[image from google dot com]
GRACKLE
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.
HERE
Revisit
20 January 2016
