June 2007
VOL XV, Issue 6, Number 170
Editor: Klaus J. Gerken
Production Editor: Heather Ferguson
European Editor: Mois Benarroch
Contributing Editors: Michael Collings; Jack R. Wesdorp; Oswald Le Winter
Previous Associate Editors: Igal Koshevoy; Evan Light; Pedro Sena
ISSN 1480-6401
Remembering the Flight of Wingless Birds ...
And Other Possibilities
Poems by
MICHAEL R. COLLINGS
INTRODUCTION
CONTENTS
Fence Posts
Highway 70, South to Sacramento
On a Glimpse of a Nuttall's Woodpecker, in the Front Yard, Early This Spring
Two Mallards
Nuthatch
Ferruginous Hawks: Black Pine Valley ID
Hawk II
Red-Winged Blackbirds
Red-Tailed Hawk
Nevermore
Frost's Crow, Reappearing
Crow Cotillion
13 Vultures
Crows
Crow, Dead Rat, and Road
Cormorant
Mockingbird
Harvest Crows
Where the White Crow Flies
Hummingbird
Sightings: Pelicans
Sightings: Seagulls
Elegy for a Swallow
Swallows II
Malibu CA
Tinnitus Monody
Dove or Gull or Crow
Hawk I
Vulture
Egret
Gray
Magpie
Pomegranates
Kings of the Air
Payson Eagle I
Despair is an Eagle
Payson Eagle II
Eagle
Elemental Sonet XVIII: Eagle
Apollo as an Eagle: Quasimodo from the Cathedral's Pinnacles
Electric Eagle
Hæmatite
The Nestlings
Nestling I
Nestlings II
Nestlings III
Nestling IV
The Pigeon Woman in Cooley Park
Remembering the Flight of Wingless Birds
POST SCRIPTUM
Biographical and bibliographical information
Some poems in this collection have appeared, often in substantially different
forms, in the following: Cool Bird Poems: An E-anthology of Avian Poems,
edited by Tom Gannon (online); Expressionists (Pepperdine University);
Growing Up West, by Michael R. Collings; Matrix: Poems, by Michael R. Collings
(White Crow Press); Maverick (online); Poet Magazine; "Poetry Corner" of the
Ralph T. Waterman Bird Club (online); Ygdrasil: A Journal of the Poetic Arts,
edited by Klaus Gerken (online). Others appear here for the first time.
INTRODUCTION
They touch on many levels. The sheer simplicity of a single note riding the
air. The elegance of movement half-intuited from the corner of an eye. A flash
of color against a darkened sky.
They stir imaginations. They salve wounded souls. They heal dark moments.
They capture, awe, inspire.
They surround us ... and yet how often do we pass them by without notice,
without a thought.
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise....
--John Milton, "L'Allegro"
FENCE POSTS
~~~~~~~~~~~
AND thus the past proceeds,
One by one by lonely one
Ragged bits of wood along
A potholed track
And thus unfold its convolutions,
A redwing blackbird clutches
Its narrow blade of rush --
Cattails blown and frowzy,
Reeds brown in July heat
Marsh receded to a moistened pad --
And still the redwing balances
Between wind and wing.
Or a meadowlark, now mute
But waiting for the moment
To release its song --
Phantom song that echoes
Through bedroom windows
Decades faded
But still the song can conjure --
And it waits and faces to the east
And -- how's this for sheer
Simplicity -- a robin,
Rusty-throated, on its
Fence post. I cannot hear
Its song, either, for the rush
Of air against sleek fenders
And the hiss of blackened asphalt on
Black tires...but I can -- or think
I can.
And watch each one proceeding
And wait for new memories
To be reborn.
HIGHWAY 70, SOUTH TO SACRAMENTO
CHRISTMAS DAY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First, an egret, snow-white hump
Unmoving in the ragged field,
Chalky blur as our car whips by,
Pure against stiff breeze-blown blacks;
Then, some miles further south,
Three -- one alight, two a-wing --
Blending light with cloud, reflecting
Sky to fallow, waiting fields.
Then, on both sides, a dozen..., more...,
Sweeping angles, binding earth
To heaven with lustrous, facile flight,
Mirrored in flat watery panes.
No more -- or ..., wait ... silhouette
Against distant snow-caps, one more
Wings silently east, seeking dawn,
Surcease from winter's murmured ice.
At last, no more. Marsh-black winter
Draws itself to a horizon
Unremittingly flat and gray....
