Long Red winged blackbird Poems
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flying over Gulf of Mexico, the boundless tranquil emerald water
not going to stop until I reach my destination ....
the vision of a beautiful country of my dream - where nature captivates with azure sky and serene lakes,
fascinating ~ where my dearest friends are waiting for me!
my friend, Robin, how sweetly she sings at dusk and dawn,
when there is solitude descending over the mountains ~
and Oriole busy weaving intricate hanging nests ...
before the colourful flowers blossom in all their splendour, butterflies passionately kiss ravishing roses ~
trees spread their branches to the sky in ecstasy, lush and green turn grasses ~
I must reach there.
I see a distinctive shape in the sky, which tells me...
my Geese friends are on their way, and also are the high-flier Ducks,
can’t miss the charming song white-throated Sparrow croons ~ My Sweet Canada, Canada, Canada.
Oh! I am so mesmerized the way Great Blue Heron glides in a slow motion,
she is the best in fishing, being the most patient.
Killdeer, Mallard Duck, Red-winged Blackbird -
all welcoming me to join a rendezvous of Spring-birds
Spring is almost here - nature’s joyful symphony will soon fill the air
me, the Ruby-throated Hummingbird - will soar across the ocean~
February 18, 2021
FIRST PLACE
Inspired by " Spring Birds" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
For Personification Poem 150 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Red-winged Blackbird
Look! There in the bulrushes,
Perched at an angle to the reed,
Is the Red-winged Blackbird
Keeping a close watch on his territory.
How do I know it’s a “he”? Easy.
By the jet-black plumage
And the red and yellow epaulettes
That distinguish him from a “she.”
The female’s feathers are rustic colours
With white patches underneath
And white streaks on the back and wings
That blend in with the surroundings.
See! I spot her sitting in the nest,
All snuggled in, keeping her eggs warm.
Quiet—not moving, not wanting
Anyone to know where she is.
Listen! And hear his three-syllable
“Conk-la-ree” cry piercing the air,
Which can only mean one thing to his mate:
Love! And he will be there for her.
Slowly, I back away,
Not wanting to create a disturbance
Or cause undue stress
For the birds.
While strolling on this summer morn so fair
with warming sun rays soft upon my cheeks
and gentle breezes blowing through my hair,
a tender dulcet day without a care,
I deeply ponder thoughts to which life speaks.
A red-winged blackbird floats along the breeze
and lights upon a cattail by the lake;
his trills lamenting sights for which he pleas,
pollution everywhere is all he sees.
I wonder if mankind will e’er awake?
A bullfrog sitting by the water’s edge
upon a lily pad, he croaks his tune
lamenting all around the withered sedge
that’s littered with debris his croaks allege.
I wonder if mankind will wise up soon?
For it is we who, through our careless deeds,
have scarred the beauty of this precious land
to satisfy our selfish greedy needs
without a single thought to where this leads,
intents upon fulfilling our demands.
But are we not the keepers of this earth,
the ones who, nature’s beauty, must preserve
for future generations, giving birth
to Mother Nature’s everlasting worth?
If not then we will get what we deserve.
June 26, 2023
This December day that feels like March or April
Beckons me down to my old thoughtful spot
To the bench on the hill above the lake
Where I have discovered poems waiting for me
Behind me, the oaks are alive
With a red-winged blackbird raucous
Below me, a solitary doe grazes the tender
Emerald green left where the waters receded
"Hello, deer!" I call out to her, waving
She looks up, dewdrop eyes and ears
Like petals turned toward me curiously
A mariposa lily blooming toward my light
I feel the woodpecker’s fervent knock inside my ribcage
And the everywhere croak of a single unseen frog
Is the creak of a door I never meant to close
Slowly opening again, letting it all back in
The moss on my heart is cool in the winter sun
The lace lichen holds my dreams among the trees
And there is a brand new poem waiting for me
"Hello, dear," I say again, and this time I am sincere.
I.
The red winged blackbird knows how hard it is for me to connect with humans.
But I can still share my joy over this bird with my mom, who is dying for a way in.
II.
I was just told today by my teacher that I have a learning disability.
I was sad, confused. But my mom, she was “furious” when she heard.
She’s a real go-getter, too, and she went and got them,
Made them stop calling me that.
But now, things are worse.
Teacher Brett doesn’t help me anymore.
He’s helping some other kid.
Things are much harder now.
III.
My name is Betsy and I’m 25-years old.
I love Panda Express orange chicken more than anyone else on the planet.
It isn’t the fanciest restaurant but it’s cheap and I can walk to it. (I hate cooking.)
