Tuesday, 30 August 2016 14:26

August Poems 2016

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Just wisps of clouds are drifting along and

Could any image be more opposed to

Concentrating on the second hand as

It ticks across the numbers of a watch?


And I may choose either method to mark

The passage of time and whether I look

Up or down depends at the moment on

How much pressure I allow myself to


Feel — the numbers represent the need for

Organization as nothing worthy

Gets done without the efficient use of

Time and yet when I see the clouds I do


Remember in the midst of bustle I

Want to embody a cloud’s deportment.



To emulate a

cloud’s deportment is perhaps

a bit beyond my

present capacity but

I want less frenzied thinking.




Of the things to notice on a sunny

Day by the river I see the swallows

Flitting along the bank and above the

Water encountering no obstacles


Within a wide expanse of air and each

Is turning acrobatically in a

Hunt for bugs they must be swallowing on

The fly and they seem so tiny above


The broad river in the valley of the

Limestone bluffs and so inconsequential

To me they’re just a curiosity

That they do hunt together and they do


Return to the river in the spring and

I may open my eyes and see swallows.



As the swallows flit

along the surface of the

river the eagles

linger in lazy circles

up within the sunny sky.




It’s the irascible caw of the crow

Communicating intelligence and

A warning to trespassers it’s not a

Joke to linger in its territory


And I know it’s not alone a cohort

Of black eyes are watching from the trees and

If I were small enough the menace of

The caw would be terrifying but as


It is I just register the sound and

Think of its sharp beak and remember crows

Stabbing and cutting carcasses of the

Squirrels and rabbits they didn’t kill but


Came upon already dead to feast on

While hopping and watching with piercing eyes.



The menace of its

caw the blunt strength of its beak

the enforcement of


make the crow formidable.




Of all the things to do she has chosen

To befriend the crows of the neighborhood

By offering chicken or beef to them

And when she emerges from home there is


Recognition and communication

Welcome anticipation in the trees

For her as a small place has become a

Sanctuary from separateness


Imaginative curiosity

For a bird people ordinarily

Dislike has moved her to offer the crows

The nurturance every creature needs and



There is no telling how simple goodness

May manifest before it’s exercised.



Offering friendship

imaginatively so

respectfully so

to the irascible crows

turned the universe a bit.




Is all of this necessary or just

A little superfluous for the game

Of flirtation as ordinarily

Aren’t subtle gestures and hints sufficient


But there’s inspiration in the design

In the mixture of the colors with the

Popping of the incandescent green on

The breast the regal crown and the frilly


Fringy sinuousness of the feathers

Made to be displayed as one flicks open

A folding Japanese fan and who could

Look away from the flouncing ensemble?


There isn’t an Italian designer

Capable of creating the peacock.



So fashionable

with such superfluity

of beauty — the most

imaginative artist

couldn’t dream up the peacock.

Read 4419 times Last modified on Monday, 29 January 2018 20:19
Barry MacDonald

Editor & Publisher of the St. Croix Review.

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