Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
Skies draw me –
the allure of wings
the inference of escape
Not afraid to dream –
imagination fully engaged
willingness set on go
Till darkness encroaches –
a black line blotting
periphery
Imperfection an ugly
critique – self flails
doubt becomes certainty
Wrench my perspective
away from the gloom
need to crop the image.
(Inspired by the promptings of Reena’s Exploration challenge: addiction or depression; and Bushboys: Last on card April 3.)
Intense, your presence,
fierceness of talons, bulk of
feathered might – humble
my soul’s rejoicing, grateful
to share this brief encounter.
(For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day.)
A succession of tweets
draws me to riverbed
where tiny legs scurry
across exposed rocks.
Foraging amongst
soggy offerings,
the Spotted Sandpiper
exudes confidence.
It is female who
choses breeding ground,
prepared to defend
her clan, appoints
her mates to mind
the young – she is
polyamorous, hormone
driven – a force.
(For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day.)
Vultures come
sharpen talons and beaks
tear at necrotic flesh
pick this carcass clean
I need a committee
to rid me of parasitic past
trauma’s cadaver
weighing me down.
(Linking up to Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day. A macabre bird and poem to fit the season. Image from personal collection)
The river holds so many surprises
least of which is the sudden appearance
at water’s edge of a tall white egret –
a countenance I acquaint with Texas
and warmer climes – what wonder
to find this greatness at my backdoor.
(The Great Egret is common in coastal areas, but not a bird I have encountered in Ontario, until now. Linking up with Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day.)
I am in awe of the eagles who have made our neighbourhood home. To see them up close is such a blessing.
For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day, and for RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: pure/ serene.)
Must have been the heat –
lazy August sun reaching
through Willow sway –
or maybe the laughter
bubbling up from brook –
had me so ensorcelled
I swear I saw the veil slip,
beheld faery beings –
a second of enchantment
then gone…
Late August nights cool
burnt dry hues
will soon transform –
symphony of colour
There is sorrow
in Summer’s end;
Autumn’s icy breath
Winter’s warning.
Silent as the Great Blue,
Autumn hues creep
shifting the landscape
altering my mood.
Do feathers quiver
at the ensuing chill,
or is it merely human
this seasonal affect?
(For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day)
Unexpected,
this encounter –
piercing golden eyes
a coat of mottled feathers,
a new visitor to our river –
not sure who is more startled.
(Smaller than the bald eagle, this bird of prey was perched riverside. Suspect it is a red-tailed hawk. For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day.)
(
