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Bits of Poetry

~ Linda R Davis, Raven of Peace & Poetry

Bits of Poetry

Tag Archives: Bird Poems

A Low Barrier Between Life and Death

23 Saturday Jan 2021

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Ash, Beauty, Bird Poems, Bowl and Pitcher, Courage, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Fear of Death, Healing, Hope, Life, Moss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Ponderosa, River, Soul, Souls, Spokane, Spokane River, Strength, Suicide, Survival, Winter, Winter poem, Yearning

I wonder how many have plunged,

broken bodies against the steep,

unforgiving basalt, to flow far away

from the tether of this rocky outcrop.

There are worse places to die

than underneath a basking ponderosa,

on a glorious day in deep winter,

high, above the earth’s mucosa.

Here is heaven, its gods, the osprey and eagle;

they preside from piney thrones, regal,

and survey with indifferent contemplation;

from their perch, suffering is also celebration.

There are less noble ways to die,

than beneath the wings of geese.

See them glide peacefully

over the rapids of the Spokane,

rage of water in the ears,

shiver of blue sky, full sun.

Yet, if hopeless traveler made the steep climb

to this one, celestial throne:

its blood, a brilliant green moss,

its body, the bare, leafless skeleton of alumroot,

entreating with outstretched arms:

See, the promise of spring.

If they were to navigate loose rock,

on the treacherous path that leads here,

would it be enough to make them cling

to the rock wall in front of me,

this low, precarious barrier between?

Promise of a New Start

15 Thursday Oct 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Afterlife, Bird Poem, Bird Poems, CoronaVirus, Courage, Covid19, Death, Dying, Forgiveness, Hope, Infinite, Life, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spirit, Spring, Survival

“There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.” Robert Frost

Yet, they do fall, and silent, rot

beneath the changing bow.

Birds gather to peck the flesh

making less of loss,

Or perhaps, no loss at all.

You see,

the Universe claims everything

we leave behind.

Our regrets, too,

like spoiled fruit,

eventually fall away

scavenged by the sun.

Seeds are revealed

inside what we took as dead.

Trust me, next spring

there will be a new start.

This Pendant World

06 Monday Apr 2020

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

Bird Poems, CoronaVirus, Covid19, Death, Dying, Forgiveness, Gratitude, Happiness, Hope, Horse Poems, Horse poetry, Horses, Life, Loneliness, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Sacred, Soul, Soul Poetry, Spirit, Spring, spring poem, Survival, This Pendant World, Yearning

2.

Today, I trusted you,

straddled your wide,

bare back,

sweet mare,

doe-eyed, and healthy.

We breathed together

what good there is

of this April day,

and offered thanks

to a world,

mostly untouched:

the mountain, still there,

the grass, still starting to green,

the birds, still returning,

singing their songs

into the dark hours

of the night.

The Sweet Smell of Starting Over

18 Saturday May 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Bird Poem, Bird Poems, Bird Poetry, Birds, Death, Divorce, Eternity, Forgiveness, Freedom, Grace, Gratitude, Happiness, Hope, Infinite, Life, Longing, Love, Love Poems, Mercy, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Rain, Sacred, Soul, Soul Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Spirits, Spring, spring poem, Starting Over, Survival, The Universe, Unity, Women's Poems, Yearning

Even the stars are made of this:

sunshine & sweet petrichor.

What comes from above,

and we are made right,

our thirst, our life—

forgiveness,

after years of anger;

we finally feel love again.

The earth wreaks well of redemption,

grace permeates the dry ground.

And, the only sound we hear now,

birds,

who sing of starting over,

or, at least that’s what we hear,

like the smell of fresh water,

among grass, and clover:

sunshine & sweet petrichor.

Hog Lake Falls

01 Wednesday May 2019

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Poetry

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Tags

arrowleaf balsamroot, Bird Poems, Crows, Gratitude, Happiness, Hog Lake, Hog Lake Falls, Hope, Horse, Horse Poems, Horses, Life, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Ravens, Spirit, Spokane, spring poem, Waterfalls

The ground sounds hollow,

an echoing cadence of hoofbeats

follows among ponderosa, & a caw-caw

of wood raven, forest spies tattling

on our prattling happy chatter,

while hawks circle the pool

at the base of hog lake falls,

& balsamroot whispers

about the perfection of it all.

