It finally happened, and I
Have felt the most singular joy:
Franklin, the largest of our ducks,
And I think the father of most of them,
Ate blueberries out of my hand!
Our younger ducks are still skittish,
So I simply toss them berries;
But Franklin's courageous and comfortable,
He doesn't fear the touch of this ape.
And if ever I feared the bill of a duck,
Truth reveals that completely baseless.
Franklin is sweet beyond compare:
It feels like rounded tongs when he nibbles,
Gently tickling my palms for fruit.
And not just that, though that's sublime,
He even let me pet his breast!
He held himself with the dignity
Of a wild animal, yet serenely,
Familiarly he accepted my touch.
With the backs of my first two fingers
I softly stroked his dappled breast.
Franklin gives his mouth a lick
And holds his head up while I pet him.
I look into his golden eyes,
At his leathery, red face,
The equal streaks of black and white
Which course atop his fluffy head
And down his neck; he's so plush!
I thank him for allowing me
To feel the soft touch of his down.
He chuffs as if to thank me in turn
For the blueberries. He is content.
What an incredible creature I'm blessed
To have as a neighbor purely by chance,
This muscovy duck Franklin!
Tag: nature
Percy’s Stretch
Should you have the joy of being
Around ducks in the morning or evening,
You've surely seen the way they stretch—
One leg extending backward
As the matching wing fans out.
I must have spent several scores
Of sunsets and twilights and even a dozen
Daybreaks squatting beside these birds,
But only once have I seen a stretch
The way that Percy pulled it off.
He balanced on a single leg
And started splaying feathers out;
As I sat behind him on his left,
He seemed to point each feather at me.
Perfectly propped like a tiny scarecrow,
I didn't notice it at first.
Beginning to kick a leg out,
As if by legerdemain, from his right
The little extremity extended!
He paused: the ambiguous spinning dancer;
And stretched his toes like a black canvas.
He flared his midnight wing once more,
Kicked his foot its entire length;
Then he set it back on the clay
And gave a little shake, ruffling
His iridescent feathers up,
Looking like a brass pinecone
With subtle green and purple patina.
It seems so rare to me; indeed
I've never seen it before or since.
Percy then settled back down
To gaze at the sinusoidal pond.
Franklin was laid beside him, and Norm
And, further off in a shadow, George
Slumbered on the shore nearby.
I was squatting down on my haunches,
And my knees were beginning to ache.
We decided to let them sleep.
I stood up and stretched my own legs but
Not nearly as spectacularly
As Percy, the little black duck
With a dickie of white breast feathers.
Parting is always sorrow
Parting is always sorrow,
Fear of uncertainty,
Discontinuity.
These ducks that have made their home
Here are the most beautiful
And precious creatures I've known.
I've depended on
These days we've shared together;
Who says it has to end?
The fears I have for the future.
Granite's adventuring,
I believe he'll return like George.
Even so, Cory
Misses him. As do I.
Will they miss us?
Nothing ties them down,
Inspiring as it is frightening.
We're united by chance.
How could we let them know
We're leaving but will return
To visit them forever?
What compact could be made
To tie our souls to this place,
Returning after time?
I think I'll be visiting
More than twice a week.
Easing into absence.
I can't bear the idea
They might feel they've lost us
Or grieve the lack of us.
Will they start to think,
"Did they move on;"
Well, won't we have?
We've both lived in so
Many different places,
Why not animals too?
Darling Granite, we miss you.
We miss your happy laughter.
We miss your squinching eyes.
I do believe you're safe
And probably not far,
Likely with Patch or Millay.
We've become accustomed
To your familiar smile
And gentle friendliness.
You've been here the longest
Of all the ducks we know.
Your presence is joy's communion.
Always and forever
We will search for your profile
On the grass lounging serenely.
You will always be
Cherished and remembered,
You and all of our friends.
