike together after isolating
a hike together after isolating
the meadowlark singing
from the very top branch
of a ponderosa pine
melted summer into song
spilled in golden ribbons
across the park
and into our grey hearts
healing the hurt
of our long aloneness
warming our cautious bones
quarantine with hummingbirds
This is in response to a prompt from Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s webinar Nature as Inspiration and Transformation: An Intro to Nature Poetry: she provided a list of natural history facts for us to use as opening lines, and suggested we either title the poem “Quarantine” or “First Love.”
quarantine with hummingbirds
hummingbirds can fly backwards
backpedaling like alien spaceships
zipping through the air
with the putt-putt of a Jetson flying car
diving and swooping like stunt pilots
dancing a mesmerizing U
in front of a potential mate
they’re the shiny movement to our days now
allowing us more liberties
each day that we prove our harmlessness
(they’ve kissed both of my sons on the head now –
what a gift)
o hummingbird
I will make myself so small
as to climb upon your back
and together
you’ll take us backwards
days weeks months
back to rubbing shoulders with strangers
to holding the door for someone
to playing basketball
and singing open-mouthed together
I’ll hold on to your back
green like sparkling lime rind
and close my eyes
while you fly us to safety
take us back to Friendly and Open
figure 8 those wings until
we’re breaking bread with neighbors
to seeing and reading lips
that say come closer
until, hummingbird,
you kiss someone else’s head
leaving the scent of spider silk
and celery-grey lichen
in their mop of uncut hair
New Zealand en Español
Owen made this presentation for his Spanish class at school. He had a list of questions he was supposed to answer about a trip he had taken. He thought it would be too hard to answer about our entire trip, so here he discusses the New Zealand portion.