The Day I Knew the Way

28 Friday Dec 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Afterlife, Bird Poem, Bird Poems, Birds, Conversations With Maggie, Death, Death Poems, Dreams, Freedom, God, Happiness, Heaven, Hope, Infinite, Life, Love, Maggie, Memory, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Reality, Soul, Soul Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Spirits

it was a dream, and hard to tell

where borders and countries began,

but there was a dirt path,

and only I knew the way.

The dirt was soft, and the day

beautiful, I was barefoot

and running freer than ever I have

in wakened-life. It felt good

running in a warm sunshine,

ducking under the Velvet Mesquite,

with their canopies, their shade,

their branches, like open doors

to some better, magical place.

I liked the dream very much,

and could have kept running,

but I came to a lone house,

stark in the barren desert.

A blonde girl stood outside a fence,

scared and holding a gun,

and just like that,

I was shot in the arm.

I said it was a dream, didn’t I?

So, you won’t be surprised

I was impressed with her aim,

rather than the pain of being shot,

and I had to go pee.

I looked for a bathroom,

but had to wake to find one.

What is memory, I asked

later over coffee,

a little box in our brain,

a string of pictures?

How do we get there?

Memory is what we tell ourselves,

he said, about what we see

and what we feel.

You see, when Maggie died,

she passed into a prairie falcon,

she banged against windows,

day after day after day,

then left a last gift of quail,

and traveled the road of her happiness

to some place better than here.

Months later, the sun smiled,

and I ran on dirt, soft as baby powder,

passed through door after door,

on long, liquid legs, more of wing

than bone, and only I knew—

only I knew the way.

Wild Geese and Russia

29 Thursday Nov 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Bird Poems, Hope, Life, Poem, Poems, Poetry, politics, Soul Poetry, Truth

In a world of untrue things,

I choose to celebrate

the migration of wild geese in November,

and the stillness of this sunrise,

a quiet, broken conversation

passing through a cloud-filled sky.

Forgiveness

01 Sunday Apr 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Bird Poem, Bird Poems, Birds, Easter, Forgiveness, God, Grace, Hope, Poem, Poems, Poetry

Spring arrives like forgiveness,

A plump bluebird bouncing

Along the railing of our deck,

The cry of killdeer nesting

Among buttercups and grass widow.

The earth is full of robins

And toad sound, dormant lawns

Starting to green and grow,

And something like wonder

Taking root in this wide-open world.

The Aspen’s Happiness: First Day of Spring

20 Tuesday Mar 2018

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

aspen, Aspen Trees, Bird Poem, Bird Poems, Birds, First Day of Spring, Loneliness, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Robin, solstice, Spring, Winter, Winter poem

I think the aspen is happy today,

The way the robin perched

On its bare branches.

The skin of her feet,

The skin of that branch,

One warm body pulsing blood,

The other pulsing with spring sap.

To be touched after so long,

As your buds begin to break

The surface of what separates:

Your ability to drink of the sun,

And that long and naked loneliness.

Song of the Chickadee

23 Friday Dec 2016

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Bird Poems, black-capped chickadee, guitar poems, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Winter Birds

There’s a rule among birds,

If it’s singing, it can’t be killing,

Which may, or may not, be true,

Except for the family of plump chickadees,

Who wintered beneath our cedar arch.

With their black caps and gray-backed wings,

They flitted from rail, to pan, to chair, to deck,

To aspen perch, peeking in at us,

Until I plucked my first A minor–

The 3rd and 5th string,

A melancholy chord found in most songs,

Even the chickadees’, it turns out,

When they hear you sing.

Becoming Autumn

06 Monday Oct 2014

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Abandoned Nests, Aging, Alfalfa, Autumn, Autumn Poems, Barns, Bird Nests, Bird Poems, Horses, Mud Nests, Old Men, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Quail, Quail Poems

Morning comes late,
And the autumn sun trembles
through Aspen arms.
Didn’t you say,
If the sun didn’t rise,
Or set, there’d be no time?
Yesterday, the eggs were cold,
In a nest of mud, and hay,
And strands from the pinto’s mane;
Such that, even the barn
Closes in on silence.
The family of cats, hunkered down
Behind fresh stacks of alfalfa,
Grow fat on a sudden flush of quail,
And the sun sets sooner now.
At last night’s fire,
You were shocked
At what the old man wasn’t afraid to say.
Later, you laughed at what he’d said,
Talked of the freedom of age,
And the benign closing of our souls.