Our hearts have expanded domains
Grown from Granite; from Marble;
From milky-eyed Mama;
From Armor and from Helmet;
From the fly-by-night girls;
And from poor little Miracle.
I swoon for animals;
They understand hello,
But never know goodbye.
I think of Lefty the mallard:
Against all odds, born
With a malformed wing, he thrives.
Lefty and all our friends
Who make this place their home,
Aren't we of them too?
This place, this time, this pond
Has found us all together
In our liberty-laden lives.
I think of Franklin and Percy,
Loyalty and Norm,
Steve and Zebra and Mama;
Helmet, George, and Edgar,
All of whom had left
And yet returned again.
This is what we have chosen.
We all may come and go,
That's how I know it's love.
I know that we'll come back,
And so I do believe
Granite will too.
***
Just yesterday Millay
Came swooping down to greet us.
We instantly knew each other.
The little outline of white
Around her beady eyes;
How she ran to us;
Her single tiny squeak
As she jumped onto the grass
All confirmed it was she.
She said hello then flew off.
I'd bet she's seen Granite.
Last Walk of the Night
The frogs are echoing from God
Knows where; the new moon is
Here to be missed, and it has rained.
The sky is blank overhead.
It's a navy blue hour,
Lit more by the apartments'
Lamps than anything above
Us and the twinkling blades of grass.
The glittering water is almost asleep,
Softly shifting; planes above
Hum toward TPA,
The city a milky way below.
We stroll the pre-dewed lawns,
One last visit for the night.
On the grass not far from the path
Are groups of little dark spots.
Each one of those tiny shadows
Is a precious friend nestling
Back their sleeping, carbuncled faces,
Resting the white curves of their eyelids.
Talking with Muscovies
Muscovies are delightful companions.
When I approach they hum and purr
And vibrate like little engines
Cooling, then settling down.
When my muscovies are enthused,
(They're not my muscovies,
But I'm their person,)
They pant aloud as if laughing.
Norm is a conversationalist;
He'll announce himself even when hidden.
George and Percy sneeze their greetings
Softly, while father Franklin snorts hello.
Steve and his girl, Zebra, are quiet,
But he'll nod and puff, she'll sweetly coo.
Brothers Edgar and Loyalty
Hype each other up with chants.
Patch squeaks and Mama gently trills,
As do Millay and nested Helmet;
And when he's surrounded by friends,
Granite erupts in exuberant laughter.
Norm gets me a little wet
Norm gets me a little wet
Leaping up from his swim in the pond.
Huffing and panting, he greets me
On the carpet of grass and clover.
He was born to swim.
Every day I see him out there
Bathing, diving; I watch and wave,
Arrested by his beauty.
His downy, feathery breast and head,
Trickling water as he fluffs his crest,
Gleams; shaking off the excess drops,
He beats his wings so close to me.
His red leather mask rings
Around his eyes' amber irises;
They catch the sun when he tilts his head,
As do his iridescent wings.
A single thought, bacterium-sized,
But then pride: he's so comfortable
With me; and thankfulness: he rests
In the bush beneath my window.
Helmet’s Return
Now we see why Helmet was gone of late,
And it comes with quite a revelation:
Helmet is a girl! Had she gone to mate?
She has her nest in the same location
As Mom did, at the laundry room between
The AC unit and wall adjacent.
It's perfect, shortly before this we'd seen
Her reappear amongst this family
Who hatched right there on that very same scene.
Many little soon-to-be progeny
Beneath her downy bosom incubate,
And we pray she's rewarded handsomely.
The second generation to propagate
Since we began to keep tabs on our friends
Is upon us; it's a difficult wait.
It's still months until brooding season ends.
I pray they will be kept safe from the drakes,
Or if birds-of-prey-disguised death descends.
Although anxiety for these ducks makes
Up quite a chunk of my expectant thoughts,
To see them flourish my waiting heart aches.
Little puffs of down all around her dot
Her nest where we counted somewhere around
Eleven eggs within this most blessed spot!
