Goose armada:
what a
lotta.
Tag Archives: geese
May 9.21: Coping
The world’s a big place,
it can tucker you out
when you’re trying to figure
what it’s about.
That doesn’t change much
as we age through the years,
those grass blades of life
still up to our ears.
We still need a wing
for safe featherbed,
but sometimes we rest
on a memory instead.
I’m not a big fan of Mothers’ Day, dear reader. However, I am a fan of mothering because mothering gets us started in life.
There are many who are not biological mothers but are mothers nonetheless. I salute every one, and I wish a happy day to all who mother.
On a more (typical) curmudgeonly note: you know, dear reader, I hate these geese; I do not thrill to see another generation. It is only with pained reluctance I am forced to say this snoozing fuzzball is maybe a little bit cute.
March 5.21: Coping
Do they think they sing?
Can they be so deluded
to imagine their noise
sounds dulcet and fluted?
Do they look in the mirror
and see sweet warbling wrens?
What’s in their water —
hallucinogens?
Each blats like a semi
but thinks it’s a peep?
I ponder this nightly
in honk-battered sleep.
January 17.21: Coping
The committee convenes
in officiousness large,
each of them sure
someone else is in charge.
January 9.21: Coping
Beneath fur and feather
it’s hard to judge pallor:
which will prevail,
discretion or valor?
In my pursuit of whether Shakespeare should be credited, I encountered a statement about things that annoy Shakespeare scholars.
I must say that Shakespeare scholars are easily annoyed.
October 9.20: Coping
She’s got her camera!
She’s out on her deck!
Flap your wing
and stick out your neck!
Shake tail feather
and follow me
in honking
photobombing V!
March 30.20: Coping
I stew in a pot of my juices
with only some mallards and gooses
to hear my complaint.
A pleasure I ain’t —
this, they say, they deduces.
February 29.20
This is why geese honk:
the ducks just sally on through,
in essence saluting the geese
with a “don’t-give-a-good-howdy-do.”
January 23.20
Aloneness
blade of a surgical wind
slices
the world
into shuddering parts.
Even the pond writhes
under one
solitary
goose
whose absurd solo honk
falls into the cold water
and drowns there.
May 12.19
I think they look huffy,
a bit high and mighty,
as though family life
is always this tidy.
I think it’s a ruse,
this complacent look,
a portrait for gloating
on their family Facebook.
Such serene air
is hardly the way
most parents spend
a usual day.
So here’s to reality,
mess by the ton:
a whole lot of work,
a whole lot of fun!
A happy day to all who mother!
(And, yes, some days the work:fun ratio is not stellar.)
