Nightjar

You can hear them,

like little ghosts

haunting the air at night,

though we don’t have

the blue note whippoorwill

in our evergreens.

If you’ve ever hummed a dry, lonesome aria

from your own warbling wind struck throat

you can hear them—

in the hollowed out whisper-choke,

strummed endless in black on wet pillowed nights,

haunted and hidden.

Yes, you can hear them, even here,

always, when you’ve known lonely,

so ink-dark and bled deep to bone.

Or maybe they can hear you.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

At dVerse host Tony Maude has invited us to write to any FFA or MTB prompt they’ve offered in the past.  I chose Victoria Slotto's Literary Allusion.  One of my all time favorite short stories is The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving.  I also love the haunting song Midnight in Montgomery by Alan Jackson.  Each work references the beautifully eerie call of the nightjar bird, the Eastern Whip-poor-will.  I have alluded to each work in my piece.  Happy year 3 dVerse! 

Brandywine

Organic Brandywine Tomato Sprouts

I’m going to buy an orchard

and pick fruit, waving flies away.

I’ll wear a straw hat

and a sleeveless shirt.

I’m going to garden

and bake pies—

thick ones, full of hearty chunks of tart fruit.

And I am going to walk in the evenings,

when it’s still light,

after grilled chicken and sliced tomatoes.

And I’m going to forgive myself

when I remember all the things I never did.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Poets United:  The Poetry Pantry

 

Thief

Steller's Jay

plumage

in silver blue,

sooty crest of charcoal

worn like a thief’s mask, and it’s true,

she will

rob the songbirds’ freshly twigged nests

of eggs and chicks when seeds

and ash berries

run low

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

A butterfly cinquain for Poetry Jam:  A Bird’s Eye View.  I don’t have my own photo of a Steller’s Jay but we see them often around here.  They are beautiful, loud and predatory.  For more about the Steller’s Jay go here. 

Untangled

Maybe life, in all its mysteries, is much

like reading a Mary Oliver poem.

It’s not about counting syllables

or forcing rhyme; it’s about

breathing deeply

of woods, of rain,

of blossom, of berry;

and in the words there’s that moment of recognition,

and you know the simple answer—

enjoy.

 

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Brian at dVerse has us writing about puzzles!

Moonwhistle

She’d had too much winter

and spring came

with summer on its heels

like two pigtailed girls twirling in the sweet, tall grass, holding hands.

And then it blew, that low whistling, calling pixies to play

with a language none of them knew she understood;

and then the moon, the moon—

so hopeful, bright and round,

and who

can compete with the moon.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

for dVerse OpenLinkNight