Plumage

 

The way the sea lion

thrusts its slick body

into the ink stain

cloud of fish-

snagging perhaps one

or two

feels successful-

As does the damsel dragonfly

darting into plumes of gnats

dissipating like dust motes

in the slanted October sun

devouring one at a time

determined to dine until dusks end. 

The jumbo jet pierces the jeweled

sky, stirring low sounds and tearing 

a hole above

carries bodies

aimlessly, defying time and gravity

yet the traveled disperse

undone.

For just one

the chase was everything

but effort

whereas above,

so below,

there was always more

or less 

grace 

with a predator

and its prey. 

Painting by David de Coninck, titled 'A peacock, turkey, rabbits, and cockerel in a landscape' c. 1659-1701 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Sky stalker

He was close
      atop the next door
               roofline,
two doors and eight windows away,

I can feel him
not caring
but staring
              at me
              clearly
cocking his head
and aiming his
       attention my way.

I return his gaze
             between two crows feet
I squint
             and am unable to define
where wing
                    and feather divide

like the wind

no where
Now
how he can soar
               based on feeling
a passing breeze
across his breast
plate

I maintain my ground
feeling anchored
under air

the predator holds its breath
while the raptor releases
a piercing scream
before
he takes flight
giving one more glance

downward
I stay affixed
under this eave

awaiting a closure
of wing, sky
and the hungry eye.
         


    
Painting by Edwin Henry Landseer, 'The falcon' c. 2837 in Public domain.

The predator on top of his prey

They became civilized
after many ages
and stages of refinement.
They wanted to live longer,
a race with no finish line.
They practiced,
they failed much, succeeded few.
They fought and resisted
they conceded and persisted.
They started
by removing death threats,
like hunger
and

exposure

They experimented
with potions and rhetoric.
They bottled magic
and peddled poisons,
to live
more
and they did.

They lived so long
they forgot their youth,
they jumped to the end,
decrepit at the start
with nothing to grow on.

They followed tradition,
it led them along.
Their bodies decay from security,
hearts get bored with emotion,
their mind aches,
blinded by the reflection.
They never should have lived
this long
this way-
which is why
they prey
on weakness
to make
go away
They
will
be done.
All men.




Image by Hans Holbein the Younger (1497/1498–1543) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.