—Poetry by Linda Klein, Los Angeles, CA
—Public Domain Artwork
THE OSPREY
Gliding above a wide expanse of ocean,
his strong wings wave in circular motion,
fanning out in feathery grace
to slice the air and carry him to another place.
He flies with deliberate purpose,
yet as I watch, I feel his freedom and esprit.
Aggressive and sure soars the osprey,
white feet with sharp black talons droop.
He spots a fish and swoops,
zooms in ruthlessly and scoops
up his helpless prey, returns to his nest
to tear apart with beak and claws
his sustenance for the day.
Gliding above a wide expanse of ocean,
his strong wings wave in circular motion,
fanning out in feathery grace
to slice the air and carry him to another place.
He flies with deliberate purpose,
yet as I watch, I feel his freedom and esprit.
Aggressive and sure soars the osprey,
white feet with sharp black talons droop.
He spots a fish and swoops,
zooms in ruthlessly and scoops
up his helpless prey, returns to his nest
to tear apart with beak and claws
his sustenance for the day.
Squares with Concentric Circles
—Painting by Vassily Kandinsky, 1913
EL PERIQUITO AZUL
Philip returned home from work one evening carrying a peculiar dome-shaped object under his right arm. He placed the oddity on the dinette table and summoned his wife and their two children from various parts of the house. Philip indicated the oilcloth-covered parcel to them with the look of a magician about to mystify an audience. Removing the cover he revealed a parakeet with blue and gray feathers sitting quietly on a wooden dowel perch in the domed cage.
The bird took in his new surroundings, the curious family watching him, and he began twittering nervously. Sally, Philip's wife, covered her mouth to hide a gentle laugh. The children, Linda, 16, and Michael, 12, looked at each other and shrugged. The parakeet was a gift for the two of them from Roberto, their father's fellow shipping clerk at Langevin Radio and Television Manufacturing Company, whom they had met a few weeks earlier, but they were at a stage where the little bird did not interest them.
Philip immediately hammered a hook into a corner of the dining nook ceiling and hung the cage chain from it, the parakeet excitedly fluttered inside. Every day Philip's wife cleaned the cage and refilled the feeder box with seeds. No one but Philip paid much attention to the parakeet. He spoke to the bird and named him Azul, the Spanish word for blue, in honor of Roberto who gave them this cheerful gift.
Each morning, before leaving for work, he would remove the cage cover and whistle to awaken Azul. Then he would say "Felipe" over and over again, trying to teach Azul to say his name in Spanish. Azul would only chirp back at him.
In the evenings, after the family had eaten dinner, scarcely noticing Azul nor listening to his lonesome tweet, they all watched Philip open the cage door. Azul would hop onto his finger, but never sit there more than a second or two before flying around the room wildly, as though desperate to find a way out. Azul limited himself to the dining nook because all of the other rooms were dark. Finally, exhausted, he would fly up to the ceiling, placing his thin legs on the molding, grasping it with his claws. There he would nibble the white paint frustratedly. Philip had to stand on the seat of a chair to remove the struggling bird with both hands and return him to his cage. He covered the cage and Azul would become quiet. This routine became Azul's life. "Exercise," Philip explained with conviction. "Even a bird needs exercise."
One morning, Philip removed the cover of Azul's cage. His lips rounded, ready to whistle the wake up song. Instead he just blew out air. Azul lay still on the bottom of the cage, a small, plump pile of blue and gray feathers.
Philip returned home from work one evening carrying a peculiar dome-shaped object under his right arm. He placed the oddity on the dinette table and summoned his wife and their two children from various parts of the house. Philip indicated the oilcloth-covered parcel to them with the look of a magician about to mystify an audience. Removing the cover he revealed a parakeet with blue and gray feathers sitting quietly on a wooden dowel perch in the domed cage.
The bird took in his new surroundings, the curious family watching him, and he began twittering nervously. Sally, Philip's wife, covered her mouth to hide a gentle laugh. The children, Linda, 16, and Michael, 12, looked at each other and shrugged. The parakeet was a gift for the two of them from Roberto, their father's fellow shipping clerk at Langevin Radio and Television Manufacturing Company, whom they had met a few weeks earlier, but they were at a stage where the little bird did not interest them.
Philip immediately hammered a hook into a corner of the dining nook ceiling and hung the cage chain from it, the parakeet excitedly fluttered inside. Every day Philip's wife cleaned the cage and refilled the feeder box with seeds. No one but Philip paid much attention to the parakeet. He spoke to the bird and named him Azul, the Spanish word for blue, in honor of Roberto who gave them this cheerful gift.
Each morning, before leaving for work, he would remove the cage cover and whistle to awaken Azul. Then he would say "Felipe" over and over again, trying to teach Azul to say his name in Spanish. Azul would only chirp back at him.