Without the spirit of inclusion,
The persistence of my parents,
And my high school “inclusion facilitators,”
I’d most likely be institutionalized or in some group home.
Instead I give speeches to crowds of fancy adults
About the power of not giving up, the power of support,
And the path of independence it has provided me.
(Straight to the orange chicken.)
Late April and only
coltsfoot—Tussilago farfara—breaking leaf litter.
Our daffodils, peonies and crocuses
are also making signs.
April is the cruelest month, I forget why.
A sweet slow Spring
no sudden changes
each leg and leaf unfolds deliberately. You can't miss it.
New York City's spring rushes like a yellow cab
into summer. One day leaves are wet,
next they’re leather. I prefer this slow dance,
birds mating on the sky, peepers evolving into frogs.
Repairs take weeks or months. Septic,
garage door, cracked windshield, clean windows,
build bridge, buy land, rake leaves off erosion control,
cut wood, prune lilac, paint lawn chairs.
More carefully inspect, identify, the insect
of the week, a fly with an ant’s body
that skirts the grass and falls in drinks.
Look more closely! It will be gone in a few days!
Then it will be the time of moths or fireflies,
mosquitoes and wasps. Mud road,
red-winged blackbird. The slashing stream
topples old trees. My legs hurt.
Tweet pop weet whistle sleet slew tweet
I spend hours trying to write down a songbird’s notes
Robins, cardinals, wrens, sparrow, and thrush.
But I cannot capture their lyrics in our known alphabet.
I finally realized it is because they have beaks, not mouths.
They make sounds we are incapable of imitating.
Blue jay and crow are easy to mimic. Screech and caw.
Woodpecker is a jackhammer. Tatta Tatta Tatta Tatta Tatta.
But the songbirds’ lyrics cannot be captured.
Not with our current language, it is not sufficient.
This is possibly why I am enamored and thrilled to listen.
Spending hours trying to duplicate their musical score.
Brilliant red cardinals are the males, the pink ones females.
It is said they are spiritual messengers, and I have six of them.
Wrens and sparrows fly past at breakneck speed, like shadows.
Does the hummingbird make any noise at all? Mine moves like a bee.
I am totally fascinated by my song birds and their personalities.
I have a red winged blackbird that has an orange dash instead of red.
The blue jay is the most unwelcome. When he swoops down the others leave.
The black crow is the most evasive, with his loud angry, mean-sounding caw.
‘Waupaca Awakens’
The thin ice cracks
As daylight breaks,
Along the still waters
Of a chain of lakes
Melting snow and slush
Both lapping the pier,
Letting the bluegill know
A new season is near
North of the place
The first sound is heard,
A sign of change is ...
The red-winged blackbird
Their call from the birch
Is melodic and shrill,
Carried on the winds
Of winter's last chill
Leaves of the maple
Needles of the pine,
Rustle in the breeze
Shiver down their spine
Timid, black bear cubs
And white-tailed fawns,
Welcome one of many
Warm, springtime dawns
Mallards in the distance
Returning geese overhead,
Spotted calves yawning
In their fenced in bed
Much seasonal beauty
One small town did regain,
All of Waupaca awakens
From meadow to Main.
(4/4/24)
2nd Place
"Waupaca Awakens with Poetry" Poetry Contest
waupacaarts.org/waupaca-poetry-contest-winners-1
(Just a note for those who may not know ... Waupaca is a small town in the state of Wisconsin, not far from where I live. Their annual poetry contest was held recently and I placed 2nd with this poem ... )
Long to touch the rows u p o n rows of coneflowers,
but the bees, they b u z z, and the butterflies own.
Favorite intrepid host, the red-winged blackbird, towers
over the purpleness of his downturned petal throne.
Eyes flit back and forth as g o l d e n splashes cool
the p i n e y pond of koi. Serenity of zephyr scent
sends introspective id swimming like this school —
no longer in this worrisome world, exhaustion spent.
Traverse the paths of no work, no play - merely a b a n d o n
to holly bushes, lady slippers, roses with whimsical names.
Snowball hydrangeas, blueberries like goose pimples - stand in
the nether of shadow and sun, the hometown of God’s acclaim.
Close my eyes - bluster of multicolored petals from the sky,
cover my i n v i s i b l e frame… uninvited flocks gather
in an undecided decade of “don’t know when or why.”
P o s t u r i n g — shan’t get myself in a botanical lather.
Have faith, the untouchables are thriving with grace,
waiting for the usual feet to pass time, adorn this place.
7/31/2020
Silent one’s Petal, buds, blossoms, bees, birds, butterflies! Poetry Contest