Diving Deeper

February mornings (poems by Sulis)

February mornings (6.30 am)

I

Clear light moon
suspended
in the fork of the trees
silent
deep tones of chimes
cheeoo, cheeoo, cheeoo
...chip, chip, chip
- medium bird song
silver tones of chimes
stip, stip, stip   
- little bird song
kwau, kwau
- big bird song
trees listening
lights in the room
reflected on glass
red brilliance
against morning grey
my breath mouthing
silence
coffee the color
of creek water
after the rains
after the winds
after the dreams
of night
this silvered morning
Blessed

II

Birdfeeder hanging
like Japanese temple
on white mountain
Snow after midnight
the most silent
Middle chimes
making harmony
Everything settled white
blankets you can sink into
A bird drifts
red-cloaked monk
moving in the air
like a prayer
around the temple
Trees have turned
lacquer dark
so many brush strokes
on perfect parchment
Light seeps down
soaking the dawn
Saturated
Peace

For me, these brilliant blood-red birds (cardinals) are like little Valentines.  The above poems (which are best read aloud and ones I have shared at poetry readings) were written on two consecutive February mornings at dawn.  February can brings rains and snow falls and sunny days all in the same week in the Missouri Ozarks.

At that time (2006), I lived right beside a creek in the bottom of a steep-sided Ozark valley.  Very often the cardinals would be clustered in the bushes on the opposite (westerly) bank waiting for the sun to come over the eastern hill and warm them.  The males are bright red, the females a softer pinky brown.

Here is a haiku which also celebrates them:

a thicket of sticks
dotted with red cardinals
sparks a fire of hope

With love and hope, Sulis

Restoring the sacred (poem by Sulis)

 

Cowbird (2006) by Sulis

Just as we've lost
the sacred in water
we scorn this bird
that sings like water
like babbling brooks.

The same bird rode
on the backs of bison
across rolling plains
gone with the wind
with the water gone.

We blame the bird
for usurping nests
not caring whose
children were stolen
taken not caring.

What if we honor
sacred the cowbird
garland with flowers
giving her freedom
to roam unabused.

Perhaps she'd sing
healing the water
no longer lonely
fly with the wind
restoring the sacred.

When I first moved to the Missouri Ozarks, I lived right beside a creek which brought in many birds.  This one, makes the most beautiful (to my ear) warbling sound, like a babbling brook.  But for my bird-watching friends it was a black sheep, as it has the reputation of a cuckoo for stealing the nests of others.  I am always one for the underdog (or bird) and so I wrote a poem for this maligned bird whose voice I associated with water.  And to bring in yet another animal, I am making a connection in the poem with India's sacred cow who is allowed to wander where she pleases and treated always like royalty!