First try:

The Autumn sun rises late,
Through the arms of Aspen,
Trembling in slow, cool wind.

Second Try:

The late-rising, Autumn sun,
Trembles through the Aspen’s arms,
In a slow, cool wind.

Dreams of Storms and Geese

13 Wednesday Aug 2014

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Bird Poem, Bird Poems, Bird Poetry, Bits, Canada Geese, Death Poems, Dreams, God, Life, Mental Health, Poem, Poems, Robin Williams, Suicide, Suicide Poetry, Thoughts

The storm came, like so many storms,
More dark, more swift, more rain.
Before that, the first migration,
Canada Geese in mid-August clouds.
I wonder if nature follows news
Or news follows nature.
We quiver with uncertainty,
Our frail choices to live boldly.
Etta says, We get on our knees,
Pray for help, sometimes we gotta,
Just help ourselves.
But it’s hard missing,
Each one gone too early,
Disappeared into our dreams.
He’s an old man, he’s crying,
It scares me. Am I scared
Or sad, or terrified?
He’s an old man, he’s crying.
Says his brother stole his–
He says, his inheritance.
He’s an old man, for god’s sake.
Does it ever get easier?
And when did I start to envy geese?
September fifteenth, two thousand one.
When they fly by, I escape.
When they honk, I worship.
I think that’s what I wish I was–
As buoyed, as certain, as free.
This is what he said,
Before he was gone,
But only in their dreams
can men be truly free.
It was always thus
and always thus will be.
Why are we so afraid of leaving?
It’s much worse to be left.
We don’t know; we’ll never know.
The storm came, faster than we knew.
It did things, storms don’t usually do.

A Silent Post: Barn Sparrow Gone

01 Tuesday Jul 2014

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Bird Poem, Bird Poems, Birth, Death, Life, Poem, Poems, Poetry

The past is but a second,

A rotation of our body under the sun,

A few wet steps through grass,

On a path lit by a full moon.

So it seems,

The beautiful singing boy was there,

And then he was not.

What was left was a silent post

And a rafter full of chubby fledglings

Trying to find their way out of the barn.

The Most Beautiful Thing: The Barn Sparrow

13 Friday Jun 2014

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Barn Poems, Bird Poem, Bird Poems, Bird Poetry, Birds, Poems, Poetry

There is a barn sparrow

Who continually sings

One clear note.

I hear him every day

Above all the other bird sound:

From the deck of the house,

From the garden,

From the dirt road.

And, below where he sits on the fence,

Two cats criss-cross

Back and forth, leaving the barn,

Returning to the barn,

One half-hearted jump

From the beautiful singing boy.

But that’s not the most beautiful thing,

This is: He sings to lure us away

From their nest inside,

Built into a light socket above a stall,

A nest filled with the newly hatched,

And their mama tucked with them,

Her protective wing wrapped round,

Keeping them hushed.

I wanted to tell him I knew,

That I saw him flying away from it,

Landing on one wall,

Then the next, and the next,

Singing and tempting me slowly

To the outside fence,

But when I got close enough,

He flew away,

And when I followed,

He flew even further,

Until I was so far from the barn,

I was no longer a threat.

He gave me one last look as he perched,

Tipping with the wind,

On a scraggly branch of Toadflax,

Then he flew back to his fence post,

And continued his song.

 

 

 

 

 

Chasing Birds

03 Thursday Apr 2014

Posted by Linda R Davis Poetry in Uncategorized

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Tags

Bird Poems, Cat Poems, Cats, Coyotes, Magpies, Poem, Poetry

Every spring,

when the birds come back,

the cats disappear,

and I wonder if they’re dead,

or gone wild,

chasing magpies and robins

until they’re so far from home

they either don’t know,

or don’t care to return.

There are cats

who come back to me in dreams,

and I wonder if it means they’re alive.

There are theories of dreams,

that they’re infinite

pieces of our perceptions,

some hidden, some obvious,

but jumbled together as we sleep

and experience sweet things

we never thought we knew,

or horror we didn’t know

we could imagine.

Often, I wonder which is real,

if the cats in my dreams

are as much themselves

as any of us living can be,

and, if we are all,

always chasing birds, 

wandering further and further

from some home.

 

 

 

 

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