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.”

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

Wild Verses: Bits of Nature Poetry, 9 of 10

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