Long Roosting Poems
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In Granny's backyard
I'm hanging around
upside down
from my favorite tree
making funny faces
at my cousin, while we
try not to laugh
because down below
the circle of grown-ups
hardly know
or have forgotten
we are here
So we hear
all the choice gossip
as the older women
snap their green beans
with enjoyment keen
They cackle and squawk
rowdy, raucous
laughing talk
flapping and waggling
large wing-like arms
like a flock of hens roosting
on metal lawn chairs
not feeling the stares
of me and my cousin
enjoying the show
finding out all kinds of things
and colorful words
we wanted to know, but
would never have heard
down on the ground!
Spring is just around the corner
‘tis my favourite time of year
delighting in the knowledge that
Spring is close
Spring is near
Sounds of twittering ~ chirping ~ cheeping
are sounds I love to hear
for spring is truly in the air and birds are everywhere
I am woken before dawn by herring gulls squawking
they are roosting very close ~ to each other they are talking
Then crows I hear their caw caw cawing
for me a special treat
each day a crow caws out ‘Hello’
then caws to me ‘Good morning’
The sweetest sound of all is when I hear a blackbird call
for his repertoire is endless
each morning he’s performing
his romantic love filled aria
especially for me as I sip my morning tea
I love the sounds of sparrows so many gathered in a tree
just like the largest choir ~ they sing in total harmony
Such joy to hear a song thrush as he perches high above
warbling for his mate ~ serenading her with love
~~~~
New life beginning
New shoots are springing
With all her birds singing
Mother Nature at her best
All dressed to impress
Written 21st February 2021 ~ a very Spring like day…
Contest Spring Birds Poetry
Sponsor Constance la France
FIRST PLACE
Contest ALL YOURS (Feb 28)
Sponsor Brian Strand
N/A
on my ride home
from work i
witnessed
a crime
for sure
ly so
many
crows
were
flocking to
the city to
protest
what
was
to
be
a
banging
of bells and a
whistling of whistles
to keep them from roosting
and pooping on people though
a stupid solution hatched to keep
them from coming but now in numbers
they refuse to
be hassled or
rousted by the
man and his
unfortunate
understand
ingly less
then real
ity but
morbid
ity of
the word
human
kind
in no
way
to say
they are
kind but in their mind for now
they have consecrated these
crows to become a murder
Form:
When sleep deserted me
I crawled out of my bed unseen
To delve into the crevices of the dark
With the curiosity of an explorer
And the near comatose of a somnambulist
I walked up and down the steep slopes of the night
Like a night watchman
Without a lantern in hand.
When my legs grew weary
I sat on a rock
Covered with moss and lichen
Staring into the dark night sky
With no constellation of fireflies
Flashing their torches anywhere
Sitting there, in that bewitching night,
I listened to the song of night birds,
The rustle of leaves,
The howl of wolves,
And the night wind’s rave.
Looking into the dark pockets of the night,
I thought of human mind, a deep gorge
With many an uninhabitable corner
Where serpent desires lie coiled,
Scorpions crawl with toxic pincers
And predators roam to prey upon helpless victims.
The mystery of the night absorbed me,
Her muffled sounds, her dark beauty
And her elusive charm, like thick night fog,
Percolated deep into my consciousness,
And I floundered in a fathomless sea,
Swirling in her eddies and currents.
It whisked me away to lands far…far!
But on being washed ashore,
I was in a creative delirium.
I am now in No Man’s Land,
Where everything is in a coma of stillness,
Where no light glimmers,
No door ajar
And no one in sight!
Here the poet in me breaks open,
The somnambulistic comatose,
And down way flow my thoughts in indelible ink
Which only I can read.
Like a night bird,
Roosting among the branches of a tree,
I sing of my heart aches,
Of my yearnings and longings.
In the barely audible whispers of the night,
My song reverberates in the eyeless abyss down,
And in the dark desolate valleys below.
People say, ghosts walk the earth at night.
Oh! I am not scared!
I am not eager for the dawn to break,
Nor want to put my pen down!
In Canada we love the red-breasted robin birds,
that sing a repertoire of songs with no words.
A cheery welcome in each new morns' hush,
delight is watching them tug on fat worms lush.
But, they are migratory and leave when its cold,
gathering in flocks that are beautiful to behold.
Before snow to warmer climates they fly away,
but not quietly- they chirp and call all the way.
Their flock can be twenty, two hundred, or more,
some left today up, up into the blue sky they soar.
The flock follows no set route but south wander,
and I thought where are you going- I wonder.
But, in the springtime they will return to me,
and groups will be roosting in my backyard tree.
__________________
September 23, 2022
Poetry/Couplet/Farewell, Painted Birds
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1489-978-23
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A Flock of Birds
sponsor, Julia Ward, Judged 10/06/2022
Fifth Place
When you cross worlds of uncertainty and confusion
Are you not the one delighted in the trouncing of it all?
