two horny squirrels on a tree
I hate cartoon slapstick … as for real actors …
The Dead See Squirrels
who know nothing of the next state nor the globe
their world branches endlessly, effortlessly
and is anything but round
the thistle feeder found in one of our coolers … ah! the safe place!
a girl named Bambi
sounds like a dear
or at least, a little fun
Snow White
lighting
a cigarette
a hummingbird in our herb garden
enough to make me think my sighting over the barn
was a goldfinch, but can they – do they – HOVER?
the fact our yard’s so full of wildlife pleases me
as long as the squirrel population’s held in check
allowing us a bumper crop of pumpkins and
self-seeded sunflowers
with binoculars from the deck, a goldfinch in a sunflower bloom
only to discover two more feasting in the same cluster
when one breaks away, she initially thinks the flower is taking flight
remove the pea vines and the cosmos and cabbage breathe a bit more
with the binoculars again, watching incredibly high gulls
moving east-west
and then, all alone, the unmistakable bald eagle
sailing south, not a single flap
to be lost to a cloud and then sun glare
how is it the eagle soared southward
while the gulls kept going east-west
before and after?
or did the eagle simply Trim Sails somehow
in the upper wind?
May, a profusion of birdsong before sunrise
September, a profusion of cricket fiddling after sunset
incessant, rapturous chorus
September, why so few birds singing?
May, why so little fiddling?
migrating geese sound like a squeaky floor
suet, downy woodpeckers tweet for each bite
in the pile of garbage bags, rustling
a skunk determined to rip it open by the back door
the colors reversed – a black stripe on a white body
Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
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Jnana's Red Barn 