Eagle Poetry Corner Number 4

In December, The Eagle invited local poets to submit poems for our Fourth Poetry Corner to start the new year. Enjoy!

 

January 7, 2021



River Raptor Rubaiyat

Who would venture out on such a dark day,

skimming over water cold and gray,

where black rain spits sharp nails

of foul weather?

Tireless fishing marvel is the osprey.

Hover steady, willing stealth by feather,

quick to plunge and break the airborne tether,

maneuver luckless smelt in highwire test,

beating strokes aloft, hell-bent for leather.

Each adult does a shift upon the nest,

shielding eggs from squalls while catching rest,

wanting fish to break the hungry hours,

weaving mossy sticks around white breast.

Cries of strident young try parents' powers,

air awash with scent of tide and flowers.

Eagle takes a chick to sheltered bowers,

one less osprey crouching in spring showers.

© Dayle Olson 2020

Polar Bear Bites Back

Mammals have been in the newspapers lately.

Headline: Many Large Animals Are Endangered.

Not really news, except for why: Bush Meat—

people are eating them. Another article

announced

polar bears are coming ashore

in Novaya Zblemask,

Siberia, in unprecedented numbers, threatening

kindergarteners, eating garbage, terrorizing

the populace, and might soon have to be “culled.”

Overpopulation is the cause of the first condition,

global warming the second--as if

they were different things.

“Bush meat” didn’t come up

in the polar bear story.

But if they should start culling Siberians

for lunch,

could anyone really blame them?

After all, everybody’s got to eat. And with just

30,000 polar bears in the world,

and nine billion of us?

Well, fair’s fair.

© Robert Michael Pyle 2020

Dismal Nitch

“A feeling person would be distressed

by our situation.”

--William Clark, November, 1805

So fine now

big blowsy blackberries

the fat ones called "kings" making jam

on the vine.

Geese gazing lazy on the mudflat

river merely rippling, wavelets lapping,

cabbage white poking at a lotus

on the lightest breeze.

And it's hot!

Hard to reconcile this scene with the ugliest days

those lads of yore, one Lewis, one Clark,

endured along their entire route.

How could it be the same place?

But then, as we all know:

timing is everything.

© Robert Michael Pyle 2020

Shine

(A poem written to students, 1988)

HE SHINES,

SHE SHINES,

WE, TOGETHER, SHINE,

I EVEN SHINE.

MAY THE GLOW FROM YOUR TALENT

CRADLE A BEACON OF REMEMBERED WARMTH

THROUGH DREARY, DULL, LONELY FUTURE TIMES.

TO HIM,

TO HER,

TO ME,

  AND MOST OF ALL,

TO YOU.

© Carolyn Azure 2020

Shine

(A poem written to language arts students, 1987)

I love to shine

and be as bright as I possibly can be.

To take a bow,

to show I know how,

to shout, "Look at me now!

"Shine . . .

It takes hard work

when you have a talent 'til it's tarnish free.

And tackle the tough,

and redo the rough,

and give the right stuff.

Shine, shine . . .

So, now please share

your writing so fine, let others to see.

T'was you I taught.

T'was struggle, yet you sought.

T'was not for naught.

Yes, your gifts shine, shine, shine.

© Carolyn Azure 2020

Poem Going Viral

A virus has no conscience and no brain.

Its very existence violates all norms.

Animals, plants and humans all know the pain

Of viral illness, which mutates and re-forms

Into new behavior and agony as yet unseen.

Trip over words like virion, bacteriophage,

The vocabulary of science behind the vaccine

That we await. Masked or not, young or aged,

Social distance or refrain,

Remember:

A virus has no conscience and no brain.

© Irene Martin 2020

Autumn: Fir and Birch

I am tallest of all -- noble and grand,

giant provisioner for bird and beast.

My limbs stretch upward

blocking the light from all others.

The sun is mine, all mine.

In the dark hours I stand vigilant,

watching for the first sliver of dawn,

the beacon that belongs to me.

Here I stand -- slender, white and golden.

I am not intimidated by the nobility

surrounding me, their towers dull

and green-black.

My own roots burrow deep in this place.

I know who I am:

I am the celebrant of the morning sun,

my golden plumage

the mirror of her radiance by day,

the welcoming lantern as twilight descends.

© Elizabeth S. Johnson 2020

Love

A powerful emotion

Never alone

Friends with worry.

The stronger the love

The stronger the worry.

Love is a rose?

Worry a thorn?

Love is a lily,

floating in an ocean

among the waves of worry.

© Kyle Rogers 2020

Single Stone From The Creek Bed

Hey little charcoal rock

Retrieved from the back creek –

Round, slightly porous, rough grade sand paper

I know your cousins well.