Where egrets must await the spring.
ON A GLIMPSE OF A NUTTALL'S WOODPECKER, IN THE FRONT YARD, EARLY THIS SPRING
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the Jacaranda
A flush of red
White-on-black
Mottled shadow
Silhouette against
An uphill lawn
Unlooked for
Apparition
Lancet claws
Splinter bark
Lancet beak
Searches cracks
Barren now
For twenty years
The jacaranda greets
This flush of red
Shades their trysting-limbs
From eager eyes
TWO MALLARDS
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two mallards -- arced
so smoothly that
dusky chaparral in
sage and ceanothus
occasional
scrub oak
seemed to spin
galacticly while they
and I
remained
rooted to the stone
foundations of the world
Two mallards -- she
smoothly grey
he iridescent green
on banded brown
arced that day
against dull clouds
and green-black
coastal slopes
0
arced and spun
my world beneath
my eyes as they
winged seaward
NUTHATCH
~~~~~~~~
I had thought the nuthatch alien, exotic,
flitting page to page in Petersons,
washed by Audubons,
pinion-probed in Funk & Wagnalls;
unable to
Rise it had seemed exotic, alien
until that summer afternoon.
Below, wash of water
over marsh-greened stones.
Above, ranked
Reaches of Sierra granite crest to crest
pine to pine;
but near to me
a single lodgepole mythically straight.
Scrub jays
squawked its invisible crown,
ground squirrels dithered
current bushes
obscuring its base. But
down, around,
weaving lines of shade and light,
intent on infinitesimal grubs
the nuthatch,
neither alien nor exotic,
wound
silences around the trunk. I watched,
perhaps breathed, as this common
comical bird
continued its eternal rounds oblivious
to all.
FERRUGINOUS HAWKS: BLACK PINE VALLEY ID
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On moisture-misted irrigation pipes
Three spring-coiled hawks
Ward vibrant waves of
Green alfalfa budding
Into purple bloom-
North and east and west and south
Grey-matte sage gives way
To desert-stunted
Juniper that dot an ancient
Lakebed...now sere and brittle-brown
In August heat.
HAWK II
~~~~~~~
From the arched brow
Of a freeway light
Hawk
Wards -- winglessly --
Musky July dawn
As it rises with the mist
Over the 101
And spills onto
Golf course, parking lots,
Black asphalt
Beneath we
Rush unnoticed
Roar encapsulated
In private
Worlds
RED-WINGED BLACKBIRDS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
November -- Thousand Oaks, California
Black silhouettes on clotted pine boughs,
They wait, statue-still, for some unspoken
Command, then, as one, wing up and out and
Between breaths pivot east to west, as one,
Speed low below dark pines, fluttering
Loose needles, bark, unwanted flotsam
From McDonald's parking lot, pivot
North then -- flicking south -- flash, as one, bright
Fevered spots that break black unmarked gloss
RED-TAILED HAWK
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On powerpole
Red-tailed hawk
scimitar-clawed --
black eyes flick
leftandright
head jerks
oval body
silent still
prepared --
gliding
invisible
thermals
Red-tailed hawk
wings stiff-arced banks
rightandleft
scanning sagebrush
arroyo clefts
sand-scoured granite
shadows black-on-
dun fragment
movement
promises dark
bloody warmth --
plummeting wings
vee-ed claws poised
beak prised
Red-tailed hawk
dropswoops toward
desert floor
levels
snatches with
unbroken speed
rises circles
disappears
NEVERMORE
~~~~~~~~~
Pretentious at nineteen
I read/chant Poe's darkling bird
To Valerie as we pass in tandem
Between rows of rutabagas
Tubs of turnips, turn right
Between milk bottles and exotic
Wines, wander through bread to
Jams and honeys -- all the while
Breathless entranced enthralled
(we liked to think) in
words words words words
Oblivious to commonplace
Realities
until I hear our
Grandmother stage-whisper
To some unseen watcher, voice
A grating rasp against smooth
Soothing stanzas, stumbling from
A dozen paces back: "It's all right.
He's just an English major."
FROST'S CROW, REAPPEARING
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A wayward Crow
By a frozen lea
Seems a sable foe
With a sinister plea,
And gives a start,
That drives me to brood
Over injuries' smart
And choices long rued.
CROW COTILLION
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two-by-two -- I saw -- they hopped
A wobbled line along the walk;
Black toenails clicked, black feathers flopped,
As they performed before the flock.
