Spring, a Poem

Spring

Snow pulls your cedar fence apart, pushes it slant.

Crossbars slump into symbols for “less than.”

Winter loosens its hold, sinks into flood, rushes

the downward slope to the river.

A red ribbon rides the melt, dangles on the lip

of the storm drain, bright floss tangled in a gritty grill.

You wait weeks for the slow dissolve of winter,

to discover your yard, wounded.

Then, one morning, above the crocus

and compost, this burst of russet

on a damp grey limb.

A robin sings.

Last week, I posted six objective observations from my neighbourhood, as part of a course I am following. This week, the assignment is to use those observations as the basis for a poem. The poem should also make use of sonic word associations and utilize differing line lengths to create pauses at expressive moments.

It is helpful to begin with a bit of language that holds interest, such as my “slow dissolve of winter” and from that create a word cloud of sonic associations. 

The word “dissolve” produced a word cloud of solvent, ventilation, discuss, discover, concussive, dishevel, solution, ablution, sheen, blue.

The word “winter” gave me a word cloud of winner, nerd, twin, tern, turn, winsome, win some, terrify, wonder, wound her, wound.

I used the words “discover” and “wound”  in my poem because they added sonic echo and because they suited what I wanted to say.

In “Spring”, my line lengths vary as I create brief stops or breaks where I want the thought/image to pause. Often at the beginning of the next line, there is a twist or additional information, a surprise. Line breaks allow me to share with the reader, the places where a pause will help with their understanding of the picture I am painting.

“Spring” is a draft poem, a work in progress. As always, my photos and words are copyright 

©2011-2015 Carol Steel.

Robin

Robin

Only this robin
enjoys the rain, the sound of
a worm uprising.


Photo is mine.

What Can a Robin Hatch?

What Can a Robin Hatch?

A robin sits in the Rowan tree,

waits for snow to cease,

sings of spring warmth and resurrection.

Robin with breast the colour of blood,

morning’s first singer,

and evening’s last song,  final good night.

You’ll soon be a broody mama,

warm the pale blue eggs

a fortnight,  hatch a clutch of babies.

Next, you’ll be a broody mama,

to hatch death’s virus,

incubate disease and brain fever.

You beauty, and handmaid of illness,

breast the shade of blood,

the colour of mosquito belly,

because it kills you slowly, you live

longer, infection

spreads further.   You generous beauty,

bird of life and death.

NOTE:  Robins can be carriers of West Nile Virus.  The virus kills robins more slowly than blue jays or crows, so robins can spread the virus more widely.  The virus is transferred from robin to mosquito to human.  West Nile Virus can cause fatal inflammation of the brain (encephalitis) or the membranes that cover the brain or spinal cord (meningitis).  Milder reactions to West Nile Virus are not fatal but cause fever, headache, body aches, skin rash and swollen lymph glands.

It seems hard to believe that something as lovely as a robin sitting in a snowstorm has the potential to become a link in a chain of disease, doesn't it?

Easter Weekend

My yard was full of bunnies,

bunny boys and

and bunny girls,

all playing Easter games.

Then Easter Sunday brought a surprise of snow.

The only creature outside was a robin

snuggled for shelter in a barberry bush.

Photos are mine.

Robins Sing of Spring

Robins are singing of spring. 

They sit in our staghorn sumacs and eat the scarlet fruit cones.   These cones are eaten from the top down and look like half-nibbled cobs of corn.  Enough fruit cones remain to see them through until spring arrives.

Robins flit through our yard, sit in the maples, warm themselves on top of the pergola and sing.  Robins are singing.

Robins are singing of spring and I feel happy.

All photos are mine.

Moments of Miracle

The only way to live

is to accept each minute

as an unrepeatable

miracle.

The words are a quote from Margaret Storm Jameson. 

If you click on her name, you will go

to another website with additional information.

The photos are mine; all from 

the southeastern New Brunswick area.

Snowfall

Snow fell in the tangled wood,

knit angora for the trees.

Wind and sun froze falls of melt,

buried fences to their knees.

Robins on the sumac flames,

feasted full despite the freeze.

All's well in the tangled wood.

All photos and words are mine.

Peregrine Falcon

Peregrine Falcon

Where are the birds?

We feed ducks and pheasants each day.  Our yard provides shelter to robins, blue jays, grackles, chickadees and goldfinches when they choose to visit.  Crows nest in the woods behind our street, and in a cedar taller than the house, in the neighbour’s yard.

Where did the birds go?

Today the ducks have flown away and returned many times.  They did not land and stay to eat, kept bursting skyward.  The crows and blue jays were noisier than usual.  Raucous circling in the clear sky.  So clear, it was endless blue. The chubby robins were hesitant and brief in their trips to the seed cones of the Staghorn Sumac. The cats, who spend hours on indoor chairs watching birdie TV outside, meowed and moved from one viewing point to another.  They were up and down stairs racing from window to window, and up and down from their chairs all afternoon.

Agitation and noise.  Birds flew through and paused for a moment but did not settle and feed.

Mid-afternoon I discovered why.  As I sat writing at the kitchen table, I caught the movement of a shadow across the snow.  I looked up and saw a Peregrine Falcon drop through the branches of maple, turn and wheel between the sumac and the spruce, chase up through the hill that is our yard closing in on a starling.

I stared, my mouth agape.  I’ve never seen a Peregrine Falcon before.  It was blue-grey, heavy-breasted, with a 3.5 foot wing span, swinging through the yard with feet clenched, ready to strike.  The two birds flew up and over the garage and out of visual range.  It happened in a moment.

Though I know the starling likely ended becoming supper, it was a moment I won’t forget.  Raw and powerful.  The wheel of life and death, the cycle we all share. 

And the Peregrine Falcon, it was magnificent!

Our regular birds didn't share my opinion and showed wisdom by avoiding the yard today.

If you click on words in colour,

you will go to another website with additional information.

Robins After a Storm

Outside my window 
a world of ice, 

glitter hangs from the trees.

The sun touches all with light

and robins come to call.

Inside, my world brightens,

full of abundance,

watching the robins

in the rowan tree.

All photos are mine.

Robins in the Mountain Ash

It is finally cold enough for the seed berries of the Mountain Ash to become sweetly full of fermented juice, ice wine for the birds.  The Robins are enjoying these, eating, singing and doing acrobatics on the branches.  Perhaps a little inebriated or just extremely happy?

A hearty Ring Neck Pheasant desiring to eat cracked corn, comes into our yard and chases the younger males and several small females away before he begins snacking.  He, who is largest, lunches first.

The cats are fascinated with this live show of robins, pheasants and ducks during their daily meal times.

Our cats are always kept indoors, so there is no danger to any birds from them.  Birdy TV is their favourite pastime; they love to watch, chattering away though the windows and to each other.

We are all lucky to have such an entertaining view!

All photos are mine.

Robin in the Birdbath

Robin in the birdbath and partner watching
from the crab apple tree.

Oh yeah, Baby!