Or would you rather kick and scream until you are left squirming?
Embrace the shadowy terrain of soulful search,
Surpassing futile dignities and vagaries,
Surpassing the very souls that long to tear away your victory!
I am not the stone in the middle of the path,
The cold, rough boulder in which you pound away at
Seeking warmth that never seeps through
Engraved in the midst of me is a softness you will never understand
And as the fog surrounds you, chilling you into hysterics,
I will run through like the leader of the pack,
Feeling a wind on my face that can only be felt in the climax of the run!
I am too fast to indulge in the fires of your anger,
Threatening weakly to consume me!
How desperate you are!
How foolish this all is!
Follow me if you dare
But do not try to break me
As you lift your head to witness the peace of a crowd’s jeer
Can you not turn away and smile at their ambrosial fear?
Why do you insist on roosting in the very nests we have burned?
You turn away from the beckoning obscurity,
Yet you bask in the lies of surety!
My victory is sure—how far can you endure?
You are not the victim pushed along the wayside,
But a whining martyr seeking self-centered sustenance
I eat pups like you for breakfast,
Out of the kindness of my heart!
Rue the day I set you free
Yet do not come near my pack—or me!
Hesitant to say, I love you for you
But not enough to allow the warmth to seep through
Fight me if you cease to care
And be ready for triumph to spew from the boulders you have created
9/24/12
have you forgotten it all within a moment?
does the feeling ever return to you?
or are you blank without passion or virtue?
does all i say simply run through you?
or does it sink in and get lost inside?
for you i cried
every ounce of pain was because i can’t
seem to understand you and what i truly want
one little moment is all it took for me to know
how long did it take for you?
and this depression just will not subside
for you i cried
i ache and scorn as if it makes a difference
resting, roosting in your absence of existence
my heart beats irregularly with the rhythm
of an imaginary you—me
i never truly said goodbye, did i?
for you i cry
and never truly see. . .
With the incoming sounds of spring, a resurrection of life,
the chilliness flees. Quote _ by Poet
Ready for a new season, Spring birds
Shake off winter; embracing
The bonniest warmness weather,
Babies born, and color of nature's crowns.
Scarlet Tanagers chatter, flying round,
Feasting on caterpillar’s slowness
And beetles boring away that are found;
whilst
Eternal sunlight reft through sturdy limbs
And myriad leaves of the mighty old oak;
Rapid rhythm clatter drum sounds
Of the Woodpecker on its breast shout.
A hum, a garden faintly woo a smile
At song sung by pretty red feather Robin dancing.
A sweet kiss, a seed, the male Cardinal
Feeds his blush pretty mate favor.
Yonder pond, tree boughs
Teasing the water's edge
Whilst
Little Mallard ducklings
Follow mamma to the bank.
Bluebird builds her nest
Right in the heart of the sprouting
Redbud flowering tree.
Camouflage in the red begonia
An orange breasted Oriole
With its sweet enchanting sound.
On the horizon the fire fades out,
Hush around in high perch, tiny roosting
Cold blue moon comes into sight.
2/26/2021
Poetry Contest: Spring Birds
Sponsored by: Constance La France
The wood pigeon awoke on her roosting perch,
fluttered with a nervous jerk;
warilysearching for sustenance,
above the peregrine made a fateful entrance.
The winter harsh and icy cold,
driven far from its familiar fold,
seeking food further afield
to an urban garden that might increase its yield.
Under a biting wintry sky
the short tailed falcon hovered high,
an efficient killer from above,more than a
match for pigeon or dove.
Taking its chosen meal in flight,
swooping sudden from a great height,
the momentum imprinting our window pane,
her throat slashed she soon was slain.
Talons sunk deep into the pigeons chest
this finicky eater pecked at head and breast.
The lawn strewn leavings of a ravenous raptor,
as nature's journal leafs another chapter.
Morning ignites a murder of white crows.
Roosting in the loft of spruce, maple, and oak.
Preening moon and star from death's fertile dream.
Ribbons of sunlight wrapped tight, ancient scrolls.
Window ajar, enter angels donning brooches of mint.
Crows perched lightly upon honey-kissed bedposts.
In each platinum beak, they carry one corner of my ghost,
lifted toward an ember of pulsating eternity.
Garnished with pearly crown and secondhand wings.
Outside, the crows lined up along golden cobbled clouds.
Motionless, like a rosary of gleaming white stones.
Whispering, whirling secrets of galaxies and geodes.
Drifting about, chrysalis-brained, rose petal-hearted.
Leaving behind glittering pools of scented hieroglyphs.
Orange robes enchanting the horizon with lavender mist.
Butterflies released from blue granite chrysalis.
Riding a stream of cherry sunbeams and glitter.
The echoes of a rainbow are a grand place to live.
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