Obsidian and basalt, we have met –

Rhyolite, dacite, andesile, and scoria, on occasion.

They are like you – aphanitic, glassy,

fine grained porphyritic, pyroclastic.

But you with your phenocryst,

plasioclassic feldspar minerals

Are very special.

Nestle in the small of my hands and tell

Tell me a story

Before the mountains were Adams, St. Helens, Hood or even Loowit

DAMN! Yours is the birthright

Of a massive cosmic

Projectile vomit

Fiery liquid fluid propelled

MANA CUM LAUDE

Exhibited

Right out the backdoor.

© Jillian Ross 2020

A Christmas Thought

Thank you, Lord, for this time of life

for food and fun and sacrifice

to families gathered far and near

for children playing with bounding cheers

the smell of the sea

of the birds on the wing

a star filled night

or holding someone tight

children feeling the call of home

grandchildren learning

that they're not alone,

a time to remember Christmas past

a turkey, a roast, punkin pie er apple toast,

duck er venison, elk er beef, oysters, crab

all we want to eat

the sound of music

to sing and dance

to feel the wind

to take a chance.

Thank you, Lord, for our lot in life,

a job well done

or a heartfelt thanx

to honor those gone before

that gave us life, love, and hope

but so much more.

Now I lay me down to sleep

God is great, God is good.

Mommy, who is God?

Where does he stay?

Will I see him someday?

Does Jesus love me?

So thank you, Lord, for this wonderful home

and bless all those who are alone

for all the soldiers in harm's way

on land er sea to keep us free

our family's circle on Christmas Day

as we thank the Lord

as we bow and pray

our hands are linked

the chain, of life

I love you all, it just seems right.

Thanx fer all ya do.

Merry Christmas, and happy trails.

© Joel Fitts, 2020

The Favorite

Always there when times were hard

Full of love and full of life

Never said an unkind word

To his children or his wife

Worked long hours, overtime

Paid for everything they had

Never grudged a single dime

Tried to be the greatest dad

He apologized to her

Every night before they slept

She was just grateful he was there

And for the promises he’d kept

So many years went by so fast

So many days went by so slow

Now she’s longing for the past

The favorite one she used to know

© Sandra Kay Hilker 2020

The Ghost Of Science Past

I am the Ghost of Science Past,

that Christmas ghost’s pale cousin,

A sad, wan wraith who roams the land,

keeping tyrants’ minds a-buzzin’.

I once brought carbon to the land,

just doing what it ought’er:

Making trees grow green, and gas-o-line,

plus carbonated water.

And split the atom right in two,

to make power you could fix up

To run cities, factories, ships, and trains,

from contents of a teacup.

I arranged for man to walk the moon,

and live much longer life,

But now I’m a twisted, leftist tool,

a source of urban strife.

And where I’m bent the very worst,

battered till my shape is vague,

By pols and tyrants’ bloviated blast

while dealing with the Covid plague:

Follow the science, close the schools;

go to church and you are fools.

Close your business, drop your tools,

but riot’s okay - ignore golden rules.

Wearing masks makes lotsa sense;

like stopping flies with chain link fence.

Kids and young folks have defense,

but point that out and you’re just dense.

The virus infections seem scary & high,

‘cause PCR tests are prone to lie.

Low deaths among young folks they deny,

but among ancients, it’s quite high.

Vaccine’s here at Trump’s warp speed,

and supposed to go to those in need.

But the old and sick are paid little heed,

as science bends to political greed.

© Howard Brawn 2020

Impermanence Of An Instant

Fixed here, in exaltation,

Stands a heroic Deed

The most valiant expression

That you will ever see

The person, they were average,

Like any other soul

And for a Moment, they,

Get to play the hero

But Moments aren’t unending

And so, when it is done,

That mantle they were wearing

Is handed off to someone

Look here, Time, see it run

Towards Moments yet to spy

And when our Time does come

The Clock’s hand passes by

© Kaden Moeller 2020

Guardian Angel

If I were God, of which I’m not,

I’d wrap my arms round you

Impart protection; with my thoughts

In dreams that sail through

Were I God, should that be,

I’d hear each prayer you’d send to me

And shape the stars and moon above

With messages of my sweet love

Should I have been born a deity

In a place beyond the sky

I’d wish to grant you safety

(I say this with a sigh)

I didn’t make the world

And all that it unfurls

With all its tragedy

And little happy things

The power of my will

Makes not a mountain move

Nor brings the seas to still

Or makes the flowers bloom

If I could cup you in my hand

And keep you from the bane of man

I’d lock you in my heart of love

That is to say, if I were God

© Kaden Moeller 2020

Thank You,

Poets!


 

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