Saturday, January 20, 2018


[image from google dot com]

She loves to skip across my wall.
She sometimes playfully frolics with another,
through the ixora bush.
She wakes me at dawn with a definite chant.
Morning light follows streaming into my bedroom.
She draws the curtains across night with daring.
She keeps in her vision the vanishing moon,
until it fades thoroughly.
She espies the showy yellow bellied Kiskadee,
hogging the highest perch.
She is silent now after her opening song.
For awaking the day is tiring business.
She may or may not eat the safflower, who knows
She eats most things even french fries,
She flits through the Tamarind tree,
resting in its thick shady boughs.
She can never pale to the Blue Grey Tanager,
standing out bright black on the lawn grass.
Her black beak pecking pecking pecking,
who wouldn't stop and stare.
A song swallowed in her belly, she skits stops looks,
Eyes gold and bright.
Ever watchful ever looking
The shrub, the ant, the chameleon, held in her gaze,
pity the poor blackbirds baked in a pie.
Then from my wall to the neighbour's bushy silver grey shrub,
Her flight of fancy.
I am delighted to see her each and every day year long,
could this be reciprocal?
When she holds me in a stare and a dare.
What does she think of me?
Who is the human woman with clear brown eyes.
I am the one you touched in flight that day,
while i was walking down the main street.
Surely you remember me.
There aren't two of me you know.
Even though humans are so alike.
You sing from the high Euphorbia Cactus,
I tilt me head to see you.

Blog hopping today at imaginary garden

Weekend Challenge: Play Tennis With A Ghost
Brendan Challenges us: Go play tennis with a ghost. Take a poem by another poet you respond deeply to and write something by way of response.

I chose Even thou not a ghost i decieded to shadow play
Catbird by Mary Oliver
He picks his pond, and the soft thicket of his world.
He bids his lady come, and she does,
flirting with her tail.
He begins early, and makes up his song as he goes.
He does not enter a house at night, or when it rains.
He is not afraid of the wind, though he is cautious.
He watches the snake, that stripe of black fire,
until it flows away.
He watches the hawk with her sharpest shins, aloft.
in the high tree.
He keeps his prayer under his tongue.
In his whole life he has never missed the rising of the sun.

20 January 2016


  1. You do a fine nod to Mary Oliver, your grackle is like the lover to Oliver's bird, the gal who sings back. Fine assortment of detail -- there must be, for no two of your singers are alike! -- and we are left with head turning to the encounter. Lovely.

  2. Thanks for your appreciation Brendan. Happy you dropped in to read mine


  3. "She is silent now after her opening song.
    For awaking the day is tiring business.
    She may or may not eat the safflower, who knows"... love this! Brilliant write, Gillena 💗💖

  4. Thanks for dropping in Sanaa


  5. I love the use of alliteration and imagery here - very effective

  6. I love the detailing, and the repetition. It reminded me of Christopher Smart's cat Jeoffrey (great name for a cat)

    1. Thanks for your appreciatiob Sarah. Thanks for the link you shared


  7. Such depth and detail in your rendering. I was not familiar with this [articular Oliver poem so thanks for the doorway in.

  8. I wasn't familiar with that Oliver poem. Now I very much like both her bird and yours.

    1. Thank you for yoyr appreciation Rosemary


  9. I love birds and I love poems about birds. I see the relationship between you and the grackle in these lines which sing with glee.

    1. Thank you for your appreciation Kerry


  10. Love this...a song of birds is poetry in itself... love the details of its diet

    1. Thank you foe yohr appreciation Björn


  11. So many people here complain about grackles, but for me they mean spring has arrived. I would love to hear their noisy chatter right now.

    1. Warm wishes Susie. Thanks for dropping by