"goldfinches" poems
the drama in a ****** of crows
the clueless jive of the chickadee
the serious expression of the phoebe
hide and seek flickers
overly dramatic plovers
sleek kestrels, scanning the meadow
gulls always headed somewhere
the mystery of owls
robins, Art Carney-like
nuthatches that waddle through the air
an advertisement of goldfinches
vile, surly winged jays
waxwings, safe within their clique
ospreys, fat on minnows
snapshot herons always posing
patient vultures, ever on call
the perfect beasts to rule this world
they reveal personalities
to this lifetime observer
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
I look out the window
Into the yard
I see a fluffy Junco
Sitting comfortably on the fence
I see him look around
Then fly over to the feeders
I watch as he gets some seeds
Then goes back to the fence
He puffs back up
And then out of nowhere
A baby Junco
Crookedly and excited
Flies in
Sits next to his dad
And his dad feeds him
And then his dad is off again
To get more food
For his baby
Over the weeks
I watch the Goldfinches,
The Grosbeaks, the Finches,
The Doves, and
The Sparrows.
All gathering on the fence
With their families
To eat
And I am reminded
Of my family
Gathering around the dinner table
Everynight
Chattering, coming and going
But then I think
That those birds must have it far easier
Than we do
All they worry about is surviving
While we have discussions on
Politics, school, wars
Gossip, rumors, things of unimportance
That's when I think back
To my childhood dream
“I want to be a bird when I grow up”
Because they are worry free
Unlike me
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
a mini moleskine notebook lays in the
pocket of my bright yellow raincoat
binoculars in hand, I seek out your face
amidst the crashing tundra waves.
you call out my name just as the fog
horn blows, I stop to smile, and continue
to watch the goldfinches zoom out of
sight into the grey vast sea of everlasting
winter solemnity.
I think about the days that should have come
as puffins nestle in cozy branches hiding
away from the bitter cold, as you and me
are left outside, bare.
skipping rocks has become such a bore
if I am not able to do it with you.
the touch of your delicate lips as
we swooned in the moonlight to
french jazz and the fishing knots that
would come undone no matter how many
times we tried to go ashore in that rusty
old boat, both dressed as sailors.
I’m content here in solitude away from the
ambiguous world, in our own making,
hidden from reality.
in our own frost-ridden snow globe,
if you must. lost in time, stepping
to our transient melody.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 9:23 PM UTC
i
let´ s be birds
repulsive creatures
though they saved
my bacon i
on a few
occasions
when in the jungle
when there is silence
lily is jane
i liked hairy women..parenthesis..
i found their gossamed armpits
a delight
fine as a bird´ s underbelly
ah yes birds
prophosize the future
so when you hear their
happy little voices in the
morning
ii
excuse me i am trying
not to go into shock
i was bitten by something
my hand is bright red
and pained tingling
runs amok..
in the jungle
there are so many death..parenthesis
iii
a few years i was bitten
by a snake
i was trying to help
and grabbed it´ s pretty tail
you will be happier over there
yonder green..
but the ungrateful little *******
sunk his fangs into my hand..
and i eased the back of his delicate
skull like a miracle from god..
and prised his delicate jaw asunder
i thought that will teach me to interfere
put him in the grass..
iv
birds..
let us be..we have a lot of blackcaps..
quite a lot of jays
though it has been years
since i have seen
then hoopoe
i like them
man bird
who does not
love and fear the
waxen wing..
the sparrows laugh
the blackbird like
some gibbet´ s shadow
outside my window
the pyramid
and golden eye
the seagulls don´ t care..
sometimes what sit of
goldfinches arrive like
gatecrashers and it is
a thunderbird..lol
shit..we all panic like
detroit..
i watch the crane
like dinosaur
slide across the sky..
there is a stray parrot
abroad
our ducks were murdered
one windy night..
but the parrot silent
once i thought about a robin
and it appeared
i thought that weird
and it said well
we have some vulture
lily stop that
no
we
don´ t
....
v
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 7:34 AM UTC
A spiderweb cracks the sky
in oranges and reds
as I inhale deeply
the mountain mist,
I insist this place is Heaven.
Twenty minutes ago
the singing began
in earnest,
echoing off the white oaks,
those twisted hickories.
And in a frenzy,
Goldfinches
crack sunflower seeds
by the pound.
Oh the wonderful sound!
I love this place,
nestled near
the West Fork
of Wolf Creek.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
It's lovely
at that time of the morning,
there's no one in sight.
