Bird Poems


   
  The Study of Birds
   
  Tell us of birds,
  Bernard B. Butterworth.
  Grandfather man.
  Tell us of song
  flight   homesite
  with bespectacled smile.
  And show us how to love them.
   




   
  Its That Time of Year For Warblers
   
  My feet snap-smacking leaves and twigs
  When a tiny song above my head.
  "Its a yellow warbler," says Dr. B.
  I find her lovely leaping in my 'nocs' -
  A beaked-baby-ball spinning,
  Bouncing     off an hundred outstretched branches.
  She's in such frenzy,
  Frantic flies away.
   




   
  Soar On, Red-tailed Hawk
   
  I see your blood-red tail
  When you veer across land's outline
  of cliffs and trees and telephone lines.
  How very free you flow
  on broad wings, fingers out.
   
  What do you see?
  How many tiny creatures fear
  Your fatal "keeeeeeeer-r-r-r"
  Slurring downward?
   
  How many of yours have died
  from jealous men
  with guns and pesticides?
   
  My Indian heart cries out,
  "Soar on     Soar on..."
   




   
  I hope we see     Kingfishers
   
      Scouting ahead
  to the edge of a cliff
  the silence echoes
  their baited, raspy
  Announcement.
  Far below, are two
  large-creasted, muddy-blue
  Majesties.     Wingspread,
  they're perched and ready
  to swoop on their subjects
  from branches     in the Blue River.
   




   
  Green Herons -
   
  phosphorescent
  with long, yellow beaks
  that curve down slightly
  in sideways frowns.
  See how their necks
   'S'
       back
  and orange legs
  trail
  as they fly
  always to
  the opposite shore
  from us.
   




   
  "American Kestral,"
   
  my friend Cristy smiles.
  We witness
  spread wings flutter
  brown-speckeled, white breast
   
      frozen in the sky
   
  with our breath.
   
  The
           P
              l
                u
                  n
                    g
                      e
   
  and surface     from deep grass
   
  with small reward -
      His mouse
      Our memory...
   
   
   


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