Mexican Elders
Growing like a wild fire
Birds hide, take refuge
Calico cat walks
Between the slats of my fence
Happy to see me
White dove on the line
Tail flips in jerky motion
Wet poo lands on grass
Finches, sparrows, doves
Happy hopping near sprinkler
Birds preening their wings
Spring is upon us
Water nourishes the earth
Hollyhocks growing
Oleanders froze
Careful cutting brings them back
New green stems emerge
Gray and white tabby
Prances out my front yard gate
Non-chalant and proud
Willow tree leaning
Forceful wind is the devil
Wood props hold it up
White plate for birdseed
Doves bully sparrows away
Sparrows watch for chance
Curious sparrow
Peeks in from my window sill
Sees me standing there
Telescope reveals
Deep crater on centerline
Half moon is half lit
Gray tabby cat hides
Half looks at me with one eye
Wanders on sidewalk
Fallen bird nest torn
Attaches to grass and weeds
Fine twigs are stuck there
Heat wave is coming
Horizon seeks time of day
Sunsets - pure beauty
Awesome turquoise sky
Bubblegum purple mountain
Color for my soul
Showing posts with label Birds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Birds. Show all posts
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Monday, April 26, 2010
Bird Friends
Doves wait, watchful on their high wire
that stretches across the back yard,
from Mexican Elder to China Berry Tree.
Their heads follow me, birdseed
bag in hand, walking toward rocks
against chain-linked fence.
Seeds smell like vitamins and minerals
and a mild scent of orange peel as I pour
them into a blue Tupperware bowl.
The bigger birds are growing bellies.
Do the smaller birds get enough to eat?
White-winged Doves dominate, flap
their wings, kick up dirt, eat their share,
shove little birds to the side, make them fly
away. But the little ones return, flock
to the bowl, frolic, hop, skip, jump,
flutter, from spot to spot.
A happy House Sparrow bounces
like a gorgeous rubber ball, looks
from side to side, picks up a long strand
of grass. The proud sparrow flies away.
I believe my birds do get enough to eat.
that stretches across the back yard,
from Mexican Elder to China Berry Tree.
Their heads follow me, birdseed
bag in hand, walking toward rocks
against chain-linked fence.
Seeds smell like vitamins and minerals
and a mild scent of orange peel as I pour
them into a blue Tupperware bowl.
The bigger birds are growing bellies.
Do the smaller birds get enough to eat?
White-winged Doves dominate, flap
their wings, kick up dirt, eat their share,
shove little birds to the side, make them fly
away. But the little ones return, flock
to the bowl, frolic, hop, skip, jump,
flutter, from spot to spot.
A happy House Sparrow bounces
like a gorgeous rubber ball, looks
from side to side, picks up a long strand
of grass. The proud sparrow flies away.
I believe my birds do get enough to eat.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Pulling Weeds
Tranquility and a pleasant sun
met me in the front yard,
as I took advantage
of a dry day after the last rain.
My body on all fours
kneeling on yellowed grass,
on an old blue folded towel
to protect my pointed knees.
Gray gloves on both hands,
an almond dish pan nearby.
The weeds didn't like
my new jagged knife,
bought to cut into the soil,
to dig under them.
It gave me time to think,
to listen to the silence,
hear a sigh of relief;
or to listen to the trucks
with rattling trailers
clang banging over potholes;
motorcycles roaring by;
a neighbor closing car doors;
a chorus of birds tweeting
their whistles high and low.
With fixated eyes and nose
to the ground, sprouted
weeds still everywhere,
the sun glided gently --
too dark to see --
and I know the rest
will spread like wildfire
before I return.
met me in the front yard,
as I took advantage
of a dry day after the last rain.
My body on all fours
kneeling on yellowed grass,
on an old blue folded towel
to protect my pointed knees.
Gray gloves on both hands,
an almond dish pan nearby.
The weeds didn't like
my new jagged knife,
bought to cut into the soil,
to dig under them.
It gave me time to think,
to listen to the silence,
hear a sigh of relief;
or to listen to the trucks
with rattling trailers
clang banging over potholes;
motorcycles roaring by;
a neighbor closing car doors;
a chorus of birds tweeting
their whistles high and low.
With fixated eyes and nose
to the ground, sprouted
weeds still everywhere,
the sun glided gently --
too dark to see --
and I know the rest
will spread like wildfire
before I return.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Miss Roxy Roo
I miss my favorite cat, Miss Roxey Roo.
I remember those early mornings,
her body draped across my shoulder.
The way she wagged her fluffy tail
that wrapped around my neck
and fanned my nose until those
super fine hairs sucked into my mouth
and into my nose with every inhale, buffed
my face 'til I spewed, scratched and sneezed.
