Mattie and Myrna
Mattie and Myrna have become my pals
Though it wasn't that way from the start
They're nothing like dear Red and Goldie
But over time they've won my heart.
Red and Goldie used to visit the feeder
Until frightened away by the cat
But Mattie and Myrna being bold and brassy
Would loudly squawk and chat.
When they brought their new mynah fledglings
Wearing a pathetic hungry look
These crafty avian parents
Knew that this was their winning hook.
They watch my comings and goings
And feign a respectful kowtow
And being their well trained human,
I toss them some Friskies Cat Chow!
So, although I miss my cardinals,
Their beauty and enchanting song,
Somehow these boisterous mynahs
In my life now seem to belong.
Molly Moore
Spring the magical season of natural splendour,
It's glory brightens and blooms every life,
Birds chirp in meadows and call for their mates;
The tap-tap of the woodpeckers,
And their courtship dances,
Welcome the mating season in cheer.
The bold Ashy prinia with perky tail
Found in thickets, the jungle mynahs
Seen in noisy groups at sunset,
The spotted owlet with a hooting sound,
Seen in banyan and peepal trees,
Are sights of delight after a dreary winter.
The white-browed wagtail,
Scurrying in open spaces wagging its tail,
The pond heron with its yellow eyes,
And the Asian koel singing kik kik,
His mate too joining, singing kuoo kuoo,
Create a symphony of magical melody.
Date: 02/26/2021
Submitted for: Spring Birds Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Flock of birds met in a marsh
Dusky breeze welcoming all
Sat on the branches of mangrove
Chirping, clattering on mighty matters.
Sharing nuts, grains, seeds and saplings
Teasing one another with colourful feathers
Discussing their flight and heights they cover
Lastly about a place to rest – their nest.
All young ones fear, mothers hugged with pain
All birds had tears, nature joined as rain
Night setting in with much fuss
Sparrows, Crows, Cuckoos, Mynahs in a mess.
Trees scarce and vanishing with widening
Kestrel nest is weaving grass on trees
Invested a lot of time and energy in building
Hearts tremble to see the broken nest.
Oh! Mother Nature! Create space to settle as stars
Or provide skills to swim like fish
Or make tall towers and light houses host nests
Or bless the trees with “nest” to never die.
I open the door
to balcony,
a rush of dimmed sun rays
touches my face gently,
a gush of cool breeze,
caresses me tenderly.
The gentle breeze,
sways the wind chimes,
a soft tinkling sound,
pervades the air,
resonates a melody.
I stand before
the barren Gulmuhar tree,
with its bare branches,
sans a trace of green,
touches a chord,
deep in my heart.
A few mynahs and parrots,
come flying and,
perch on its dry branches,
but flew away soon
for a greener refuge.
The dry, leafless tree,
lays bare an unhealed wound,
an emptiness,
an unfulfilled longing,
buried deep inside me.
The spring is not far,
to adorn the bare tree,
with new leaves,
crimson flowers,
and bring back birds,
of all hues to its fold.
The advent of spring,
a precursor to new life,
to trees, meadows, lost brooks,
a joie de vivre,
will usher in,
a heavenly bliss on earth.
But, the deep sore,
inside me,
never be healed.
I have lost colours of spring,
aeon's back,
abandoned and rejected,
at the prime,
banished to a loveless world,
I shall wait endlessly for the spring to come.
I fell asleep beneath the Elm
and thus began to dream.
Whilst sleeping sound in sleeper’s realm,
the Mynah birds did sing,
and whispered unto me a spree of many a curious thing –
that I should die, but then to rise
and reign the world as Queen!
I woke from chilly winds and then,
I found to my surprise,
before me lay a cap and pin;
the Mynah birds did cry,
a cooing soft from Elm tree tops and tempting me to try
the crown of gold and dagger cold that shone before my eyes.
I placed the crown upon my head,
the dagger through my breast.
The loss of life and blood that bled
put Mynah birds to rest.
Then perched the worst of all the Mynahs stiff atop my chest
and thrice it pecked to resurrect a Queen from fallen flesh.
winter dawn
a patch of clouds
blossom a bare tree
holding on
with what she left behind
winter moon
winter rain
the urge to feel
the newborn
full moon
winter’s stillness
in a soap bubble
uphill walking
she takes me into
winter clouds
winter deepens . . .
lungi shivering on
the beggar's face
on the rock . . .
the descent of water ends
winter's loneliness
winter twilight
homing mynahs
over my backstroke
The Peepal timidly peeped
From amid those tiny cracked bricks
Seeking the warm sunlight
It spread its arms wide
The rain water tenderly seeped
Nurturing this sapling that bravely sticks
Its head out into the foreign light
Against the crumbling wall’s side
The sapling grew diligently forward
From a young to a mature tree
A haven for chattering mynahs and singing koels
That feasted on its berries
These airy messengers when lifted upwards
Carrying its seeds and flying free
Until perching here or there they roll
The sleeping seeds into nurseries
The mighty Peepal now strong and tall
Viewed the green kingdom of trees
The wind carried its proud call
To spread the magic of walking trees
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