"cowbird" poems
Eastern towhee flits along garden edge
picking here and there
its movements assumed to be
intentional to casual observers
who imagine a search for food
or a gathering of sprigs for a nest.
Last night was a mystery;
a kiss, then a hug followed by a tirade
seemingly without a purpose.
Was there intent to hurt,
to inflict an invisible ****
deep inside her chest?
Cowbirds leave their eggs in towhee nests
expecting the towhee to hatch them.
The cowbird knows its purpose.
Unlike the bird, he seems unaware
that consequences ride
on the back of his behaviors
like mites cling to a wing.
He wanted to assert himself
to make clear his desires.
He didn't intend to wound her heart.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
I've never asked how you felt
About being watched
Some of us humans will
Travel great distances
Just to catch a glimpse
How do you feel about this?
Is it a bother, perhaps
That a clunky, binocular-toting creature
Is trundling ungracefully through your home?
Your domestic life
Needs no prying eyes
Or could it be an honor?
You merely inherited
The feathers, the songs
And you're loved for it
Perhaps you are indifferent?
You pay them no heed,
Since they do not pose a threat
To your food or family
While they stand around and stare vacantly
Maybe it depends
If you were a sparrow happily whistling,
Or a bunting bachelor finding a suitor,
Or a warbler that had a REALLY bad day
Since her baby turned out to be a cowbird?
Or a goose whose patience runs thin
As the screaming human-chicks keep chasing it?
If you could take up a pen,
Or a quill, since you have many,
I would love for you
To get back to me
So at least I could respect your wishes
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
The dark cloud found me that morning. Consumed by anxiety, I threw myself onto the sofa, pulled the blanket over my head, and closed my eyes to the world.
Oddly feeling weightless and fatigued, I meandered to the bathhouse for a shower, hoping that would help. I breathed, I argued, bargained, and prayed. At least I felt clean.
It was nearly ten O’clock when I departed my home. I strung on another late work day into my week, but I wore that string of black pearls with little guilt. I set up my workstation and completed a task before being summoned to the airport. Ben was finally coming home.
With low energy, I greeted my husband and drove back to work. We hugged and kissed and he drove off. I slugged my way back to the office feeling tired, empty, and numb.
My attempt at productivity that afternoon proved futile. I had to reset, and I knew what to do.
I grabbed my binoculars, my shades, and my tunes (but I didn’t listen to them). I let the flow of traffic set the mood.
Strolling up Main Street, I felt weightless even more, like outside of myself. I arrived at the riverside. As I stood at the water’s edge, the birds flew by and I studied them. I began my checklist as I usually do, then united myself with a familiar dirt path. Immersed in the forest, I tried to breathe my demons away, but they wouldn’t move. I continued.
On my route, I heard bird calls in the brush. I saw a large, brown fledgling begging for lunch. Its parents arrived, but to my surprise their offspring doubled them in size.
It was a baby cowbird that had been laid in its foster parents’ nest. It’s not the vireos’ fault, they only did what they knew best.
At that moment it clicked. I saw my feelings manifested in an avian play. I couldn’t let the invader win the day.
Depression is like a cowbird, I told my friend. When you feed it, it thrives and grows, killing the chicks of joy nested in your head.
Lesson learned, don’t feed the cowbird.
Jun 30, 2022
Jun 30, 2022 at 6:50 PM UTC
The One I Seek
When my heart was ready, when I came of age,
I left my parent’s nest, to find a beautiful stage,
I found the perfect spot, in a very lovely tree,
To sing my little song, so my True Love could hear me.
Singing for the one that I seek,
The one that I seek
The one that I seek.
Many birds were singing, and a few answered me,
Many were very sweet but not my true love to be,
One cool afternoon, a song could be heard all around,
I finally saw her, a Cowbird with lovely feathers brown.
Singing that you were the one that I seek
The one that I seek
The one that I seek.
Your song was so merry, so high, so sweet
Your words and soft nature a gentle treat
Could you be the one that I seek?
Was it truth coming out of your beak?
Singing that you were the one that I seek
The one that I seek
The one that I seek.
