Monthly Archives: April 2017

Black-headed Grosbeak

 

 

With a few exceptions, I tend to lump all the little birds together, especially in the spring. The constant flittering that seems to begin with the house finches courting on the railing, the rosy chests of crooning males that seem to intensify in the process, followed by a period of squabbling with neighbors while claiming space along the beam with a steady rain of dry materials from construction and deconstruction overhead. With space enough for half-a-dozen households, it’s entertaining, but messy.

My sister, who was visiting from the Bay Area, was impressed with all the avian activity when Robbin and I both noticed a bird we hadn’t seen before, bigger than a finch, but smaller than the clan of blackbirds, who’ve taken residence in two coastal redwoods, strutting across the lawn between unabashed breedings. To add more birds for our entertainment, Robbin filled the bird feeders for the first time in months that drew the stranger in, along with a pair of Bullock Orioles. Even noting the distinguished details of the stranger with binoculars, I couldn’t identify it online or within the several bird books on hand.

So taking a page out of my wildflower identification experience, I photographed it last evening on the feeder. Only in the photograph did I really see its ‘large’ beak, then went online this morning: I think it’s a Black-headed Grosbeak!

 

Black-headed Grosbeak

 

 

Easter 2017

 

 

FEELING APRIL

 

 

From creek to ridge alive with spring,
churned and feathered urgencies abloom,
from pink to purple petals opening

to the sky, to its great white ships
passing after a sunlit shower’s rainbow.
Perfumes stirred inhaled, this canyon’s

air is shared with two golden eagles
hunting for hungry hatchlings high
in granite outcrops, sailing low

to snag sunning ground squirrels
more frequently now, imagining
young yellow beaks in sticks

open to the sky. It is the beginning
of the end, the ripening of the seed—
the dramatic performance of scripts

with fresh actors little changed
in my life, in my flesh—dependable
feelings somewhat akin to love.

 

OBSTACLES

 

 

There are boulders even
in dry creek beds, obstacles
for water to flow around – make
the sounds that soothe us so.

Easily identified, some are bolted down
like the mountains with sharpened edges
eerily singing new refrains each night.
We know them. Sometimes we curse them.

We even pray to God to remove them
from our channeled way of going, yet
not believing the music we cherish most
comes from rubbing against them.

                  (Poems from Dry Creek, 2008)

 

© 2017 Dry Crik Press

 

Noting repeated references to ‘granite’ in my poetry, a dear friend emailed an audio link of Thobar Phadraig reading his poem “Stone” that reminded me of “Stone Poems” by Douglas Skrief published by Starhaven (London, 2009), who also published my “Poems from Dry Creek” in 2008. Relating this ‘granite’ thread to Robbin last evening, she remembered my poem “Obstacles” and the circumstances that spawned it.

The Poem Notes from that book: Written while haggling over the language of a conservation easement intended to preserve the ranch, this simple poem was, and continues to be, a solid touchstone for difficult times. After approximately three years of emotional discussions, we abandoned the concept to concentrate our energies on improving the ranch and our cowherd – tending to the business we know best. Included in “Still in the Mountains,” 2004.

Our notion of a good poem is not dated, so we have decided to post some of my earlier poetry here from time to time.

 

ALIVE AND WELL

 

 

Exposed slopes sculpted by eons of storm,
like smooth flesh cut by canyons, worn
wrinkle into wrinkle, creek to river run,

speak quietly of patience on a Sabbath
after-rain, after yet another cleansing,
glint of dew upon the green at dawn.

When the Bird and Animal People
created man, gathered up the earth
to mold in their hands, they thought big

at first, but left the hills undone for us
to live within. You can feel mountains
breathe, hear the heart beat underneath

your feet, and in the moonrise see
movement in their sleep, waiting
to awake some day when we are gone.

 

WITH RAIN

 

 

Smoking curlicues,
dancing citronella flame—
evening mosquitoes.

 

PRECURSOR

 

 

No doubt about it,
high-tech’s forecast proven true
with red sky at dawn.

 

FLORIFEROUS MONKEYFLOWER – Mimulus floribundus

 

 

Small yellow faces
drawing life where their seed rests
in cracks of granite.

 

ROADRUNNERS

 

 

Ubiquitous songs
spilling from the green of spring
ring hollow at dawn.

 

SURPRISE

 

 

Jade heaven forgive
my sudden interruption
of breakfast at noon.