Monday, May 15, 2006

Wild yard

with each pass, the grass
gets shorter under whirring blades
and my sweat gathers
in the robust sun

small birds linger and,
despite the whickering noises
of the push mower,
rush in as I turn my back, looking
for dandelion seeds and
long bits to fortify nests

at the back of the yard, floating
on top of the still-long grass
in the shade of the box elder,
long and worn, barred
with red and black and
tipped in cream,
a single hawk's feather

14 Comments:

Blogger mermaid said...

To meditate on such details is to see everything.

5/15/2006 9:43 AM  
Blogger Dave said...

Very nice! If I hadn't just quoted you in my smorgasblog, I'd snip from this.

5/15/2006 2:29 PM  
Blogger Lori Witzel said...

Darn cool -- when I had more time, I loved to mow. Love the hawk feather.

Now, re: other bird feathers being left by the cosmos, see
http://chatoyance.blogspot.com/
2005/12/x-marked.html

5/15/2006 3:09 PM  
Blogger MB said...

Mermaid, it always seems to me there is more to see, and more, and more. I can't stop looking.

Thanks, Dave. Hey — I saw another dogwood today! Still eating my words. Not the first time, of course.

Lori, thanks, that one really makes me smile. X marks the spot of your poem, perhaps!

5/15/2006 3:29 PM  
Blogger robin andrea said...

All those things that catch your attention while you are mowing the lawn. What an interesting juxtaposition, noticing the wildness, while you tame the lawn.

5/15/2006 4:38 PM  
Blogger MB said...

Robin, exactly! I never cease to be amazed by the wildness I find in town.

5/15/2006 4:41 PM  
Blogger leslee said...

Nice. I like how this begins with the suburban lawn and gets increasingly wilder as it goes on. (And of course I am jealous of the robust sun!)

5/16/2006 7:08 AM  
Blogger MB said...

Leslee, thanks. Even in the city, we're just whacking back against determined wildness. It's hotter here than I'm ready for! Stay warm and dry!

5/16/2006 7:15 AM  
Blogger Brenda said...

I'm not much of a mower, and have always had places without grass, except in Vancouver, which was hard to mow, since I'd have preferred to let it go wild. I like the juxtapositions here, and the shiver I get from the single hawk's feather floating...

5/16/2006 11:33 AM  
Blogger GEL said...

Nice. Your words are full of sound and images as if we are transformed right to that spot.

5/16/2006 6:50 PM  
Blogger MB said...

Brenda, as you might guess from the end of this poem, my grass tends to be hard to mow, too!

Silvermoon, thank you. I'm glad you felt it!

5/16/2006 9:05 PM  
Blogger Sue hardy-Dawson said...

this is so vivid it's like a picture, I enjoyed it so much thank-you

5/19/2006 11:14 AM  
Anonymous yllstonewolf said...

i can smell the grass - that tangy green fragrance that always takes me back to my childhood...and feel the sun hot on the part in my hair. fallen hawk feather eh? a gift? i'm just back from 10 days in yellowstone and am all apart. can't wait to catch up here.

5/23/2006 11:47 AM  
Blogger MB said...

Thank you, Sue!

Anne, yes, a gift! I wondered where you were. Welcome home! Glad to have you back.

5/23/2006 2:50 PM  

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