poetry – TwoHawksNYC

Pigeons, Pigeons, Sandhill Cranes

From the plentiful pigeons of New York City to the backyard ubiquity of Sandhill Cranes in Wisconsin, it’s easy to take for granted those things that surround us.

Pigeons, pigeons everywhere,
We walk by without a care,

Here’s one sitting looking pretty,

There’s one next to some graffiti,

This one’s shadow might be spying,

Here’s a flock of pigeons flying.

Sandhills, Sandhills, all around,
For miles we hear their rattling sound,

Here are some who stopped to prattle,

Zoom out and you’ll see some cattle,

Here’s one, like a pole he’s standing,

Here are two in mid-air, landing.

Do they look at us and think...

People, people, everywhere,
On the ground and in the air,

On the farm and on the street,
On their phones they text and tweet,

In their cars and trucks they speed,
barely ever taking heed,

It’s hard to care about their feelings,
They’re just silly human beings.

This one’s for the Craniacs

The Whooping Crane Festival has wrapped up and we have so much to share that we’ll be breaking it into a multi-part series. As we migrate back to New York City, we’ve been reflecting on everything we learned and how inspired we have been.

Before we get into the full story, we’d like to dedicate this poem to the Operation Migration team and all the Craniacs out there.

White Marsh Dawn

The fog hangs low in pockets, still,
The sun a line behind the hill,
The crows snack roadside, get their fill,
The morning breathes a sigh.

And in the marsh, hear life’s refrain,
The birds, the bugs, the critters reign,
No wind, no rain, good day to train,
It’s time to take the sky.

Tumes and Wellies* on, can’t be late,
Trike’s in sight, we’ve got a date,
Whoopers, eager, peck the gate,
They just can’t wait to fly.

The trike’s a go, the whoopers free,
They rumble tumble out with glee,
They run, they jump, and whoop whoopee,
No time for a goodbye.

From down below, we see them soar,
They slide, they glide, first aft then fore,
They form a line and flap no more,
Fly low and then fly high.

And now the sun is glowing bright,
As man, machine, and crane take flight,
Through grit, invention, and pure might,
All odds we can defy.

Weather permitting, the 2015 class of 6 young Whoopers will start their guided fall migration this Sunday, September 20. More from us soon as well.

*Tumes and Wellies = the white cosTUME and Wellington boots that Operation Migration folks wear when they work with the cranes.

Here’s to Dad

Here’s to Dad for bringing us rats,
squirrels and pigeons too.

Here’s to Dad for swooping above
and keeping us safe from balloons.

Here’s to Dad for vertical take-offs,
for landings in any condition.

Here’s to Dad for hunting so well
it seems like he’s a magician.

Here’s to Dad for standing guard
on the church across the way.

Here’s to Dad for just being there.
Happy Father’s Day.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.

Emily Dickinson

A dog can never tell you what she knows from the
smells of the world, but you know, watching her,
that you know
almost nothing.

Mary Oliver

Roses are red,

violets are blue,

this rat tartare

is just for you.

Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for. Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us.

Maya Angelou

“If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression;
of something beautiful, but annihilating.”
— Sylvia Plath

“Things get bad for all of us, almost continually, and what we do under the constant stress reveals who/what we are.”
― Charles Bukowski, What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire

Share this:

White Marsh Dawn

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: