MJ blathers

dark poet who loves to laugh

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noise and fear

how quickly

eight boys in a cage

can foul the nest

finches, raucous

in nearly uniform

uniforms of gray

white and black feathers

and masculine orange cheeks

frightened to quiet

on the back porch

as i washed out their cage

only now beginning again

to squawk protest


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we float alone

each in our own bubble universe

carried by the winds of chance

on puddles created by storm

what we firmly believe

susceptible to being popped

by a stay drop of rain

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parade of browns

brown, a dull color, perhaps in fabric

but beautifully variegated in feather and fur

the limping doe seeking haven in my tall grass

so pale compared to elk cow’s dark chocolate back

but richer than the elk’s faded mocha haunches

pale against the bobcat’s striking rosettes

yet warmer orangish than the blond coyote’s yellows

pale again contrasted with the California quail’s wing stripes

i see from my window taking aggressive turns

dry-mud bathing in a dusty concavity in my battered lawn

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osprey young

high atop the telephone pole
above flat riverbed plain
as each year
powerful, dark birds
build rough nest of sticks
and now small head peers
over the edge
at the world
awaiting his parents
with food in beak or talon
free breakfast, lunch, dinner
and mid-day snacks
he will learn that service
does not last a lifetime