Two led the way, heads ducked and bobbed;
Two followed, mimicking the dance;
Two trailed behind, with shadows daubed;
A sextet preened to primp and prance.
Surprised that they did not take flight,
I hid behind the stone pavilion --
Self-conscious witness to the sight,
Sole guest allowed at the Crows' Cotillion.
13 VULTURES
~~~~~~~~~~~
A cliché, if not by actual count
I had not seen them there -- large ravens from
A distance, well fed and plump, clotted
On the fence posts by the concrete slough.
But not -- no, vultures, all thirteen, heads
Scabbily bald, wattled, red-spotted,
A congregation of old men sitting
Judgment on an empty field.
One clutched the barkless knurl
Of an ancient cottonwood. Another
Cut its bevel through a dust cloud raised
By cars like mine. Eleven waited
Potently on fence posts, waited for
The corpses that must come to them.
CROWS
~~~~~
They wait for me,
winged shadows
in clefts of wailing yews
that over hang dark
dripping eaves
thin gutter-graves for leaves
They wait for me,
eyes yellow as
bright sunlight glancing upon stone
wings dark as
midnight
glittering on snow
They sometimes
speak their harsh
crude mocking cries
and sing faint
whispers of
their knotty sheen
But ever they
wait for me
wait patiently for me
in darkened
clefts of wailing,
failing, trailing gray-green yews
CROW, DEAD RAT, AND ROAD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Crow, dead rat, and road --
Black on black on black asphalt --
Rainfall drowns a soul
CORMORANT
~~~~~~~~~
A single cormorant clasps a crippled face
Streaked and freaked with fading ocher stains
Where bird-lime-white once gleamed above a base
Of tumbled rock and patiently sanded grains.
The cormorant unfurls, fed by raging
Need, ragged hunger preying on its flesh --
Unfurls, rises, rides convection waves
Beyond flat swells, until its cliff-face flashes
Once and sinks. For days it rides. Scans the deeps
For shadowed signs, swoops and swirls -- and nagging
Blue-harsh static sparks its neurons -- ennui creeps --
Its circuit sinks wider lower flagging
Until thick gray voracious ocean currents
Consume the last and final cormorant
MOCKINGBIRD
~~~~~~~~~~~
The Mockingbird / precarious
tenant
in our Apple / nests
gray in gray shadows on
four spattered eggs
Her eye / polished jet and
unblinking / glistens
I push green apple nubs
aside to
watch
She balances on power lines,
Shunning the air above our lawn;
Beneath, we water, weed, nail
A winter shutter to the wall.
My children / temporarily
mine
soon their own / hold
painful breath and anxious
peer among red-blushing apples
Four spattered eggs
glow blue satin in deep shade as
my children wait
for them to
hatch
HARVEST CROWS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harvest crows caw dark convocations,
Pace bone-gr0ay walks with skeletal claws,
Haunt suburban entropy and span
Black fingers wide to polluted clay,
Waft contagion through the land. They perch upon
Rough concrete stanchions where lights once glowed at dusk,
Red-eyed, to glare deft retribution. One
Swoops and clicks and snaps diseased flesh that reeks
Beneath an August sun. Another grates
Its challenge for the filament of flesh,
Black flesh, raw flesh shimmering white against
A sable maw. And still the harvest crows press,
And congregate, and lordly strut stilt-gaunt legs
Along flat paths, asbestos drives, dead ways
WHERE THE WHITE CROW FLIES
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-- Dim -- dank -- scum-clotted ponds breathe
Their pestilence and boil ripe contagion.
