Even a Turkey Can Be a Peacock

TEASING OUT THE PEACOCK
—Kathy Kieth, Fair Oaks

Sharp air of a February morning: sunny
slate-gray street lined with wild

turkeys: white frost-puffs pulling
dinosaur necks that bob, stoop,

comb suburban shrubbery, then
squawk and scatter at the rumble

of a garbage truck. . . Even a turkey
can be a peacock when the sun slants

over mahogany feathers: brief winter
light-coquette of a sun winking

its way through all this auburn:
combing for signs of spring: teasing out

the teals and the violets, ceruleans
and beryls, the verdigris: finally

releasing the harlequin dancer
that hides inside each of these

dark mountains of brown. . .

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Plenty of turkey courtship around here these days, gray weather be damned. Speaking of birds, today Walter de la Mare would be 133 years old. This poem (from his children's poetry book, Peacock Pie) is one of my all-time favorites, as the birds sweep in (read it out loud!). And check out Peacock Pie for beautiful sounds and other wonderful surprises. Happy birthday, Walt!

THE STORM
—Walter de la Mare

First there were two of us, then there were three of us,
Then there was one bird more,
Four of us—wild white sea-birds,
Treading the ocean floor;
And the wind rose, and the sea rose,
To the angry billows' roar—
With one of us—two of us—three of us—four of us
Sea-birds on the shore.

Soon there were five of us, soon there were nine of us,
And lo! in a trice sixteen!
And the yeasty surf curdled over the sands,
The gaunt grey rocks between;
And the tempest raved, and the lightning's fire
Struck blue on the spindrift hoar—
And on four of us—ay, and on four times four of us
Sea-birds on the shore.

And our sixteen waxed to thirty-two,
And they to past three score—
A wild, white welter of winnowing wings,
And ever more and more;
And the winds lulled, and the sea went down,
And the sun streamed out on high,
Gilding the pools and the spume and the spars
'Neath the vast blue deeps of the sky;

And the isles and the bright green headlands shone,
As they'd never shone before,
Mountains and valleys of silver cloud,
Wherein to swing, sweep, soar—
A host of screeching, scolding, scrabbling
Sea-birds on the shore—
A snowy, silent, sun-washed drift
Of sea-birds on the shore.

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MAYDAY! Poems needed by May 1 for Snakelets, the journal of poetry from kids 0-12, and VYPER, for ages 13-19. Send 'em to kathykieth@hotmail.com. Also on May 1: Gail Entrekin will be reading at Sacramento Poetry Center; more about that later.

Tonight (Tues., 4/25) there will be a teen poetry open mike and music night at 6:30 at the Galt-Marion O. Lawrence Library as part of TV Turnoff Week. Free; 1000 Caroline Ave., Galt. Info: 916-264-2920.

Congrats to Laverne Frith for winning this year's California Federation of Chaparral Poets, Inc. Pegasus Award, and to Elsie Whitlow Feliz for winning their Roadrunnerup Award. And to littlesnake broadsider Indigo Moore, who has just received a fellowship to attend both sessions of the Summer Poetry workshops in Idyllwild, July 16-22. (To make this news all the more impressive, he didn't even apply!—He was nominated.)

One more poem for the birds; it's a Russell Edson kind of day:

THE BATH
—Russell Edson

A man was taking a bath in a tub of turkey gravy; floating a rubber duck to while away eternity. Eating mashed potatoes, dipping forkfuls in his bath...

It was gorgeous, the whole thing, he thought, me in soak with a duck, having mashed potatoes and gravy, while out there a whole crazy world...

_______________________

One more thing: rattlechapper and fellow poet/publisher/blogger James Lee Jobe's mother is seriously ill; click on the link to the right of this for details. And think good thoughts about JLJ and his family.

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)