Category Archives: bird pictures

Pelicans, NaPoWriMo 2019, Apr 23, 2019


They float upon the gentle swells
with chins tucked in politely.
Of all the birds, most dignified,
their movements never sprightly.

They look like grumpy butlers
named Oliver or Jeeves
in morning coats of softest brown
with wings tucked in their sleeves.

They may be only scouting
the source of their next meal,
for now they take off to the air
with energy and zeal.

Soon they’re diving down again,
straight like an arrow shot
into the water’s surface
to see what can be caught.

Bobbing once again,
they lift their bills and then let slide
all that’s in their pouches
to another place inside.

I wonder if the fishes flop
all the long way down,
and this is why the pelicans
then fold their wings and frown?

The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to write a poem about an animal.

Safe Perch


I tried to capture this fellow in this pose several times but he’d flown away by the time I got my camera out.  This morning he granted me the favor of a last visit and stood still long enough for me to capture this shot and a number of others—first a few of his mate, whom he replaced when she flew away—and then of him. I’m finally home.  There is no place like it!!!

Turkey Talk


jdb photo, 2017

Turkey Talk

All day long, I gobble gobble.
Strut my stuff over the cobble
proud and straight, without a wobble,
until a man comes with a hobble.
I’d tell the rest if I were able,
Instead, I’m laid out on your table!

Want to hear some more turkey talk? Go HERE.


Matt’s prompt today was “Turkey Talk.”

Birds Of A Feather: Cee’s Black and White Challenge

Please click on first photo to enlarge all. Better when viewed full size.


For Cee’s Black and White Challenge: Birds

Egrets in Benito Juarez Park


Click on any photo to enlarge all.

Egrets in Benito Juarez Park

By threes and fours, they soar in and alight
on sparse branches of the bent, high-spreading trees.
Below them the steady beat of dribbling basket balls
whose rhythms they punctuate with high-pitched squawks.

A hundred or more now bark like gulls,
protesting each new arrival perched too near
and settle invisible against a sky that’s glazed so pale
by torn white clouds,
that it’s barely a different color
From clouds and egrets.

A feather floats down, soars sideways
to rest under the green bench.
and I retrieve it, like a message from a saint.

More birds soar in,
their legs like two black straws held parallel and horizontal.
On limb after limb, they stand exposed, flapping wings,
with neck first fragile,
then settled into a dowager’s hump.
Once motionless, they, too, become
invisible above the shouts of children,
rebound of a ball against a backboard,
hum of generator, blast of horn, peal of church bell.

Thirty more birds attempt the impossible—
to fill gaps in a tree where no gaps exist—
like a Christmas tree with not one single limb left to ornament.
Birds lift, sift to a different tree.
Now that the stronger limbs are taken,
they perch on swinging branches,
then move to safer perches,
displacing other birds
that drift in turn until more trees fill.
Wave after wave,
on tree after tallest tree,
they settle again to silence.

This happened before we came,
will continue after I leave.
These trees alive with birds that were,
scant hours ago,
solitary waders.

Returning to the posada where I last stayed with you,
I climb staircase after staircase
past the stone room that was ours.
This is the trip I dreaded–
thought I’d never make.
I remember everything:
all the places where we’d been—
the park, the hotel and the plaza,
each favorite cafe made holy from past associations.

Yet I hold only
one feather from the egret,
see only
crenellations of the room across the courtyard where we stayed.
Hear only
the saxophonist, improved since I was here with you,
filling in the intervals between
one dog barking from a rooftop down below
and far off dogs, his accompaniment.

The saxophone spins out lines
through darkness,
the staffs of music a communication
between then and now and what remains
after the birds have flown,
after the saxophone is laid to rest
mute in its coffin, wooden tongue dried stiff.

What remains after the barking dog,
after the stairway crumbles, and the stars have cycled into another sky.
What remains as my life soars away from you,
your stillness framing my flight,
as you stretch invisible,
yet as solid around me
as clouds.


San Miguel de Allende, 2001. Click on any photo to enlarge all.

To see a companion poem and photos, go HERE.

Hibiscus with Hummer: Flower of the Day, June 10, 2018



For Cee’s Flower of the Day prompt.