In the evenings, after the family had eaten dinner, scarcely noticing Azul nor listening to his lonesome tweet, they all watched Philip open the cage door. Azul would hop onto his finger, but never sit there more than a second or two before flying around the room wildly, as though desperate to find a way out. Azul limited himself to the dining nook because all of the other rooms were dark. Finally, exhausted, he would fly up to the ceiling, placing his thin legs on the molding, grasping it with his claws. There he would nibble the white paint frustratedly. Philip had to stand on the seat of a chair to remove the struggling bird with both hands and return him to his cage. He covered the cage and Azul would become quiet. This routine became Azul's life. "Exercise," Philip explained with conviction. "Even a bird needs exercise."
One morning, Philip removed the cover of Azul's cage. His lips rounded, ready to whistle the wake up song. Instead he just blew out air. Azul lay still on the bottom of the cage, a small, plump pile of blue and gray feathers.
Terk Electric Prisms
—Painting by Sonia Delauney, 1913
PROUD BIRD
"Squawk, squawk!" He scratched and clawed.
There was no pleasing Algernon,
the captain's treasured pet parrot.
He had the run of the ship.
The crew believed he influenced all
the captain's decisions.
The handsome, green-feathered bird
was proud of his seafaring status.
He pecked at the cracker meal and
seeds in his dish, dissatisfied with
their lack of crispness, yet
he ate it all, squawking between bites.
He was attended by Mario, the cabin boy.
Mario approached the bird with caution.
Mustn't ruffle those feathers.
"Back off, Mario," Algernon warned.
"He speaks," Mario chuckled, coming closer.
"Hey, Al, finished with your feed, yet?"
He reached for the dish, only to have
the bird bite his index finger.
"Awk, Al, you son of the Devil,"
he cried out in pain, wrapping his bleeding
digit in a handkerchief and tying it
deftly with a sailor's knot.
"Poor Mario! Squawk, back off, back off,"
Algernon screamed, his clucking was
somewhere between a laugh and a tsk.
* * * * * *
The movie scene reminded me of my Uncle Al,
Albert, not Algernon. How embarrassed
Aunt Doris and I were on the Caribbean cruise
each time Uncle Al chewed out the waiter.
At one meal my uncle picked up a handful
of green beans and flung them at our Mario.
Right after the flinging of the beans,
Aunt Doris suffered a bout of mal de mer.
Uncle Al remained to sign for our meals,
While I hurried Doris out on deck.
She bent over the railing, releasing
her undigested dinner, along with
an ample amount of bile, into the angry ocean.
I turned and there was Al behind us.
"Doris," he squawked, annoyed at her,
"What on God's good, green earth
is wrong with you now?"
"Squawk, squawk!" He scratched and clawed.
There was no pleasing Algernon,
the captain's treasured pet parrot.
He had the run of the ship.
The crew believed he influenced all
the captain's decisions.
The handsome, green-feathered bird
was proud of his seafaring status.
He pecked at the cracker meal and
seeds in his dish, dissatisfied with
their lack of crispness, yet
he ate it all, squawking between bites.
He was attended by Mario, the cabin boy.
Mario approached the bird with caution.
Mustn't ruffle those feathers.
"Back off, Mario," Algernon warned.
"He speaks," Mario chuckled, coming closer.
"Hey, Al, finished with your feed, yet?"
He reached for the dish, only to have
the bird bite his index finger.
"Awk, Al, you son of the Devil,"
he cried out in pain, wrapping his bleeding
digit in a handkerchief and tying it
deftly with a sailor's knot.
"Poor Mario! Squawk, back off, back off,"
Algernon screamed, his clucking was
somewhere between a laugh and a tsk.
* * * * * *
The movie scene reminded me of my Uncle Al,
Albert, not Algernon. How embarrassed
Aunt Doris and I were on the Caribbean cruise
each time Uncle Al chewed out the waiter.
At one meal my uncle picked up a handful
of green beans and flung them at our Mario.
Right after the flinging of the beans,
Aunt Doris suffered a bout of mal de mer.
Uncle Al remained to sign for our meals,
While I hurried Doris out on deck.
She bent over the railing, releasing
her undigested dinner, along with
an ample amount of bile, into the angry ocean.
I turned and there was Al behind us.
"Doris," he squawked, annoyed at her,
"What on God's good, green earth
is wrong with you now?"
INTERRUPTED ARIA
She sang hesitantly,
attempting to dispel her fear,
the way the heroine in an opera might
when she dreaded a mysterious villain at her door.
Her pale, tufted wings fluttered.
Her tiny body quivered from the flat,
yellow feathers on her small, round head
to her scrawny, pink, tri-toed feet.
Her eyes, black dots, darted
back and forth as the cage swung.
