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Mark Toney Oct 30
The bar-tailed godwit
caught birddom by surprise
When word got out
just how far this bird flies

A juvenile Limosa lapponica,
satellite tag 2-3-4-6-8-4
flew nonstop from Alaska
to the Tasmanian shore!
13,560 kilometers nonstop,
eleven days and nights
A new world record for
marathon bird flights

“From Alaska to Tasmania?
The devil, you say!”
cried ravens and crows,
“Every bird knows
Claiming to fly 8400 miles
To the Tasmanian isles—
is the height of audacity!
No bird has the capacity
We protest with pugnacity
Demanding veracity!”

The godwits conveyed
a very chill groove
They had, after all
nothing to prove
having set the prior
world records in ‘20 and ‘21
A controversy was brewing
Would their achievements
be undone?

A commission was appointed
for a bird’s-eye review
into the facts of the matter
the truth to pursue
Wise owls were chosen
to adjudicate this claim
To settle once and for all
who deserved the acclaim

First item considered
had scientific backing
Since satellite data
Allowed accurate tracking
Of the tagged young bird’s
ultramarathon flights
The facts indisputable
No need for bird fights,
ending investigation into
this migration gyration

Bar-tailed godwits awarded
the Oiseau de Plume
for being the farthest nonstop
flying bird in the room
The Arctic terns too
received acclamation
For flying the farthest
In their migration—pole to pole,
24,000 miles each year
causing most birds present to
stand up and cheer
in spontaneous applause—
But not all birds were willing
To concede their cause

Displaying proclivity
to resist the festivity
The crows and ravens
As they stormed out the door
vowed in unison, wings clenched,

Mark Toney © 2022

Based on a true story with poetic license added for spice.

When was the last time you flew 8400 miles nonstop? A bar-tailed godwit flew nonstop over 8400 miles from Alaska to Tasmania from October 13 through 24, 2022, setting a new world record for nonstop bird flight.
Poetry form: Light Verse - Mark Toney © 2022. All rights reserved
Corey Jones Feb 22
I have never been to Alaska,
nor have I extended any effort to know its beauty.
It seems too isolated and idealistic to house such an alluring landscape of frozen and serene natural monuments,
ones that often plaster post cards at my local office.

You are a similar beauty.
Your azure eyes.
Your silvery voice.
Your vermouth lips.
The shape of your legs spread on my coffee table.
Fantasies I have over the way you study me so deeply in nearly vacant cafes during the magic hour we seem to spend there so often.

You carry this grace that hides the messy and yet bottomless complications of an intelligent soul.
And as with Alaska, I could visit if you weren’t so frozen.
So stagnated by worldly conditions.
Ones that cannot be simply overcome.

So don’t ask me what I want.
I fear too often that I might expose the extremes of which I would venture to visit you.
The willingness to feverish warmth,
so that it might slow to soften our time spent in each other’s heads.
Jo Barber Sep 2021
The mountains powdered
with termination dust
hark the end of summer.
Soon the clusters of evergreens
will be coated in snow,
just as they were last winter.
The snow falls flake by flake.
It's in no rush to hit the ground;
it will melt once it does.
The fireweed has bloomed -
only towering stalks and wilted
magenta flowers remain.

The same type of peace
befalls my quiet life.
Slowly, I return to old ways.
Like footprints in the snow,
the tread of future days
looks much like those of the past.
CA Guilfoyle Apr 2015
From this island
water and more tiny islands
heavily treed with Douglas fir
landing ground for ocean otters
while orca whales glide by
spout and spray
the beach, broken shelled
puddled wells of tide pools
filling, spilling over again
brown bauble seaweed mingles
round algae rocks, barnacle shingled
here where the air breathes salt scented
water running wild with salmon.
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2021
On a clear day
I can see my sister

It's between six and seven o'clock
and a beautiful expanse of water, reflecting her cultivated shores

a nod, a smile,
through the vapor

castles in the air, ruling over
the available light

then in a moment, she's lost
half her height

and bent into arcades, like those
of a Roman aqueduct

evaporate before me she will

the fading of family, a returning
to cold white at the dawning
of an unfriendly expanse

Nathan Tom Dec 2020
Somewhere along the road
Frozen deep at home
I'm not dead yet
But I'm still alone

Melt me with a baseball bat
Crush me to bits
I'm not dead yet
But I still feel like ****
Me listening to "Alive" by Pearl Jam on repeat. God help me.
Kelly Mistry Sep 2020
Such a deceptively simple concept
When you have it
           you can’t describe it
           and take it for granted
When you don’t
           you are forever searching
           aware of the hole in your heart
           but not knowing
           how to fill it

Some say home is where the heart is
Where your people are
Wherever you lay your head at night

Comforting thought

But what if home is also a place?
On this earth
Tangible and corporeal
Rooted in the land or water
That each of us must seek
And may never find

It could be where we were born
Where we end up
Or someplace we have never been

What happens if you never find that home?
What happens if you did
And then you leave

Alaska is that home for me
Not a specific place or town
But the combination of
        braided rivers,
        wildlife that requires respectful distance,
        weather that demands preparation,
        tundra, bogs, and spruce

I doubt I will ever live there again
But it will always live in me
No one Apr 2020
The silence engulfs me,

the quiet sound that fills the Earth,

An ambient hymn covers each inch of snow

Never noticed, but always there.

All white; devoid of color...

but maybe it's okay to not yearn for green.

The lights in the sky dancing over the sky;

so strong you hear the static crackles within the air.

The stars that go on forever

but seem like they're only yours.

The grass covered in polished quartz,

the moon illuminating it;

making it shine brighter than the stars.

A covered sky, glazing over the stars.

The clouds whisk away the light,

claiming it their own.

Only then to pour over with more soft speckles.

You look up; breathe in the frigid zephyr.

The mountains that tower over you,

threatening to consume you without effort.

They block out the light;

the monoliths create a void,

one that is darker than your mind.
Maya Mar 2020
I have never met an alaskan sunrise that I did not fall in love with.
Its warmth spills over the tundra
and filters through the interstices of the bowed willows.

The rose and golden hues greet the mighty Yukon River
Where hundreds of salmon teem beneath the rising sun,
glistening all shades of pink.

The blueberries turn violet when kissed by the morning light
As do the moose as they wade through glacial lakes
Where water lilies drift around their legs.

On the coast,  
Starfish poke out from under their rocks,
And sea otters float lazily with their babies on their stomachs,
anticipating the warmth of the sun.

Every morning, I fall in love with the life and the beauty that Alaska sunrises bring.
beautiful home <3
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