Flashback Friday: Original Poem for Fall

Forget it. Resistance is futile. Fall is coming. Embrace it. Here’s some help. A new version of a poem I wrote 20 years ago for my college verse writing class. Do you like it? Does it help? Let me know what you think.  Featured image by C. L. Tangenberg

The Blue Jay and the Squirrel Disagree

by C. L. Tangenberg

It was one autumn morning, they became
quite cross while scuffling for a twig that lay
between them, and the squirrel told the bird,
“My friend, no finer twig than this exists,
and I alone must have it for my nest.”

The blue jay heard but quick and feisty squeaks;
it was mere senseless babble to his brain.
Perplexed, indignant, the blue jay cried, “What fuss
you make when clearly this belongs to me.”
And yet, the blue jay was a thief himself.
The squirrel, hearing frantic, screeching screams,
thought the jay would burn his throat that way.

They clawed and pecked each other for the prize
and danced and fluttered ’round the tiny stick,
but soon they wearied of the argument,
and in a final fling to snatch the limb,
with claws and bristled tail, the squirrel shooed
the blue jay, as she crouched and grabbed the twig
in her paws and popped it in her mouth.

She furiously scampered up her tree;
the blue jay, frantic feathers flailing, charged
the squirrel, shrieking at her angrily,
“Stop now, you thief! Bring back my fallen branch,
or by the Sun, I’ll peck you till you die!”

The squirrel, laughing, scaled the wrinkled oak.
“Sweet acorns! What a maddened bird you are!
In such a state would you trespass my home?”
And sure enough the blue jay seemed possessed,
to chase the squirrel to her nest above.

The squirrel reached her home, released the twig
and turned around to face the flying fowl;
and daring failed the blue jay as he met
the squirrel’s den; instead he perched and cried,

“You pesky squirrel! You are the Greed and Shame
of these great Woods, and from this day henceforth,
I swear I’ll sing your shame to everyone!”
The blue jay flew away and found his nest,
his gorgeous feathers splayed against the sky.

“My! My!” the squirrel panted with relief,
and raising up the twig, she thought aloud,

“What nonsense from that old, blue feather-head!
Were I to know the words he seemed to squawk,
I might have gladly answered him again.
As to the coded tongue he speaks, I’m sure
I lack the smallest clue; and too, I doubt
that any of our other neighbors do.”

Original Poetry: Inspirator

As it gets colder in the northern hemisphere, though we are over the hump of winter solstice, I thought I’d share a little figurative fire to brighten your holiday. I first drafted this poem from field notes written as an exercise at the nature writers’ conference I attended at the Cuyahoga Valley National Park in October 2016. Here are some excerpts.

Happy New Year. And Happy 100th Birthday to the National Park Service.

Inspirator

by C. L. Tangenberg
Giddy beige feathers of tall, 
unnamed fronds perched at a tilt, 
sprout their crowns in fanned-out spikes,
forging two beings into one: fire 
and ashy aftermath.

Two heads' lengths above 
these frozen flames, 
the color starts.

Green, rounded leaves of 
chartreuse underbellies and grey-
green backs, or faces—I can't 
tell which—huddle in discarded 
half-arches, craft of the stone mason 
who made too many, just in case. 
A half-hearted bow only 
at their very tops, partly 
praising a fractional work. 

On ground farther back, 
a grander stage presents 
the proud, living burns of 
orange-tipped yellow dancers. 
Some like to sway more than others, 
some feel the fueling wind. 

A tree not yet bronzed 
stands apart, flushed with 
a green, pre-fire readiness, 
and here, at the edge of its 
leaf clusters, starts to catch.

Beside, with lifeless pallor, 
bored out, burnt out, by burning 
beetle fever, the fire of hunger—
too-soon wintered, emaciated, 
desolate—ash trees jealously 
watch their flaming neighbors.

And foraging over all heads,
some unseen spirit slurps up 
and bloats full with grey smoke
from all this combustion below, 
from above, with the yellow-
white smoke of sunlight. 

The wind roars like a terrible
conflagration, and the grey, 
not white, smoke is winning. 

Stone-piles at my feet see up 
to the short spray of grasses,
hints of feathers on higher fliers,
and my shadow. 

Blown quiet, I walk 
most unhurried, 
back, into no fire.