She trembled, toes clinging desperately
to her wooden perch,
while out in the hot, dry Mohave Desert,
approximately 165 miles away, near the towns
of Trona and Ridgecrest, the ground rumbled,
rupturing beneath a layer of ochre earth crust.
She clung to the perch to no avail. Not strong
enough to withstand the force that struck
her home's foundation, the fragile creature tumbled
to the bottom of her cage as it fell to the floor.
She lay on her left side, one eye visible and staring,
Her body immobile, but for her quickened heartbeat.
A young man with hair the color of her feathers,
heard the clattering cage and rushed to retrieve it.
He opened the cage door and gently removed
a startled, upturned yellow fluff with his downy hand.
To soothe her, he patted her crown and hummed
until she responded to his mellow sound,
mimicking his comforting song. A calm,
loving duet by tenor and soprano filled the air.
She sang hesitantly,
attempting to dispel her fear,
the way the heroine in an opera might
when she dreaded a mysterious villain at her door.
Her pale, tufted wings fluttered.
Her tiny body quivered from the flat,
yellow feathers on her small, round head
to her scrawny, pink, tri-toed feet.
Her eyes, black dots, darted
back and forth as the cage swung.
She trembled, toes clinging desperately
to her wooden perch,
while out in the hot, dry Mohave Desert,
approximately 165 miles away, near the towns
of Trona and Ridgecrest, the ground rumbled,
rupturing beneath a layer of ochre earth crust.
She clung to the perch to no avail. Not strong
enough to withstand the force that struck
her home's foundation, the fragile creature tumbled
to the bottom of her cage as it fell to the floor.
She lay on her left side, one eye visible and staring,
Her body immobile, but for her quickened heartbeat.
A young man with hair the color of her feathers,
heard the clattering cage and rushed to retrieve it.
He opened the cage door and gently removed
a startled, upturned yellow fluff with his downy hand.
To soothe her, he patted her crown and hummed
until she responded to his mellow sound,
mimicking his comforting song. A calm,
loving duet by tenor and soprano filled the air.
PENGUINS
It was December in Melbourne, summer there. We left in the middle of the night, as if on a secret mission. Bussed to a cold, windy beach, we stood exposed to the gale, atop a boulder, waiting and shivering. The sun emerged slowly, dazzling in the haze. Still we waited, wondering if on this day they would not march. Perhaps they would remain in the shelter of the caves, and sleep through the frosty morn, leaving us with wasted expectations.
Other groups gathered, just as we, scattered, some nearby, some farther. Finally, a joyous murmur from the others signaled the penguin's arrival. Bashful birds appeared, on their way across the beach grasses, approaching the sea. Short legs and flat webbed feet moved with small, hesitant steps. They seemed to be aware of watchers, and were fearful as they walked together. It seemed like hundreds of them, huddled close in their somber black and white suits, a marvel of innocence, the parade of the little penguins of Phillip Island.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
In order to see birds, it is necessary to become a part of the silence.
—Robert Lynd
_____________________
Our thanks to Linda Klein for her poetry today! She writes, “These poems, although they are all about birds, are as different from each other, as are the birds they describe. ‘The Osprey’ has some inner rhymes and ending rhymes. It is an observance of the bird during his daily quest.”
Speaking of birds, Canary poetry journal’s Spring Equinox Issue 2021 is available from Hip Pocket Press at canarylitmag.org/.
_____________________
—Medusa
It was December in Melbourne, summer there. We left in the middle of the night, as if on a secret mission. Bussed to a cold, windy beach, we stood exposed to the gale, atop a boulder, waiting and shivering. The sun emerged slowly, dazzling in the haze. Still we waited, wondering if on this day they would not march. Perhaps they would remain in the shelter of the caves, and sleep through the frosty morn, leaving us with wasted expectations.
Other groups gathered, just as we, scattered, some nearby, some farther. Finally, a joyous murmur from the others signaled the penguin's arrival. Bashful birds appeared, on their way across the beach grasses, approaching the sea. Short legs and flat webbed feet moved with small, hesitant steps. They seemed to be aware of watchers, and were fearful as they walked together. It seemed like hundreds of them, huddled close in their somber black and white suits, a marvel of innocence, the parade of the little penguins of Phillip Island.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
In order to see birds, it is necessary to become a part of the silence.
—Robert Lynd
_____________________
Our thanks to Linda Klein for her poetry today! She writes, “These poems, although they are all about birds, are as different from each other, as are the birds they describe. ‘The Osprey’ has some inner rhymes and ending rhymes. It is an observance of the bird during his daily quest.”
Speaking of birds, Canary poetry journal’s Spring Equinox Issue 2021 is available from Hip Pocket Press at canarylitmag.org/.
_____________________
—Medusa
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