Who can wait to hear that heartwarming sound—
Ducklings cheeping in perfect innocence
As they swarm and skitter across the ground?
This season continues with cryptic hints,
The swapping days of warm and cold belie
Their secret day of hatching's imminence.
Newborn mallards have hatched somewhere nearby,
Perhaps on this first day of the new year.
Soon Helmet's chicks will poke out and arrive.
Though nothing more of the future is clear,
I dream of them joining us in growth here.
After the Loss of Miracle the Duckling
The sun descends before a mere
Mortal could ever fathom when,
And that's what fills humans with fear.
Black, indelible ink; the pen
Proscribes loved and unloved while I
Feel the true fear of change again.
These nearly-limitless things vie,
Each one of them so small at birth;
Yet some it sees fit to deny.
Lives inestimable in worth,
Newly born; why do some survive
While others get but days on Earth?
Why is it while they were alive
The bloody blade reaped thereupon
And nothing done could help them thrive?
I hear the doleful singing swan
Echo my thoughts. I must praise.
Even after, new young will spawn.
There will be more ducklings to raise;
Even those we've lost will be kept,
Remembered my remaining days.
And beyond when my windows wept,
They have their niche that they've occupied;
I'm a moment to intercept.
In all my childish, misty-eyed
Attachment I forfeit most sense,
For this is how they've multiplied.
Citification built the fence
Which separates and shelters me.
Life becomes unreal and intense.
Competition is anomie
To one with precious much to lose;
Life and fear in synonymy.
Such is the case for one who views
Constant struggle through rationale
And the tragedy it imbues,
But how could an animal scowl
At the fate of life, its one gift?
They don't see things as fair or foul.
They only know the life they lift
From the seed of their forebears' soil
And the changes of seasons' shift.
They're not averse to earthly toil,
Their being, both parcel and part
Of their place in this mortal coil.
As such there's never loss of heart
For them when tragedy befalls
Their life, the ever-forward dart.
An indomitable will calls
Their spirits onward with elan
Uncomprehending of our galls.
These ducks have but a single plan,
Which is to be what they will be
And to nurture their little clan;
To follow their ancestral tree
With peace wild and docile at once,
My darling ducks, this family.
So even when misfortune hunts,
I trust these ducks will persevere
Through both dreary and merry months.
They could be my teachers of cheer,
Wary for their safety and yet
Unknowing existential fear.
They simply take what they can get.
They remain happy and content,
Though looking out for any threat.
They're unafraid how much is spent,
It's all for life and it's all fair.
That's how nature builds its ascent.
A million generations' wear
Strengthens the very DNA
Which brings all creatures up to bear.
Very little controls the sway
Of fate. But, as their parents had,
They grow confident with each day.
It's like their souls are armor-clad,
Uncrippled by softhearted pain
That never fails to drive me mad.
Nature is indifferent to strain.
Prepared for total loss, it gains.
Ducks on the Bridge
The evening breezes tossed our hair about
As we approached the wooden bridge's gate.
On the handrails four of our friends were couched,
Enjoying an eminent perch out late.
But when we sidled up to them to scout,
They shifted around. Though we hoped they'd wait,
George decided he would fly; and his flaps
Peppered his adjacent brothers with slaps.
Percy and Norm were standing beside him
As he opened his wings, readying flight.
They seemed bewildered, though not quite frightened;
I saw Norm raise his crest, though it was slight.
They sat with Marble after abiding
Their brother's barrage of blows feather-light.
At last these three lay down in settled ease;
We left them to sleep with the midnight breeze.
Percy and George
Oh Percy and George, you don't know how much
I want to pet you beautiful creatures,
But both of you ducks are beyond my touch.
If those downy white breasts I should reach for,
I know you boys would avoid me, for such
Are wild animals; yet you are teachers:
It's when I calm myself, when I sit still,
You darlings are wont to join me and chill.
A place for my poems 