in spiritual cardinal winds.
flits, filling echoing niches.
serenades in day
like empty expanse
to be filled.
Red feathered soul
signifying that souls
caught on a sunporch
frantic to be free
not seeing the door
that had been
the whole time.
They are all around us. In the trees, flying here and there in the sky and pretty much everywhere their wings can take them. They come in all shapes and sizes. Some are cute and others are ferocious. They are the birds. I really adore them but i really hate some birds or their actions. Yep i am talking about the bird poop. I mean who likes bird poop falling down from the sky and onto their head. It's really gross and the fact that others make fun of you for it makes it even worse. I personally haven't experienced this but i have witnessed it happen a lot of times. And this also happens with an impeccable timing. I mean it's fun for others but to that person, no it's not.
But other than that and allergies and violence you can't find a single thing to criticize our flying friends. They are very loyal and caring.
This is just a critical short essay about birds. Anyhoo i love them ♤
A Simple Strategy.
Birds get depressed. Did you know that? In fact, most animals who have some semblance of intelligence are capable of getting depressed. It just seems like birds wouldn’t, you know, because they can fly.
I looked after a depressed Tawny Frogmouth once. He wouldn’t eat, so I force-fed him. I’d take a little piece of ground-up meat with his special insect-derived vitamin powder mix in it (come to think of it, maybe he wasn’t depressed, maybe he was just a bird-food connoisseur?) and I’d carefully drop the morsel near the back of his throat, making sure not to damage his paper-thin tongue, then I’d hold his beak closed and stroke his soft neck ever so gently until I felt the lump of food go down his gullet into his crop. His big disgruntled eyes would glare up at me in disdain and I’d coo and tell him what a good little fwoggy he was.
plastic pedal boats
the water of the pond
bobbing up and down
flashes of green and grey and white
soft sounds cresting tiny waves
feathers floating away
a connection of stares
and they scatter
they are supposed to be kingly fishers.
so what the hell were they doing, nesting on top of a walnut, next to my fifth-story dorm room?
we were about thirty miles from river, pond, or stream.
and yet, these colorful fellows were colonizing the place!!
i spent early mornings looking at their antics. i tried to entice them with presents left on the windowsill.
but they don't fall for such bribes.
sadly, at some point they decided that living off of the land is antithetical to their rebelious nature.
they left me alone. looking at a branch of a walnut tree...
Drops of Energy (hummingbirds)
Some birds seal themselves in logs,
Make their mates work just like dogs.
Others speak quite knowingly.
How impressive they can be!
Birds can count, add, and subtract.
Brains these birdbrains never lacked.
Homing pigeons formed a link,
Helped allies know what to think.
Bright canaries sacrificed,
So humans were well advised.
Crocs’ birds aren’t idiotic
Their lives are symbiotic.
Of all these that defy words,
I’m most charmed by hummingbirds.
For twelve hundred miles they fly,
Nonstop, logic to belie.
Little drops of energy,
Hummingbirds have synergy.
Every year I looked forward to the week we would get to visit my grandma at the beach. She had a really gorgeous house with a big screened in porch that looked out into a forest, swamp, or forest again (depending on which year and in turn which house). Every morning I would find her sitting out there just looking. Birdwatching. She had these little binoculars that didn't really work and a big book about native birds in her area. We would look through and try to find as many of the varieties as possible. One year she even made all the kids a list and turned the whole thing into a competition. We would check off every time we saw one of the birds on the list, and at the end of the week the winner would get a special prize. Now, I of course did not win because I didn't wake up early enough to sit out for a long time and watch the birds, but she still gave everyone something. We all got these little wooden birds attached to a string. I think they were intended to be Christmas ornaments or something but mine is hanging on my window. Every time I look at it I'm reminded of those blissful years, and peaceful mornings looking at birds with the most wonderful woman I know.
Starstruck, stuck, stolen hearts
intertwined, like doves in daylight
making love look easy,
caught in the breeze of it all.
Following like fools,
as one leads the other.
Too much, too soon,
yet I can still hear them,
soft songs in the distance,
the trappings of courtship.
My neighbours, the birds
I could almost hear the little furry squirrel grind its teeth as it chased after the sparrow who had just settled on the narrow branch of the Persian silk tree in front of my window. Well satisfied with the sparrow’s startled flight, the squirrel chattered away as it made a flying leap into the neighbouring tree.
The sparrow, true to its reputation as a hardy survivor of the ages, perched itself on the highest branch of the tree for its morning break, secure in the knowledge that its adversary wouldn’t come so high up.
The pretty flowers of the large shrub that also faces my window shone brightly yellow in the morning sun. I watched my favourite ice-cream birds take a dive from the shrub and swoop onto the ground to peck at tasty worms going about their morning chores. Their black wings have a white petticoat which peeps out coyly when they are still and flares into a white arc when they fly. Seated, they look just like chocolate vanilla ice-cream.
Another daily visitor is the coppersmith barbet. Green as a parrot but much more petite, with its distinctive red crest glowing right in the sun and yellow eye-masks, it looks like a shy and pretty bandit especially when you hear its sharp, distinctive calls.
The mynah, which often perches on our window sill with a view to finding food, also has yellow eye-masks but with its simple brown colouring is no match for the barbet in the beauty stakes. There is a profusion of mynahs for there are very many trees in front of my window and it is not uncommon to find pairs of mynahs in the various trees, making not a sound, just watching with their exaggerated yellow eye make-up on.
My personal favourite is the little yellow bird whose name I know not. No more than a few inches long, its plump yellow stomach is never full. Its daily afternoon visit to the Crossandra flowers blooming in our windowsill is a given It sucks greedily from the funnel shaped flowers, then perches on the window sill, tiny belly full of nectar, and sings a loud, melodious song for us by way of thanks.
There is of course the far too occasional visit of the regal kingfisher that spreads delight among all us human watchers. Then we have the bats that have been seen only once (thankfully) and a large, still bird with the orange overcoat who visited briefly for a few days and then disappeared, never to be seen again. Not to mention the black, cawing crows that are seen everyday, vying with each other and scaring the other birds away when food is around.
I forgot the cuckoo! The male cuckoo, black as night, with neon-red eyes enough to scare children away, opens its mouth and lo and behold, even the children stop and gape. The melodious ‘koo koo’ that pierces the day all through the summer, meant to attract the female cuckoo, instead ends up entrancing the human variants. The female cuckoo, in the meanwhile, spotted brown all over, silent and disdainful, ignores the male for so long that the male is reduced to singing in the nights at time, unable to control his desire and unable to fulfil it.
With trees so alive with birds, their singing and livinng filling our ears and minds, I thank the powers that be everyday for permitting us the joy of birds around us.