A nest I had built, my heart was nestled there,
The love for my true love laid open and bare,
With the rush of winter coming, your notes did sway,
So I didn’t see you trying to roll my heart away.
Singing that you were the one that I seek
The one that I seek
The one that I seek.
I was alone so welcomed your lovely song,
Ignoring everything that told me that this was wrong,
You put your needs in my nest, saying they were mine,
I was so lost, I believed what was toxic was just fine.
Singing that you were the one I seek
The one I seek
The one I seek
Then my True Love appeared, from the warm south,
You did your best to take her words from her mouth.
That you were there first, that she would have to share,
That your needs came first, that it would be fair.
Singing that you were the one I seek
The one that I seek
The one that I seek.
I did my best to make it work, despite the heavy strain,
Nothing was good enough, proving your love was pain,
You tried to run my life and made all my friends flee,
If you were my True Love, why did you do this to me?
While singing that you were the one that I seek
The one that I seek
The one that I seek.
You thought you had it under control, had it your way,
That we would do what you wanted, to do as you say,
You dismissed her size, you so didn’t see her strike,
It was never you Cowbird; for my True Love is a Shrike.
And now you have a thorn driven through your cheek,
Through your cheek,
Through your cheek.
Farewell Cowbird, your lies were never to be enough,
Your sweet notes were misleading, your song but a bluff,
My eyes are open, and my mind is finally clear,
I sing my own song, for my True Love to hear:
That she is the one that I seek,
The one that I seek,
The one that I seek.
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 9:14 AM UTC
We humans used to live in colonies like Purple Martins
But now, if you come within six feet of us
We are skittish like the rarest Warbler.
In the future; tomorrow and the foreseeable days thereafter,
Our children will become people watchers
Cataloguing all the neighborhood types,
Like the Blue-bellied Mail Carrier
Or the UPS Driver with their brown plumage
Who drops packages like the old Cowbird, their eggs
In your nest.
More adventurous children will venture out with their “People Magazines”
Trying to seek out rare life sightings of the Sexiest Man alive
Or a common Kardashian, often without plumage.
The most cherished sightings occur when grandma and grandpa appear
On their nest cams, cozy and safe, reaching out to hug or kiss empty space
While decorating their nest with a holiday table that won’t be filled with their
little hungry birds,
As in other days, and different nights.
Selah.
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 9:27 PM UTC
They are called cowbirds.
I did not know this until
just a few weeks ago.
The neighbor-lady told me.
I told her that they made me think
of those fish that you see during
documentaries about the ocean;
the fish that cluster and move
and
bend the shape of the whole school
so that it catches the light that is just
visible below the surface
and
is just
bright enough to scare the sharks or
dolphins enough into thinking that
the entire school is one big fish that
might do well at fighting back against
dolphins or sharks,
so they end up leaving that particular school
of fish alone and look for easier prey.
“Yeah. They’re called cowbirds”,
she said again.
So, I asked her if she came out to look at the pinks
and purples and oranges of this sunrise and I asked her if
she thought that the ***** snowdrifts looked like coral reefs
now that they’ve melted in the sun that we’ve had in the afternoons.
I told her again that the coral reef snowdrifts and the way that they’ve melted
are the reason that the cowbirds made me think of those fish from the ocean documentaries and I’m sorry I can’t remember what those fish are called,
but
aren’t the colors of the sunrise beautiful?
“So, yeah, they’re called cowbirds”, she said one last time as she turned to go back inside.
“Now I know what a cowbird is”, I thought.
And, in spite of the black and grey dirt on them,
I still thought that the snowdrifts looked like coral reefs as they melted,
and
I still thought that the lavender sky,
with its pink and orange laser beams
was beautiful while the cowbirds swarmed
and
their inkblot flocks
coiled
and
spooled through an ocean of blue ,
my brain wandered around the ocean
and wondered if those same types of silver-scaled fish
made like the cowbirds while avoiding
the dolphins and the sharks
as though they were seafaring
raptors.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&Z Publications 2019
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 7:38 PM UTC