Long Juncos Poems
Long Juncos Poems. Below are the most popular long Juncos by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Juncos poems by poem length and keyword.
I like my winters "neat" ...
But they all come "on the rocks" here
So a day will come when palms will dominate my view
Instead of evergreen trees and pine cones and juniper bushes
(Though I do love my Chickadees, Cardinals and Juncos)
I grew up here and skiing was my life ... once
As soon as I walked, I skied ...
Freestyle, moguls, powder, and air
The bigger the jump, the better, always pushing limits
But I have lived in the tropics as well
My heart yearned for it long before I went
And I realized home-away with my first breath of Caribbean air
The white sand beaches of St. Croix
The swaying palms and smell of sugar cane on the wind
Those incredible waters and reefs, teeming with colorful life
I adored it there, but couldn't stay ...
I lived a few months in Florida, and then back home to Boston
I have made no accords on unknowns like "reincarnation"
I believe the "big" spiritual questions to be just that - unknown
Faith itself INSISTS on a lack of knowledge or explanation
But I have dreamed of the South Pacific since my earliest memories
Long before I'd read or heard about it
Long before I'd seen a movie or television show of it
And though I've yet to go there
I have very distinct memories of it
Specific memories that include faces and sounds and flavors
Even the special way the sun shines on the underside of the clouds
The way the volcanic mounts bite up from the aqua seas
Nipping their dark, earthy teeth into azure heavens
And the way the sweet breath of the palms and fruits
Mixes with the dusty trade winds from Australia
To dance on the palate with each inhalation
Seems we humans always want what we don't have
And I'm sure there are many there who long for America
But a part of me is there, a part I haven't met
And I must at least try to make it ...
Or he will always be ... a stranger.
The black walnut we planted is thriving,
even our honeylocust has survived.
A silver maple with six stems switching
every which way, is first to flower, last
to lose leaves. Couple of Norway maples
to string my hammock between. A knock-kneed
sugar maple, made for shade, and a young
bitternut hickory to replace the maple
when root rot takes it out. A white pine grew
like a weed, blocked the neighbor’s view but trees
make better neighbors than people. A river
birch that sweeps its branches like a girl
on a bicycle flying over the roof.
Bittersweet attacks a quaking aspen,
pursuing prey, and an unruly quince
attracts cardinals, rabbits, juncos and jays.
Two crab apples with magenta blossoms
illuminate our Spring and a red spruce
so tall you don’t notice it at all because
the foliage starts high above dead limbs
I keep uncut for wildlife cover.
Hemlocks and oaks where deer lay down their bones.
I’ve thought of adopting a yellow poplar
in memory of Dad, for the wet flat
where the silver maple's doing fine but
tulips need warm, well-drained soil, so no.
Around bushes, trees and pathways, race two lively squirrels
Scurrying speedily up and down playing games of tag together
Spreading its shaggy tail one would sit up tall by taking a halt
Prying off caps, happily chomps on healthy delicious acorns
With flashy chirps a lively Scrub-Jay pair takes off from an oak branch
Swoops down taking sharp turns performing an animated vocal dance
Flying from branch to branch spreading gorgeous blue and gray wingspan
Supports propagation by harvesting and hiding seeds and acorns
Migrated dark eyed Juncos enhance the beauty with their ground-hops
Taking leaps, flit low in underbrush to relish tasty leaves and grass
Lunging forward and hopping backward brown towhees tap dance
Pounce on foliage and berries by scratching their feet to feed on
Tosses of nutty, delightful acorns attract large turkey flocks
Roaming around scraping ground for food under leaf litter and lawns
Clucking and pecking they search and stroll the whole backyard
I watch the visitors with grateful heart filled with nature’s mystical calm
In the holy spot
with the sitting rock,
an oak. Out back
shagbark hickory
and maple.
Ants climb the rock.
August, birds
celebrate flowering
weeds, the seeds
of autumn to come.
I am here to name it
and know it and help it
to grow. These mountains
are my grave. A good grave
to go to.
The crows have been
in conference, again.
A jay, blue, pokes
a hole through reality.
I find sumacs fruiting
and the male sex organs
of the Queen Anne’s lace.
Juncos glean the lawn,
an occasional nuthatch
in the butternut.
I hear a pileated
woodpecker jackhammering
and my neighbor’s skill saw
chirring. Ants crawl
on connecting interlacing instructions.
Imperfect world, purposeless person.
I retired to pursue perfection
learn jazz tunes, woody and herbaceous plants,
read every inch of English literature,
Scientific American and Foreign Affairs,
have an affair with an American.
Oh, and by the way, before you ask, I'm from Mars.
Orbiting your planet, admiring the girls.