 

leaf-sky-black-white-crop-auto-contrast-less-bright

Image by C. L. Tangenberg, Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, autumn 2003

Backyard Bloodshed

cutting flowers in sun
a pinched caterwauling
behind
no sign of a child
peek around the dogwood
glimpse a grey cat passing
in its mouth
a small eastern cottontail
now silent limp
dangles by the neck
the cat walks
body beneath
to the evergreen shade
rips at its prize
I am near
trying to see
cat disappears
I go around
fence's other side
wide-eyed rabbit
sees me
begins to move
from side lying
to upright
and staggering
comes toward me
toward the fence
pokes nose through slats
where a sale flyer rests
it retracts
stops in the sun
I back away
look over the fence
see the bright red
hanging out
along its side
toward the back
muscle bone or organ
I don't know
second wound behind
it stays put
I curse the cat
not finishing off
am I to blame?
not my place
not my yard
no one home
and no gun
only hammer shovel spade
and would not reach
I walk away
the robins hop
the sun shines
the flowers beam
I go inside
write this

Poem “Hawk Side” Wins Contest

In lieu of Five-Phrase Friday, I’m re-posting a poem and its revision with an update. The revised poem won a poetry contest I entered last month, National Poetry Month. I originally posted the poem as part of my series called Wild Verses: Bits of Nature Poetry. In it, I asked the question, “Is it ever too late to revise a poem?” While not a definitive answer, the contest win would suggest it wasn’t too late for this particular poem, titled “Hawk Side.”


“Wild Verses: Bits of Nature Poetry, 9 of 10” was originally posted July 14, 2015:

For this bit of nature poetry, I decided to show two very different drafts of essentially the same poem side by side (or one over the other, as it were). The first draft was written in 1999, the revision finished last month.

Food for thought: Is it ever too late to revise a poem? What is lost or gained in the process?

“Hawk-side” – November 1999:

Hawks high on fences.
Hawks poised perching there.
Hawks like stoic kitten princesses,
huntresses on fences along a highway.

Looking out for morsels of mice
and sparrows.
Too many fully empty deer
there are--stuffed wholly empty.
Lying stiff, the wholly empty
deer await the hawks.

Hungry hawks find food elsewhere.
Full hawks, flecked with brown and white;
russet-brown, russet-white at the meal.

Flash of a truck, fleck of a bird,
crowning a rotten wooden fence
post, low on a highway hill.

I pass another, passenger-side,
hawk-side.

“Hawk Side” – June 2015:

Along the highway fence,
a hawk posts tall, keen 
and poised, as stoic as 
a feral kitten princess, 
knowing more, careening 
inside for hot morsels 
of mice and sparrows.

Too many deer fully empty, 
ahead. Stuffed with glass,
colliding stiff, hollowed-out 
doe and buck parts await 
the crows, and the hawks.
Ravenous hawks wrench 
food from life elsewhere.

Full hawks fleck brown and 
white. Russet brown, white-
stained-russet lines blur—
feather edges, straw bones, 
red shoulders, tails, secret 
coverts, cheeks smeared, 
blood talons, beaks dripping.

Blip of a truck, fleck of a bird,
the huntress crowns the rot of 
wooden fence posts (leaving 
carcasses for cars and crows), 
low on a highway hill. Sharp-
eyed, one passed on the right—
passenger side, hawk side.

copyright C. L. Tangenberg

Red-shouldered_hawk_image

Five-Phrase Friday (34): Earth Day, Every Day

So did you carry around a poem in your pocket all day yesterday and share it with others? Wonderful! I didn’t, but I did present my own poem for review at my writers group.

For this blog’s “Wild Verses: Bits of Nature Poetry” series last summer, showcasing excerpts of my original work, I shared two bits of the poem “If I Had Known” in the first and the seventh post out of ten.

For Earth Day, enjoy five more lines from “If I Had Known” that focus on the predator-prey relationships of wildlife:

that kills can be as bold as water-cat jaguar

spiking alligator-cousin caiman, skull to brain,

with fangs longer than the face seems to fit, 

and

that fauna form peculiar teams, mixing . . .  

in mutual defense and pack-style attack

copyright C. L. Tangenberg


Here, kitty, kitty . . .

jaguar

Photobucket.com stock image

Five-Phrase Friday (21): Original Poetry

Too lazy to be original with my phrasing today, I point you to an original yesterday… but I added a photo to it. Happy National Poetry Month.

As we labor to steel ourselves for many long weeks of winter, who in the Northern Hemisphere doesn’t need a little summer right about now? If you’re among the needless (heh), I grant yo…

Source: Five-Phrase Friday (21): Original Poetry

Literary April: National Poetry Month and Camp NaNoWriMo

I’m pressing my post from last year to highlight this month’s annual events. I’m more committed to Camp NaNo this April than I was last year and am focusing on learning about story structure and plot development in novel writing. My story is about a teacher’s involvement in cyber bullying. Should be fun!

Note that Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day this year is April 21st, not the 24th.

There are at least two literary programs in April that I recommend exploring. I. One is National Poetry Month. The last link and an excerpt from the Academy of American Poets website explain the or…

Source: Literary April: National Poetry Month and Camp NaNoWriMo