Don’t ask me why this bird captured my interest given everything else that was going on during yesterday’s “No Kings” rally, but it did. It was part of the surround of the gazebo in the center of Ajijic Plaza, where the speakers and musicians were standing. Propped behind it is a sign rested there by its carrier who was busy listening to speeches. I was listening as well, but couldn’t keep my eyes from straying.
For Cellpic Sunday
Matin
What kind of a world
does a bird feel itself a part of
that prods it to such a joyous song
in celebration of her beauties?
Sun barely risen,
air crisp and cool,
not a breath of air stirs the
vibrant golden hibiscus
to cause the fall
of one palm-sized petal
onto the dew-damp grass below.
No clouds obscure
one puff of steam
rising from the distant volcano
that peeks over the
hills above the lake––
not one ripple on its calm surface.
I lie on my bed,
apart from this still morning,
making lists––
only a glimpse
of that bird’s world
on view through my window’s parted curtain,
as I listen to this constant oration
of its joy over being born
into this world.
I somehow in the editing erased the prompt for this poem and I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. If it strikes a chord with you and you think you know of a prompt it might have been written for, please put a link in comments. I am definitely losing it, folks!!!
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Unscheduled Visitor
I hear a rapid rapping and I’m wondering, “Who is it?”
It’s too early in the morning for a casual drop-in visit.
I’m still in my pajamas and the dogs and cats aren’t fed.
How can company be calling while I’m still here in bed?
The knocking is insistent but I have no way to spy
upon whatever passer-by refuses to pass by.
My intercom is broken, so I call out from the door,
“Who is it?” but it’s obvious they aren’t there anymore.
I wander back to bed again, feeling somewhat tense.
Only when I’m sleeping does the knocking recommence.
“Who is it?” I scream out again, accenting every vowel.
The dogs sense my frustration and they begin to howl.
My bedroom sliders are open, so my voice soars over the wall.
Any passerby could hear if they could hear at all.
But still nobody answers. This Saturday morning’s still.
There are no other noises up here on my hill.
No car horns and no dog barks. No children’s noisy play.
No birdcalls. No construction to mar this quiet day.
Except for my invectives as the rappings start again—
louder, oh much louder than they have ever been.
As I charge out of my front door, I grab for an umbrella—
in case I need a weapon to fight off some unknown fella
intent on ruining my day, but when I turn the key
and open wide my front wall gate, there’s no one there but me!
I roar in my frustration. The whole town must hear my wails.
I throw that damn umbrella. Over the wall it sails.
I stalk back to my room and pull the covers over my head,
praying for more silence, but what I get instead
is the steady rat-tat-tatting that now upon reflection
seems to emanate from a different direction.
I draw aside my bedroom drapes and wonder, “What the heck?”
sweeping my sight across my yard, I finally crane my neck
and see it far up in a palm—an industrious woodpecker
whose ruthless drilling is the thing that’s been my sleep-in wrecker!
I cannot throw a shoe at him for I can’t throw that far.
If I tried to knock a golf ball up, I’d be far over par.
At last I view with humor this ridiculous affair,
and so I pull on Levis and smooth my ruffled hair.
I shuffle off to feed the dogs, the kittens and the cat
and just accept as music this rat-a-tat-tat-tat.
For Linda’s Just Jot it January, the prompt is frustration.
Click on photos to see detail. Especially the first one!
This colony of tiny ants shown in the first photo has taken up residence below the flowerpot holding my Washingtonian Palm. When I water, they come swarming out from beneath and swarm up the sides, carrying their eggs.
For Cellpic Sunday
For Whatsoever is Lovely, Week 47
This lovely bird perched on the tip of a denuded Frangipani branch to keep me company as I swam in the pool. My friend Harriet tells me it is a great kiskadee.
mock
Wise Words from the Mockingbird
If I were alate, I’d have wings
to fly me up and over things.
I’d feast on everything that grows,
from oranges to tangelos,
then perch in trees to overhear
all the people who passed near.
When lovers squabbled under me,
I’d fly on down and referee.
I’d convey my firm conviction
in my aviary diction
that to squabble is absurd—
to rise above the common herd.
I simply can’t accentuate
sufficiently the words I’d state.
If you want your love to last,
after a squabble, make up fast.
Listen to my every word:
sound advice from the mockingbird.
Prompts for the day are referee, conviction, accentuate, alate and orange. Image from Unsplash.
Can you see the woodpecker high up in the palm tree above these bougainvillea branches? And, can you see the “bird” in the second shot as well? I think the fallen palm sheath suspended in the snarl of branches looks like an exotic long-tailed bird perched on a limb of the bougainvillea as well.
For Cee’s FOTD
This little vermillion flycatcher bird loves to perch on the agave blooms to put their vivid hues to shame. I snapped this with my phone as my camera was hiding in a basket in the house, sulking over its lack of use since I started carrying my iPhone in lieu of it. The photo would have been better with the camera, but alas, I could not have fit my camera into my pocket so probably would have had no photo at all.
For Cee’s FOTD
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 