Gone to the Birds

Poetic Bloomings Prompt #92 wants us to choose a bird, wild or domestic and write a poem about it. I chose to do two poems today, both about my mother an specific birds that she rescued and that became part of our lives during their tenure in Mother’s kitchen.

The first poem is done as a Haibun, which combines both prose poetry and haiku in its form. The second is in six quintains. I hope you enjoy these peeks into Mother’s kitchen.

Keepers of the Law

For the First People, Crow guards Creator’s Sacred Law for all, bringing his reminders to those in need at times of crisis. So it was with Jim, Mother’s tame Crow that lived in our midst, laughing at his own jokes, entertaining us with antics of avian kind. Jim’s laughter rang out from roof’s peak, greeting visitors to our home, startling in its volume and staccato delivery. Who would expect such sardonic address to the simple act of opening a car door? Like any child too short to reach the doorknob, he knocked for entrance and waited to come in, ready with a tale from his daily wanderings. Acting as escort on berry-picking trips, he rode Mother’s shoulder, constantly scanning the skies and woods as her security detail, and always ready to act as food tester lest some berry be unsavory on the brambles. For all his hilarity, his adamant regard for tobacco found him destroying Mother’s chosen habit, pulling cigarette after cigarette from her pack, stomping, picking, and shredding until scattered fragments blew away on the breeze. His message, his condemnation, met with disregard. Is that why he chose to tease Dad’s bird dog and have his last laugh?

Mom missed Jim’s message,
Paid death’s price for ignoring
Crow, Sacred Law Keeper.

Face of a Common Great Horned Owl (B. v. virginianus) in North Carolina (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Peeper

Mom’s narrow shoulder
Supported his tiny talons,
Kept his shaking body
Inside jacket’s hood,
Allowing drying time,
Without risking sickening.

Peeper, Mom’s feathered
Baby with eyes huge, shocked,
Unknowing of his rescuer,
Huddled, shook, and warmed
By gentle human helping hand.

Fallen owlets fail often
And Peeper was not fledged,
But a fluff ball of down
And moaning peeps of hunger
Growing louder by the mile.

Held next to human heart’s beat,
Fed a raw meatball from bag
Warmed to temp and fed to
Gaping beak, he settled and slept,
Housed snugly in half-peck basket.

Months moved on with his growth,
Lessons in Hooting came in time,
Followed by flight and fight,
And taking prey from above,
All things owls needs to survive.

After release into adulthood
Peeper returned with mate
For Mother’s look-see approval,
Leaving no doubt to his health
Or continued well-being.