She loved to prop her smooth, velvety,
Persian head on my comfortable pillow,
lifted and gleamed her lime-green eyes
then smacked her lips for her silent meow
to catch my smile through sleepy blue eyes.
I miss petting her long-black fur
wiggling my fingertip in the hole space between
her soft-padded paws, touching her pug nose,
wet like dew, marveling at her idling purr
which hummed a tune of contentment.
She pranced and held her tail up high,
that powder puff, my little Zsa Zsa.
She answered to her silly nicknames,
like "Putty McDutty" and "Little Spudnutty."
She came to my high whistle sounds.
My in/out girl who picked her food,
guarded the yard and scared large dogs.
Made acrobat stunts, grand somersaults,
like a moonstruck cat on a full-moon night.
She pounced my fingers between the cushions,
poked 'til I bled if I moved too slow.
Chased long strings I dragged through the house,
'til she got tired and plopped on the carpet.
Sat by windows and chattered at birds,
swung her head as they swooped from trees.
I remember one day...
she scampered, shameless into the kitchen,
brought in a bird covered in snow.
Yes, it flew behind the fridge, riled
the humans which excited her,
and made us late fixing dinner.
We played fun games like hide and seek.
Imagine me shuffling down the hall
on all fours as if I'm a cat –scuffed
my knees and hurt my wrists, turned
the corner to hide in my room.
I think she laughed along with me.
She followed me like a loyal shadow,
in the yard and around the house,
trailed behind me to the street corner.
I carried her back to the house,
cradled her lovingly in my arms
as if she were a sweet, little child.
I still miss my sweet little Roxy.
She's been gone over 20 years.
I remember those early mornings,
her body draped across my shoulder.
The way she wagged her fluffy tail
that wrapped around my neck
and fanned my nose until those
super fine hairs sucked into my mouth
and into my nose with every inhale, buffed
my face 'til I spewed, scratched and sneezed.
She loved to prop her smooth, velvety,
Persian head on my comfortable pillow,
lifted and gleamed her lime-green eyes
then smacked her lips for her silent meow
to catch my smile through sleepy blue eyes.
I miss petting her long-black fur
wiggling my fingertip in the hole space between
her soft-padded paws, touching her pug nose,
wet like dew, marveling at her idling purr
which hummed a tune of contentment.
She pranced and held her tail up high,
that powder puff, my little Zsa Zsa.
She answered to her silly nicknames,
like "Putty McDutty" and "Little Spudnutty."
She came to my high whistle sounds.
My in/out girl who picked her food,
guarded the yard and scared large dogs.
Made acrobat stunts, grand somersaults,
like a moonstruck cat on a full-moon night.
She pounced my fingers between the cushions,
poked 'til I bled if I moved too slow.
Chased long strings I dragged through the house,
'til she got tired and plopped on the carpet.
Sat by windows and chattered at birds,
swung her head as they swooped from trees.
I remember one day...
she scampered, shameless into the kitchen,
brought in a bird covered in snow.
Yes, it flew behind the fridge, riled
the humans which excited her,
and made us late fixing dinner.
We played fun games like hide and seek.
Imagine me shuffling down the hall
on all fours as if I'm a cat –scuffed
my knees and hurt my wrists, turned
the corner to hide in my room.
I think she laughed along with me.
She followed me like a loyal shadow,
in the yard and around the house,
trailed behind me to the street corner.
I carried her back to the house,
cradled her lovingly in my arms
as if she were a sweet, little child.
I still miss my sweet little Roxy.
She's been gone over 20 years.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Dragonflies and Tadpoles
Poem and Collage by Sue Miller
Except where otherwise noted, these works are licensed under http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/
Tadpoles (May 7, 2008) by Pingu1963 / Marjon Kruik
http://www.flickr.com/photos/pingu1963/2473751214/
Caught (August 11, 2007) by D'Arcy Norman
http://www.flickr.com/photos/dnorman/1084249431/
Dragonfly (July 15, 2008) by Krikit
http://www.flickr.com/photos/krikit/2675850356/
a young teen
exploring my neighborhood
other side of the dam
east end of Madrid Street
during summer monsoons
muddy pools
rainwater sat for days
stench from heat, humidity,
sun-baked growths
water life co-habitating
screaming frogs, blue
and red-wing dragonflies,
sun-drenched butterflies,
ugly tadpoles, biting mosquitos,
curious birds
I thought nothing of it
hopped on my bicycle
carried jars and butterfly nets
peddled to the dam
to the stinky pond
pretended to be a biologist
spent hours catching, scooping,
observing tadpoles and dragonflies
sometimes alone, sometimes
with brother Bill and his friends
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