photo by Marie Riepenhoff-Talty, Sacramento
PEAFOWL BLUES
—Marie Riepenhoff-Talty, Sacramento
Blue-green iridescent plumage—
enormously elongated upper tail coverts,
ornamented with an eye at each end
distinguish the male Pavo cristatus, peacock
from the female peahen with her short, dull
greenish-gray tail feathers—were these birds
capable of human emotions, you might expect
the peahen to envy the peacock—
quite the opposite— the peahen herself
perpetrates—perpetuates those glorious
homogametic ZZ hatchlings by adhering
to the sexy-son hypothesis; whereby
her magnificently endowed sons will be
more readily selected by the young
peahens following their courtship display.
Thank you, dull greenish-gray mother.
_______________________
Thanks, Marie! For several years, we had a resident peacock which was the light of my life. I still miss him. Marie writes: I am currently staying on Longboat Key, part of Sarasota, Florida. There are 50 to 60 peafowl that roam this Key; thus my inspiration. They are very curious birds. While they have wonderful plumage, at least the males, they make the most raucous, unpleasant sounds. I am staying alone in a cottage, circa 1895, and my first night here I was terrified when I heard their noise, which I could not identify. Since then I have been pursuing them for photographs. :-)
Today is my birthday, so I shall indulge myself by publishing another poem of my own:
TEASING OUT THE PEACOCK
—Kathy Kieth, Pollock Pines
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. . .
_______________________
Today Kathy Kieth would've been 61 years old, should she have continued to acknowledge birthdays, which she is not.
Mary Mackey on Garrison Keillor's "Writer's Almanac":
Garrison Keillor is going to read "Chicken Killing" on "The Writer's Almanac" Feb. 15th and "My Methodist Grandmother Says" on "The Writer's Almanac" Feb. 16th. The poems, which are both from Mary Mackey's new collection, Breaking the Fever, are also going to be available on the American Public Radio website and in podcast. In the Bay Area, the show will be playing at 9 AM on KALW (91.7 FM). If you like, you can hear them as early as Monday, Feb. 13, by checking The Writer's Almanac web site. You can also check the schedule for other parts of the country, since different stations play The Writer's Almanac at different times.
Send me your shadows:
Send me your poetry about shadows before midnight on Monday, Feb. 13, and I'll send you a surprise poetry present. E-mail to kathykieth@hotmail.com, or snail to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. Here's one from Taylor Graham, whose present is in the mail:
MUSEUM, AFTER-HOURS
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
In the bottom drawer of study-skins
a ruby-crowned kinglet (Regulus
calendula) dreams of flight.
Forever facing the windowless
west wall, a mustang (Equus caballus,
changed from E. ferus, wild –
brown hide drawn over polyurethane
foam) dreams his once-breakable
heart.
There is no moon tonight,
only a glow of monitors.
What good are lights
but to silhouette these forms
that no longer cast
a moving shadow?
_______________________
Thanks, TG!
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their POETRY, PHOTOS and ART, as well as 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.)
