To be so elegant
Graceful, musical
Doves can't nest
For scratch
Gentle hatch lings wobble
On pitiful pile that
Doesn't cradle
Wired a family back in
today, shelved in plastic
bottle halved and tied in top
of dogwood. Hope mum has
enough sense to see her duty
In a slightly different place
Her limn is gone
I took it away
And her two chicks
smell of me
Clipped an orioles pouch from branch end
Didn't even know they nest here
Never see them; bright orange and black
And I look, do I look
Have a sense for birds
She weaves her womb
For safe keeping in two days
With tweezers and twine
I may take two years to match
Hanging off the end of pendulous
pencil to toothpick twigs
Grasses and gray moss
Bit of colored yarn
Its perfect comfort
Security
And the wrens that found where
I dangled from the porch
Are quite pleased
Its size and shape
Reminds me of my woman
expanding her horizons
Amazed at her flexibility
and how she internalizes and carries
The burdens she must
The sons and daughter
she bore me here
In our nest of
Steel and stick,
Glass and brick
Where we
Learn from the birds
Listen to the chants
Of cricket and peepers
Glimpse of deer
Whispered prayer
of trees
A contest entry
- Your Neck of the Woods by Simply Olivia.
575 points, ended July 24, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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We are not so different from those birds, all building our nests in our own way. Some of us make our nests too soft, our hatchlings grow and would push us out, and so it is the way with all creatures.
I have heard that doves make crude nests, you must be a close observer of these kinds of things.
Today, I rescued a small finch from my cat, and it wasn't injured but died of fright or shock, it always pains me when that happens. They are such a fragile little bit of life. Their nests made with such care, often the task for both as it should be for humans also.
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I saw a hawk aiming for something roadside take the grill of a ford truck. I pulled over and clutched him. let him grip my gloved fingers in his talons. He looked around, startled, and locked eyes with me, surprised. Then he went limp. It is quite a paradox, nesting. I hope I captured the amazing intricacy of the orioles nest; in contrast to the haphazard product of doves, which are one of my favorite birds. I never even see the orioles. How do you stay invisible when you are bright orange? My father had a hummingbirds nest made of lichen and spiderweb kept in a small olive jar. My grandfather found it. I wonder where it is...
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Great, unique write!
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oh is all I can say oh moon
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Thank you. I was trying to celebrate the womb aspect of the oriole nest, and a woman's flexibility, that she must keep past her bearing years to nurture the new burdens; aging parents, and celebrate things like grandkids!
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