Trees -- once oak or pine or yew -- ease
Raddled branches to a pewter sky, grim
Arms upraised, bone-fingers retching
Ghosts of disembodied needles, leaves,
Insect-clutching galls -- punkie, roach-
Infected blots of shadowed life. Stark eaves,
They overhang a dwindled earth -- a soil
Barren-blasted -- twitching darkness blackness
At its core. And more -- ... -- a distant wail --
Panicked gravity -- still warns and wakens
Dead ears. A slice of light -- sharded Song --
Surveying its demesne a white crow wings
HUMMINGBIRD
~~~~~~~~~~~
whisk of brown -- not even breath enough
for slash of red or ruby-shimmer-green --
just whisk of brown half-sensed beyond spring-
unfurled jasmine knots -- evanescent
whisper-leaves to susurround white cream
and yellow fragrances beyond that whisk
of brown -- darning in and out of naked
ligaments clinging to sketched arbors --
whisk of brown and blur of wing and sense
of arcing needle-bill searching sweetness
in bitter white-sap jasmine not yet
resigned itself to suicidal bloom
whisk of brown -- whisper-sweetness-hum
on cream-and-yellow almost-jasmine home
SIGHTINGS: PELICANS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From shore, the rock hunched white and sodden, drowned
By whorls of spray, softened to mottled grays --
After-sunset-pearls. Something moved. Down
They dropped, black kernels knotting darkness, day's
Tears -- dark-on-white -- plashing against bone-rock,
Skull-rock craning up, around, enticing
Waves. They dropped, spiraled, settled on the back
Of that single white-washed promontory
Half-a-hundred yards beyond dull cliffs. One,
Then two, then four -- they singly stroked the wind
To find each place of settlement -- alone,
Disparate on the rock's rutched arc, they dined
On half-digested fish. This year, four eggs,
Bone-china-thin, lay shattered in stick nests.
SIGHTINGS: SEAGULLS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yesterday I heard a distant seagull
Cry and, glancing skyward, saw dream-white
Touched with charcoal-ash arc above [ ..., ] small,
Deft sounds of feathers ruffled air. Too late
I focused -- by then it had diminished
To a fluted cry, brief echo against
Unbroken blue. [ ... ] Too late, it flashed
Once more, so far removed it seemed to test
Sheer memory -- a flash, a moment's grace
Urging plaintively beyond a linen
World. [ ...and gone.... ] It carried into time, space,
Eternity a single fading glint
That I shall now encase in brittle glass,
Immure in beds of browning, bitter moss.
ELEGY FOR A SWALLOW
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[Swallow: any of various birds of the family Hirundinidae, having long.
Pointed wings and a usually notched or forked tail]
I watched them whirl -- an indeterminate rout --
Beyond the lintel, flared feathers flashing
Silver-and-gray, seeming-black beneath clouds
Piled up offshore before invading
The Coastal Range. I watched them swirl and hurl
Themselves on invisible currents -- twist,
Arc, pivot, rise, and fall in immeasur-
Able rhythms that avoided close-massed
Bodies of fellows diving for similar blobs
Of mud to build quaint nests. I watched them hook
Against rough stucco, press minute daubs
Into their growing shells, then wing back
Down -- their numbers swallowed half the sky.
I did not watch this single swallow die.
SWALLOWS II
~~~~~~~~~~~
no swallows flit today duskygray be
fore a brilliant sky bluesoblue it pains
almost -- above rich chaparralgreen
patchwork knotted/twisted strands of springing rain
midground -- a single monarch spins slowly
dying leaf orangespiraldownward then
abreathaheaveasplit in light rolling
orangetoblackto orange in blue skyskin
foreground -- smeared windowpane streaked ammoniac
smearschalkwhite -- bleachedbonedeadwhite to mounds
beneath mudnests -- dark mounds funerealblack
studdedwhite monochromatic testament
to death and life from one swollen nest by one
curled claw last year's sylphswallow hangs still alone
MALIBU CA
~~~~~~~~~
Swallows mud-daub beneath wide eaves,
snuggled in cool shadows
high above reflecting-glinting
white stucco walls.
Nest piled on nest --
brown hirsute nests,
town-nests,
single-level condominiums
on prime beach-front property.
Swivel-necked, swallows peer unblinkingly
toward the ocean arcing
bow-taut
north and south --
toward the blue-grey band
defining the ocean lens's furthest boundaries.
Hunch-shouldered, tail-braced,
swallows perch on vertical walls.
How do they stay up there,
and not even rubber suction cups
on their feet?
TINNITUS MONODY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
hightension hum over
bleak bare desert
waves of sand
gritting invisibly in dying winds
behind the waterfall
the ceaseless clack of
stainless-steel crickets
rubbing rubbing rubbing raw
upon smooth shells pressed
against the skull
birds sweep overhead
swirl whirl whistle
startlement and hide in rust-black
crowns of jutting oaks
I watch the silent swallow
through thick panes of glass
as he or she disgorges mud
presses knots of mud into
the growing sides of nests,
and hear its latent song
behind closed eyes
steam escapes purse-lipped
vents hissing with the heat
of deep volcanic fires
unseen and unallayed
I wrench antennae left and
right, up and down,
and the static shifts doubles and
redoubles until the night
glows white with snowdrifts
layering the land
in the silence of a coffin
satin-bright stars explode in
distant harmonies of welcome
and relief
DOVE OR GULL OR CROW
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
certainly not dove
white feathers disguised,
haunting black cave-
tunnel-mouth like
Dante's guide to beckon on;
surely not gray-smoke
gull wheeling seaward
along crisp canyon walls,
finger-wings flared
to grasp updrafts;
doubtless not raucous crow
cumbersome aloft
auger-eyed assessing
what the chance its claws
could hook my passing
car. No, none of these
surely, certainly.
without a doubt.