Paraphrasing prayers by George Herbert to share
with Jesus believers on talk radio shows
where we try to bring your lives into expressible states
before it’s too late and climate change inundates you.
Reversed thunder, savior-side-piercing spear,
one day you’re feeling fine, the next not.
We’re pretty matter of fact, clear about
the fact of death. Once you’re gone most of us forget
your face and previous accomplishments. The place
you lived is repopulated with the next generation (of aliens)
and that ought to be a comfort, a sort of restful
certainty all is well, nothing special need be done.
Bluebirds are back, crows are mating on the sky
and chasing hawks away from their nests. Juncos
and sparrows glean together. I hear pileated woodpeckers
jackhammering and barred owls hooting soothingly.
Herons smoothing feathers and spearing fish.
Everything is as one would wish.
Numberless are the world's wonders
but none more wonderful than aliens.
Bird watchers say
there are birds that return in spring to play
build a nest, raise their young
but as seasons change there are always some
who stay the winter, forage for seeds
familiar ones that cling as autumn bleeds.
The robins well know
the proper time to come and go
and as the chill begins to fall
black-capped chickadees and wrens tweet their call
with caped juncos and titmouses slipping thru the trees
riding in on a wintry chilled and icy breeze.
Others stay like the screeching blue jay
clinging to a set of traditional ways
there is a click of cardinals bright orange and cherry red
slip in and out the old decaying garden bed,
woodpeckers like the big red-bellied and downy
glide sideways up trunks to find their bounty.
As winter ice and snow begin to fade
familiar feathers return to the glade
robins, sparrows, orioles and waxwings flit in and out the yews
nesting in houses left from buntings of red and indigo blue
you can catch a glimpse of the bevies in their gathering
mocking catbirds, wrens, doves and finches blabbering.
Birds of spring return in March on varied dates
some earlier far sooner than late
born for flight, scanning the earth escapes
reaching back in time unable to hesitate,
called by an ingrained memory
back to the place of their fledgling treasury.
Surely there are more feathered flybys
but climate change and migratory spies
and sadly on occasion, some clusters face
extinction by the human race
finding fewer familiar species in the states
the greed and corruption of primates.
They're just birds some will say
but if Rachel Carlson's Silent Spring arrives
how many will we find, survive?
For Spring BIrds contest
sponsored by Constance La France
2/19/21
A frosty whitewash, whirling winter snow
smoothly shrouds a secret silent slumber.
Skies all awake, flying mosaics of row
music chirps cavort the sunset amber.
Gelid air turfs, chilled in birds of wonder
gliding through miles, unknown lands asunder.
Crackling wings flutter, snuggling in romance.
Distant forage calls, "Move till Sun is back".
Searching lakes and meadows, looks not askance.
Soaring high they perch, steer and gear in stack.
Feet tucked in wings, they roost in adhoc shack.
Coats, scarves, gloves, plummets an echelon track.
Cardinals and Bluejays, plump with fork tails.
Martins, Owls, Robins, in chorus engage.
Lens of cameras spy, beaks, wings and scales.
Moulting leafless trees, flamboys in plumage.
Willow, alder, birch, dark eyed Juncos stage.
Seeds and nuts in tree crevices, cold assuage.
Hope surviving Life....as Twitter migrates
Mystical Winter........ Marathon Flyways.
Dated 17th December 2018
submitted to Gregory R Barden's Strength thru Adversity contest.
HOW THE POEM HELPED ME GROW
As a beginner to the world of poetry, I always thought that sonnets were something very very difficult only to written by people as talented as Shakespeare. This was my first attempt to write a sonnet. For one whole week, I read all details about migratory birds, and almost gained an encyclopedia of knowledge. First time i realized how difficult it was to limit your thoughts to syllables and lines, and I struggled for another week to find and use correct words, counting syllables. The poem didn't get placed, but it gave me lot of confidence to attempt writing other forms of poems.
This poem was originally submitted to Winter Wonderland Poetry Contest
Urban Sonnet form ABABBB, CDCDDD, EFEFFF, GG
Poetrysoup Syllable counter- 10 syllable each line.
Sponsor Emile Pinet
The chittering birds draw his attention.
He sits at the doorway watching them eat
The only thing separating them is a screen
or I am sure those birds would be dead at his feet.
He watches the sky, he watches the food dish,
He's fascinated by all that he sees
and those chittering birds, they have no fear.
They come and they go, just as they please.
He likes the fresh air, he likes the breeze
but mostly he just enjoys the view,
Hummingbirds, juncos, sometimes dragonflies,
every few minutes he spies something new.
He imagines himself to be a great hunter
but of course he isn't , he's just a housecat.
So he's an observer and the birds are all safe
and there's really nothing at all wrong with that.
28/07/2020