It was cold and windy here this morning —
even the birds were surprised and talking about it.
It's been hot for so long, not a single one of us
knows quite what to do.
Here's what they did. The birds, I mean.
They gathered.
They made me want to find some bird poems.
Here are two. They have nothing to do with each other.
Except for the birds, I mean.
And the second one ends in a typically Bukowski-ish manner (ie, with a four-letter word).
So, you've been warned. But I couldn't resist it. It's just too good….
The Oven Bird
by Robert Frost
There is a singer everyone has heard,
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,
Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.
He says that leaves are old and that for flowers
Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
(Read the rest here…)
8 Count
by Charles Bukowski
from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.
(Read the rest here…)
Poetry Friday's at Random Noodling today!
I just took it with my phone!
*cues in spooky music*
Hitchcock-esque to be sure. Like the stark contrast between Frost and Bukowski. 🙂
My week needed that Bukowski.
Have you seen this?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoM4ZZJ2UrM
Swoon!
I shared bird blobs today along with a poem from Laura Salas’ new book, and here we have birds on a line inspiring you!
LOVE your photo — especially the two that are leaving/joining in a blur. Frost’s question at the end of THE OVEN BIRD is haunting. So is the ending of Bukowski’s…in a different way!
I have added Anne Marie’s video to my favorites. Fun, fun, fun.
Birds in the cosmic consciousness!!!
Bird blobs=wild!!