HAWK I
~~~~~~
Hawk
startled me
swooped wingwide
across
windshield sandpitted
waterspotted
fog-
blurred
Black and
large and bulky
hawk
swooped
mindless
of windshield
car or
me
canted
upward on
warm draughts
topped
canyon's
steep chaparral
became like all the other
hawks
symmetrical
check-mark black
distant
against
blue-white
sky
VULTURE
~~~~~~~
Or perhaps vulture
(as my son avers
although he reclined
half-sleeping when
the black shadow
rose, soused
as if to clutch
with careful claw
my small Ford,
and disappeared
above the tunnel's
mouth) -- flash
of red-on-black
glint of hooked
beak but mostly
bulk and blackly
ominous shade
whispers death
and rises as I pass
into darkness
EGRET
~~~~~
Three times I've seen the
egret -- no, four times
if I count that once
when, turning past rocks
hot and bare in May,
I saw one in the
burned-off field -- stark
white against ash black.
But three times (at least)
I've seen him/her not
two miles from my dry
suburban home. I've
seen him/her glide hot
air above golden
weeds on the freeway
off ramp, glide past oaks
centuries old, past
poppies that would die
in July's heat, past
concrete rivers that
will outlast them all.
Three times I've seen the
egret wing -- white, calm,
silent memory.
GRAY
~~~~
A scintillance of gray sparrows
spears an old black yew pruned in tough
triangular grace
beside black asphalt on a gray
November day -- splintering ash
and charcoal as they
flick the yew with pinions poised, re-
verse, reverse, reverse until gray
blanches white and flat-
sheening feathered mirrors flock gray
clouds, gray sun, gray dying day one
final burst of light
A scintillance of gray sparrows
sparrows-not-sparrows but UnDead
others calling night
MAGPIE
~~~~~~
In drear remembery, the magpie sleeks
Beneath gray cottonwood, beneath bleak
Boxelder, beneath vined honeysuckle
Redolent with twining cream-turned-brick-
Red as double-berries crest and die;
Or in the bosky shadows that lie hedge
Beyond the outhouse, serpenting with sly-
Coiled honesty toward the pasture-edge;
Or on slick damp-gray pavers on a
Gray-sludge afternoon, between grass dark
With raindrops and moist earth lately turned-
He-gaudy-raucous-sleeks, and pseudo-speaks
Stark white-on-black as if his skreeing sound
Could surmount the misting gray surround.
POMEGRANATES
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Finches have plucked ripe pomegranates
hollow,
split/pricked ruby-leather
shells,
pried ruby-blooded seeds
loose
from flesh-tint membranous
moorings
and swallowed-cocked heads back,
throats
quivering ... and pomegranates
hang --
empty Death-Star hulls -- from barren upper
limbs.
KINGS OF THE AIR
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In 1972, Pepperdine University received as a gift from Mr. Fritz Huntsinger
an eagle statue, carved from a single piece of Philippine mahogany,
representing freedom. For two decades, I took creative writing classes to
Payson Library to write poetry suggested by the statue...and have written
several myself, some of which follow.
Payson Eagle I
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
warped parabolic wings serrated
armadillo claws the
mail-scaled eagle flings derision
at the landbound
protruding eyes protruding
sentient forehead
promise criticize refute
it screams
silence amid its
realms of books
muscles wood feathers
wood
still borne aspirations and parody
of Tennyson's thunderbolt
Despair is an Eagle
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
cut from heartwood
rich-grained and throbbing, various
in color, sliced grain-wise into claws
to clutch a tangle of rotting darkness
and pull me downward -- wings expand,
not to raise but to repel --
beak hangs a baited smile that
transforms into hungry ripping
when eyes would close but cannot
lest the eagle spy the weakness,
feel the darkness and descend
in madness beneath the rotten nest.
