Anyway, I have finished the poem for the first request that I have received from a reader. I generally do not think it is fair to explain a poem before anyone reads it because it creates an influence or sensation that might not be there otherwise, but I would like to call your attention to the way that they poems speeds up and becomes chaotic with rhymes and hard "k," "t," and "s" sounds when the narrator (me?) is with the birds around the bird feeder and slows down whenever the narrator reflects upon difficulty of translating the experience of the birds into written words where there are fewer, if any rhymes, and a variety of sounds. If you find that in the poem, it is on purpose and not accidental at all. Read it aloud or have someone read to you. I think the effect is better that way. Enjoy!
The Third Cardinal Sin
(Or maybe some other number)
I sit inside and eye
Their nervous skittering,
The dance from branch to branch
That tests no bird’s mettle.
They all fly at the wind
Flicking the dry oak leaves
Or the stiff twigs clicking
On trembling frozen limbs.
I see the quick movements,
The swift light, bob, and leave,
Wastefully tossing seeds
To crisscrossed dirt beneath
Where shyer species eat
And avoid the shifting
Twisting rope-bound feeder
And off-red pointed beaks,
The pink seed-cracking beaks,
The ticking sounds they make,
The living sounds of birds
I cannot put in words.
I sneak outside and sit
Where I can hear them flit
And fly behind my ears
Never before my eyes.
I listen to rustlings,
Flutters, putters, tick-ticks,
Rapidly flapping wings,
Brittle nails on hard wood.
Words have no account for
The swish of rushing air,
I hear and clearly feel,
Right near my subtle ear.
I note the testy tweets,
“Chirrip, cheree, chee, chee
Tirreep, tirreep, toolee.”--
They say, “Don’t get near me.”
Fat chickens waddle up,
“Bok, bok, uh, er, cluck, cluck.”
They are beggars pleading
For a handful of scratch.
Those mad bully blue jays,
That I chase away, scream
“Yee haw, yee haw, yee hay.”
Stupid, bumbling burglars!
A red-tailed gray female
In a dead treetop shrieks.
I hope she gets to eat.
She may lay eggs in spring.
And suddenly, dark comes.
The wind is hushed and still.
The moon is on the rise.
Red birds huddle in boughs.
Silence requires no words
Nor sound. Cardinals sleep.
I may discover peace
In dreams of their blithe songs.