You witness granite
steps disappear upward
into the Mountain Laurel,
hear the Goldfinches echo
in harmony
with the brook,
smell the evergreens.
And as you venture up,
venture up into the cloud,
you touch the spirit world,
hear the Cherokee cries.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
Rain let itself in
Through the window.
Emerald moss rugs grew.
Braggarts smash the slates,
Windows and tore out the
Milky way marble.
Capsular mushrooms
Bulged with spores,
on dirt carpeted floors.
Wood rotted
bricks crumbled
and
stones ached.
Sun peered in through
The oaken ribcage
The chandelier grew green
and became a surrogate
To
goldfinches
A stack of newspapers
Gathered woodlice and
Poison ivy hugged the legs of
The south facing windows
Like a lover Scorned.
The doors fell off
In rebellion
as the burdened porch
broke with old age.
But the house knew love
And returned to the earth smiling
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
goldfinches and chickadees
cinched on branches
chirping up the trees
do they sing this song for themselves
to feel at ease
or is it to be heard
for the betterment of humanity
when I write in the dead of night
what is it for?
Oct 24, 2024
Oct 24, 2024 at 6:47 PM UTC
by: W. A. Marshall
6-6-2014
the spherical motion
a pedal clicked in chrome
like pistons on a train
this continual flowing
equalized organization
of carbon-fiber, trickling over
soft tar and grit -
alfalfa dancing like
a thousand green strippers
for the pastured stallion
goldfinches with spring plumage
and red winged black-birds
calling,
cautioning the field
my escort into
the silent winds
a conflict that coerces
blood further inside
my swollen veins,
and my lungs and heart
labor to find fresh air
in a country of drivers
with disturbed faces
in vehicles that hurry by
fading into oblivion
but I and thou glide firmly
burning –
in the moment
of my self-contained
fire.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
Goldie,
perfect things come in small packages:
gold rings and goldfinches,
sun-soaked raindrops,
marigolds, goldenrods,
memories golden-hued,
and you, dear Goldie, too.
You shared with us such time-worn treasures:
the swimming hole,
orchids blooming ferociously in Hawaiian humidity,
children lost and children gained – your bittersweet legacy,
misplaced brassieres in laundromats,
atrocious climates and thermostats,
and speaking of weather – Stormy Daniels too.
Your sense of humor shone right through –
remarkable.
For life can be an ordeal, you know it well I’m sure
and golden youthful moments too soon become silver
With each winter’s passing cold,
frost-heaving each and every life,
cracks spread across our pavement for
against the inevitable, we can’t fight
and giggling rivers grow slow and stale
and evening skies sicken and pale
But despite the cold winds, you – dear Goldie –
Remain golden still.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 5:32 PM UTC
Small pond under the tree
dark, deep
filled with rainwater
and relief
One frog
only one
has made it home
Resting in the soupy duck ****
by a fallen branch
in muck of rotting leaves
Floating
Isolated
in quiet of the green
A queen
Does not call for mate
as if she knows
they are not listening
Having found the ones they need
...and so she
being so different
in her view
of on/off fireflies
by night
off
on
always
in their searching of July
Like days
...of goldfinches
with cursive flight
that sweep the day in loopy strokes
that mirror close their seeking song
Frog has found
...Peace
can be so precious
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
This route I ply frequent,
I could envision it in a trance;
Shiny thorns ravel buds before they are ready to be plucked
Creeping plants grow close to the ground with their horizontal vines
Ladybugs flee so little; resting on colored bright petals
Seasons of disregarded mindfulness had built it into an unattractive **** fest
Yet I loved to commute along this path, it called the rarest breeds
Today I noticed a different kind of rose, It hid from the mess, but it’s modesty was noticeable
It varied from the lot I had daily seen; almost as if it flung out of another hemisphere
It had gleaming petals all around and goldfinches sang melodies to its grace
When the sun licked the ground, it cushioned it and smiled with pride
At the sun’s slumber, crystal lights from the heavens glistened it
Here, I saw my beautiful course through new lens
The thorns no longer stifled the beautiful roses and the pathways had been decluttered for new passage
It’s all I searched for on my strolls, the clumsy atmosphere had me pay it no attention
My habitual walk tuned me to visualizing this stretch
without knowing, I nearly missed a chance to notice a flowering anomaly
but today I slowed my pace and looked at it all through the eyes of my blossomed rose
O.Allyne
Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 6:29 PM UTC
a new day
goldfinches on seeding knapweed
simple things
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 12:58 AM UTC