Payson Eagle II
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dusty this year -- brown gloss
dimmed by dust, dull beak
hooked over thick dust,
feathers blurred
by dust
perhaps
it suffers from depression
hopeless
helpless
hapless
and
rests
too tired
to shrug
off thin
layers
of
dust
Eagle
~~~~~
From this angle it perches
On Corundum --
Thai-ruby rough, opaque,
Corrupted, worn
Half-domed, and swirled
By dark in-
clusions
Beneath harsh emery claws --
Star-ruby-brown,
Radiating angles from its core
Where flight embeds,
Fractures,
Re-
flects
In metaphors that
Form then shift and then
Transform --
Next time it might grasp
Green seafoam
Froth
Or plum-
met
On the weight of
Liquid light
Elemental Sonet XVIII: Eagle
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
entity of earth and water wooden
flight straining to at-one with air with fire --
feather beak and claw poised over hot blood
turgid earth-blood scorching pinnacle/lair
mail-linked feathered head glacier-pale eyes
not-white/not-blue translucent glare/stare/dare-
ing eight-foot wingspan arched/stretched\arced essays/
conspires/aspires to ascend beyond bare
stark-laced granite shoulders barren pine-knot
tops burdened with two thousand pounds of nest-
ling twigs/branches\moss earth-dead plant-nest that
flings wings outward upward skyward air-crest
outline dark against cerulean light
curving up-/out-/skyward coveting flight
Apollo as an Eagle: Quasimodo from the Cathedral's Pinnacles
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He glares at me -- -- arrogant hunchbacked half-
-formed beak -- talons in segmentals hung, keen
jasper roundels on raw jute -- rosette eyes
concentric rings of fractured shadow -- -- he
glares at me -- -- tongue protrudant like a hanged
man's taunt -- skull thrust forward on pain-
-twisted neck -- poised to contort, to rage, to
goad -- -- he urges me -- -- who would rather
passively devour at leisure Shakespeare's
sugar'd sonets -- Milton's sharp-quilled cries-
Wordsworth -- Byron -- Keats -- -- he surges
me -- and rhythms wing staccato feathered
counterpoints -- static stutters into linesfeetbeats
that unexpected spring from heart-burst-cage
Electric Eagle
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He pivots once in failing air
Where indigo and saffron share
And land beneath lies cold and bare.
Solar cells flirt with the sun
Through poly-pinions half undone
By Time's quick-racing, trudging run.
He winks at hours, breaths solemn days
Above a world long passed away,
Its two-legged creatures, corrupted clay.
Haematite
~~~~~~~~~
eagle-flight light-/height-/flight-ed fantasy
azure/pleasure leasure feather-lilted
shifting cloudbanks shifting ice-crushed Ecstasy
upward soaring flaring faring jilted-
jolted-folded earthward wingSinging harsh
airbursts fragmentary EchoSong long
lost now glossed now to mere memory brash
flash/slash of eagle-gray suspended hung
breath-length eye-blink then sinking further/farther
Azure transmogrified as SilverBlack
flecks of fire/heat/blood condensed-ice ardor
frailing dream/scream of flight in crystalled slack
crimson-crystalled water weeps FloodMoans --
weeps and wets glints/cuts/abrades BloodStone
THE NESTLINGS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nestling I
~~~~~~~~~~
They hatched today. Last night
when I peeked among the apples
they were eggs, four, end to end
among twigs and scraps and a twitch
of white yarn looped up and around,
an inadvertent infinity.
Jamie called
last night to say he was doing well
and for her not to worry.
This afternoon I stood on tiptoes
at the patio's edge and saw her tail
upright, white striped with charcoal gray,
upright and alert. I backed away and
moved to the other side of the concrete
slab to finish the barbeque.
Jamie was going to come by for dinner
but did not. His mother thinks his car
broke down again, but I don't think
that was the reason.
After dinner, while we were cleaning up,
I glanced at the nest once more. She was
perched above my head on the power line,
and this time when I leaned into the apples
she shrilled at me -- and then I saw four tiny
bits of grayish fluff, four sharp orange throats
stretched taut and expectant. It startled me.
She shrilled again, and I stepped back
into the shade.
Tonight Jamie called but would
not speak to me. His mother cried. I waited
but he would not speak through
the static and the silence of
the telephone.
Sitting in my office, I can hear them, a subtle
chirrup just beneath the Mozart horn concerto
playing on the tape to ward away the silence
and the memories.
Their infant song hangs softly
fragile on the air, underneath the mellow horns.
I shall leave the window open for a moment more,
then slide it shut, shut out their nascent song.
Nestlings II
~~~~~~~~~~~~
One died.
An unripe apple
slid
too soon
onto the rumpled
nest
One died.
Hollow bone and
hollow almost-pinfeathers and
empty skin
jumbled
in black twigs and white twine.
One died.
Eyeless
sockets black
above a withered beak
crumpled like a bit
of yellowed
ivory
One died.
Small black ants
trail
down
the trunk disappear
beneath shaded umbels of
dill
Nestlings III
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The other three are gone
Morning brought the adults
with the dawn they echoed through
leaves hung heavy with green
apples they flicked grayandwhiteandgray
through shadows
The other three were gone
The nest slid sharply groundward
its outer lip torn twigs pulling away
as if too grownup to be held in
precious tension with the rest
The other three were gone
cat perhaps or 'possum from across
the road or fruitrats from the plums
beyond the fence
no feathers marred the white rocks
beneath the tree
But the other three were gone
At night when heat presses against
dull windows I hear them high pitched
demanding throatstretched and
waiting tomorrow I will take out shears
and cut the nest away before the apples
ripen
Nestling IV
~~~~~~~~~~~
Jamie called
from Baltimore -- a continent
away from
us. He arrived safely, he said,
and hoped to
find work soon. He spoke ten minutes
with her, less
than thirty seconds with me -- "Hi, Dad,"
followed by
naked silences and long breaths
that spoke most
eloquently of long-dead words
ice angers
raw retreats. Slick static on the
line sounded
high and thin -- nestlings' hungry cries --
and both of
us breathed unspoken promises
to brace bare
branches and mend an empty nest
THE PIGEON WOMAN IN COOLEY PARK
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1.
flutter-whirr
whirr-coo coo and
the pigeon woman in Cooley Park
skirts flustered in a March wind march-
es headdown shoulderbent body
bent
against the wind and around
her head
flutter-whirr
whirr-coo angel
dusts of white and gray swirl
whirl
curl
in cloudbanks drifting as she
drifts
along the solitary path between
two stands
of oaks
Bare oaks.
The pigeon woman does not see
does not listen
does not speak
beyond a murmured
coo coo my lovelies
coo coo whirr
buzzing her tongue and
speaking with the pigeons
that are hers
2.
Bread crumbs collect in dark pockets
stale with crusts and gritty with stray
sesame seeds tumbled loose and seeking
0in the darkness for a spot of soil in which
to germinate and grow.
3.
The park is closed from sundown to
sunup, by fiat of the city ordinance
carefully spelled out in red letters
on the white metal sign hung
like a badge of office above
the concrete arch between
two squat pillars that hold
the wrought iron gates
that segregate
Cooley Park
at night.
4.
Pigeons wheel in tight
formations over gray pools
clotted with spring weeds
5.
There was
a child
once
one
more years
ago than
there are
pigeons on
bare branches
in two
oak groves
along a
solitary
path
6.
The pigeon woman in Cooley Park
spreads dark hands and dribbles small round
yellow seed onto black pavement.
A woman in a bright green nylon
parka wheels her two-hundred-dollar
carriage past.
The pigeon woman does not look up.
The pigeons do not stir from their feeding.
The child does not cry as he is wheeled by.
The woman in the bright green nylon
parka sees the pigeon woman but does
not see her hear her listen to her care.
7.
Home is a shallow space
scraped beneath an overpass.
Cars hurtle over her head
without knowing she is
there, curled against herself.
She does not sleep. The pigeon
woman stares unblinking against
darkness, not listening to
the stir of cars over her head
and sees only darkness until
the sky lightens. She unfolds
her thick self, pulls a thick black
cloth coat tighter around her
middle and cinches it with a bit
of rope she found along the road.
She stands beneath the overpass,
a runner at her mark, until the edge
of the sun clears the trees
of Cooley Park, a mile distant
to the east. She stares at it and
does not blink until the sun
is round and low and ready.
Then she blinks, and the tears
form but are not wept.
There was a child once.
8.
The man is waiting for her
behind the shop.
She has never read the sign over
his brick red door.
She has never spoken to him.
He is waiting and holds out his hand
and she takes the small paper bag
with its folded top
with its creased sides
with its rounded bottom
that holds
bird seed enough for a week
there will be no more
[she knows
but does not
say]
so she must be careful.
Otherwise the birds
must go hungry
She takes the bag and
the man steps inside the brick-red door and
he closes it quietly and
she walks on.
