Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Little Bird Voices


Little Bird Voices


The little voices of little birds,
that pass the day away
With light steps within my garden,
From branch to branch they leap and sway,
Appear to be cheerful, happy and unraveled
(most of the time) filled with spunk,
And with living life, to its fullest;
I hear them in the light warm sun
(laying about as if on vacation)
Murmuring, chips, and chirps, and buzzes
Croaking’s and songs
I think they’re talking, singing
Begging and a little frightful now and then
as each day goes on—
(kind of like: children)…

A new sparrow, with no back wing
was frozen in fear between
The steps and the
Garden, today; when I was tending
to it, and I just kind of drifted away—
From here to there, allowing it time
To think and escape to a branch near
The nearby Peach Tree! And quick it did.

As the other birds gave peeps, and Israel
The dove, bill snaps, and his mother
And father, bird mating and naps, as
Others did some drumming with their wings
I call it, wing beating, or clapping…

Birds are busy and messy, little creatures
all day long
And they like everything clean,
As I work, and they sing their songs.
But I love to hear their rustles in
the leaves,
Their chips, and chirpings,
and that deep croaking sound,
all those beautiful little bird
Voices, all day long…

No: 2796 (1-19-2010

Ye Little Birds

Ye, Little Birds
[Back from War]


Here, then, I came back home from War
Back to Minnesota (in ’71),
And the birds appeared before me,
Seemed to know me!
But I was no child anymore
‘Oh, but I was happy to see the birds fly
Perched on trees so high—
As if they knew God, Himself—
Thank you for the blessings…
Ye Little Birds, for your songs:
I wonder if they know,
They hide in Vietnam!


Here, then, I came back, [Ye little birds]
To watch you, in your trees, blue skies
Fly so free and high…
I find myself somehow
Entwined with thy
With sounds of wings fading
And sounds of song:

Caw-caw
Coo-coo
Cluck-cluck

“He is home,” they cry.

Tossed images inside my soul,
Floating, floating, now to leave the war behind:
For the birds do not like wars
(They have told me so, in Vietnam
“Do not depart,” they said
Just a short while ago…
But yet, I knew I’d have to go
Time, and time again…
The birds know.)

Here, then, I came back to you
Who have never left my mind?
Ye little birds—of Minnesota
I wonder if they know
In Vietnam, they don’t sing
Anymore!


Note: The Author is a decorated Vietnam Veteran (1971); this poem was originally written
And published in 2001, in the book “Where the Birds Don’t Sing” 176 (reedited/revised: 9-2010)





The Birds of the Garden (special note):


Special Note: For those interested, concerning the names of the birds in our garden, they are as follows: Croaking ground dove (also known as the Peruvian Turtledove) Saffron-crested Tyrant-Manakin, Plumbeous Pigeon, House Wren, The Ash-breasted Sierra-Finch, Hummingbird, Morning Sierra-Finch, Rufous-collared Sparrow (the Mohawk), and the White-throated Sierra Finch.

The Bird Poems and this book dedicated to my wife Rosa PeƱaloza de Siluk