Bird watching - small poems

​

I am a voyeur of birds in their bath

I eavesdrop on their tiny conversations

I listen to their songs while wandering along

And ponder possible translations.

 

***

 

Without fail, the quail come running

In quick succession, rolling along,

on their tiny feet like spinning wheels,

with their topknots bobbing

and their distinctive song.

 

***

 

With wing strokes like the thrust of oars,

a great blue heron rows his boat

through the evening air

to quiet waters, distant shores.

 

***

How the swans bow their heads

and fold their wings, while floating,

in seeming genuflection

to their rippling reflection… 

​

 

Sign languages of the birds:

 

lLike the runes left by sandpipers along the shore

embellished by seashells, sand dollars and more…

​

or

 

The way the crows curl their toes on take-off to fly,

their black hieroglyphics in sharp contrast

to the Seagulls, white-writing in the sky.