Cooley Park is half a mile away.
There was once a child.
She does not speak.
9.
Pigeons cut the sun --
Shadow-wings sever light from
Light at first dew-dawn.
10.
At sunrise, someone unlocks
the lock on the gate
between squat concrete pillars
and
the pigeon woman shuffles
through on her way
to the solitary path
between
two
stands of oaks still
naked but beginning to bud
in March.
11.
At noon the Processional moves
a crippled millipede through
Cooley Park
bearing banners and green bunting
shouting Wo/Men bear
witness to Inequality
Intolerance
Incapacity.
Blue-jacketed troopers line
the cobbled path between
two stands of naked
oak but noOne intrudes
argues shoutsback
throws offal at the
men walking hand/in\hand the
women\for/abortion the
laughingChildren waving
gigantic lollipops screaming against
WarHomelessnessBigBusinessOil
ObscenityBigotryNukes and
noOne shouts back and noOne stalls
the forward flow of the eccentric
millipede to
speak to the pigeon woman where she
sits back-toward-the-walkway hunched
over lifeless feathers
and a split of rusty blood
The Processional juggernaut rolls
over her over the corpse of a dead bird
12.
When a child
dared to smile
[there was a child once]
at the pigeon
woman later that
day --
when the
sun was leaning
westward and deep
shadows laced through
naked branches --
[once]
a
startled mother jerked
a small arm
and whirled a
small body sideways
and marched away
13.
noOne noticed except the
pigeons
mindless fluffs
of feathers
without brains
to speak of
without memory
without understanding
with only instinct
and an emptiness
in bellies without
seed
noOne thought to check
the recesses of the hollow beneath the overpass
a mile
from Cooley Park
After a while
the pigeons no longer
congregated in the
naked branches
of the naked oaks
beside a path.
14.
Once there was a pigeon woman in Cooley Park
REMEMBERING THE FLIGHT OF WINGLESS BIRDS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
DUSK came early that July,
when Pinatubo's dust bled scarlet,
saffron, gold and ochre through
the stratosphere.
LIGHT caught oddly on cold plate glass
planes, hung in sheaves like wheat
from oaks and sycamores, their branches
stark and sere
SILHOUETTES snip-scissored by
occluding mass and arabesques
of leaf and twig. Air palpable,
absolved of cheer,
FELL in sheets across white concrete
walks stained hell-bleached bronze; wan west
washed pale, then deepened with crisp flames
of ash-spawned fear.
SILENCE settled slowly through
soft filtered light. The violence
of Pinatubo's fire lay half
a world from here,
SPEAKING in choked, muted tones
of ash. Seeking momentary
calm, he sits beyond smooth panes
to count past years,
REMEMBERING the flight of wingless birds.
All Poems copyright (c) Michael R. Collings 2007
Biographical and bibliographical information
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Michael R. Collings is an emeritus professor of English at Seaver College,
Pepperdine University (Malibu CA), and former Poet-in-Residence and director
of Creative Writing. His collections have appeared several times in Ygdrasil,
and several hundred individual poems have been posted on internet sites world
wide; two haiku alone have been posted on over one hundred sites.
During his nearly thirty years at Pepperdine, he published several score
books, including volumes of poetry, annotated bibliographies, and scholarly
studies of contemporary authors, most notably Stephen King, Peter Straub, and
Orson Scott Card. In April 2007, his novel THE HOUSE BEYOND THE HILL was
published by Wildside Press; upcoming books include a second novel, WORDSMITH,
and reprints of a number of earlier books of poetry and scholarship.
He is well known as a student of Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror, having
served as Academic Guest of Honor, Poet Guest of Honor, or Special Guest for
several years at the "Life, the Universe, and Everything" symposium held
annually at Brigham Young University. In April of 2007 he spoke at "Into the
West: Tolkien Festival 2007" held at the University of Utah. And he has been
invited to serve as Academic Guest of Honor for the World Horror Convention
2008, to be held in Salt Lake City.
All poems copyrighted by their respective authors. Any reproduction of
these poems, without the express written permission of the authors, is
prohibited.
YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts - Copyright (c) 1993 - 2006 by
Klaus J. Gerken.
The official version of this magazine is available on Ygdrasil's
World-Wide Web site http://www.synapse.net/~kgerken. No other
version shall be deemed "authorized" unless downloaded from there.
Distribution is allowed and encouraged as long as the issue is unchanged.
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