Here on Bowen Island my feeder attracts red-eyed towhees, house finches, stellar jays, dark-eyed junkos and fox sparrows. Robins are here now and don’t seem to partake. A few hummingbirds have been buzzing by lately which surprises me because I didn’t think we had enough bright blossoms on our property. The jays are right on it of course, seem to wait for me to put the food out in the morning. I’ve been taking the feeder in when it gets dark to foil the local rat population. I hate rats. Why don’t my terriers get rid of them?<\/p>\n
Birds and birdlife manifest in my poetry all the time. Here are two poems from my forthcoming book, “Window Seat.”<\/p>\n
Habitat<\/strong><\/p>\n We plan like architects to bring the outdoors is tangible. We always get of discovery. Open sky. 360-degree view. from under the foot of a rabbit They want in. Past the windowpanes I guide them outside, stunned at the feel then, buzzers off, leaving a tang Year of the Monkey<\/strong><\/p>\n Full house. Madhouse. Ill-fated deejay, of the I-Ching. This will be Happy New Year! A toast. To the pileated We make clumsy attempts at lighting a fire, on the deck, body sculpting with our bare hands, fern, mist the only smoke around here, Twin cedar sentinels stand guard I\u2019m evolving. From a dinky urbanite on all fours,
\nin, parrot like realtors the charms of a tree
\nhouse, for up on this hill, birdsong<\/p>\n
\nwhat we want, camouflaged in our mossy
\ncabin, high above the threshold<\/p>\n
\nProximity to water. Reliable food sources. Plenty
\nof nesting material. Gravel flies<\/p>\n
\nfleeing a resident eagle. Ravens and stellar jays
\nbattle over kibble, shit bomb the deck.<\/p>\n
\nthat trick them. Frenzied. Talons flashing,
\nthey enter through a door in the firmament.<\/p>\n
\nof wing bones. Banging hearts. A hummingbird
\ngoes stillborn in the cup of my hands,<\/p>\n
\nin my throat, a ring of ruby dust
\non my finger, incriminating as pollen.<\/p>\n
\njester fixed to his back, grinding out tunes
\nin celebration of our new digs, life,
\nin the forest, despite the clear-cutting
\na hundred years ago. There is talk<\/p>\n
\nan extremely progressive time predicts
\na guest with faith enough to practice.
\nMonkeys are shrewd. Agile.
\nYou will find great success in 2004.<\/p>\n
\nwoodpeckers, heard more than seen. Cheers!
\nTo the deer phantoms, droppings molding
\nin the front meadow. Where do they go
\nin the winter? Why don\u2019t I know these things?<\/p>\n
\nheating the house. Woodstove couched
\nand cold-shouldered as a guerilla soldier
\nbrooding over such hatchet-challenged wimpiness.
\nWe brave the Jacuzzi. January. Naked ape it<\/p>\n
\npale-faced moon playing peek-a-boo
\nwith the ridgeline, a breeze stroking our backsides.
\nAn owl hoots, hunting through lushness.
\nRed-eyed towhees flit through a labyrinth of sword<\/p>\n
\ndesires in the mirror, smudges of dread
\nsurfacing on its beveled edges
\nwhenever we\u2019re not looking.<\/p>\n
\nagainst the cougar I saw mounting our pup.
\nWhen it began stalking the neighbour\u2019s pony
\nI knew I would need a rifle.<\/p>\n
\nto a big, eagle-eyed, straight-shooting, cause-
\ncommitted, river-of-life channeling, chainsaw-
\nhung, 4 by 4 pickup piloting Homo Erectus islander.<\/p>\n