Buteo jamaicensis (red-tailed hawk)

Chickenhawk,

or common pigeon raptor,

an immigrant in suburbia,

your callused talons, prone to thievery

bone protruding shoulders, penetrate the blues

excess in feathers weighs one down.

Perch and peer,

wedged between a wishbone branch,

hurling her duck observations in high notes

as if swan songs were her only repertoire. 

Tenacious she, 

returns three days crooked, famished with

foresight, laser vision, and perspective-poised, 

she waits, she sees green, she feels envy.

The fluffy housecat chases his tail 

to satisfy his urges

the hawk launches

and draws his keen ellipse together.

Photo credit By U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Headquarters (Red-tailed hawk  Uploaded by Dolovis) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0) or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Piece of quiet

Recluse, recover

Head on pillow, tucked in, begin to think peace and quiet-

Meanwhile

A riot swings a racquet the tighter my eyes try not to see

so many sounds blanket as epiphanies.

Snuggly, cotton covers partially, crinkling fibrous shifts-

sounded, a trumpet climbs up the scales, ring in speakeasy tones

two doors down from this bed, this horizontal head.

A boxer dog boofs over the fence, again and again,

the microwave chimes in.

My son strategizes and vocalizes his next cyber move with friends in virtual vociferousness.

In the next room, my daughter squeals, secrets I guess, tamping down her girlie giggles.

The man on the couch coughs, catches his breath then chuckles at the idiot box,
in muffled notes the next door neighbors converse in tension talking circles all tied up in Nots.

A muscle car motors by, fuel floats in the window crack, the bass is left behind

on the pavement, the other side, by the five, waves of autos roll by as white noise, 

white caps, following white perforated lines, swooshing along over catseye caps.

The neighbors' small child cries in huge bursting idles this bedtime,

the grey cat on my left side sighs, letting down his heavy head, insisting

nothing is that interesting.

A dove coos to his lover, and purr

the phone vibrates atop the oaken tiny rec-table, my stomach churns bile,

Blood swirls around my wetware, grey matter, then hits the fingertips hard,
my heart sinking a steady beat,

a door creaks down the dark hall, a glass in the sink, the faucet flows, pipes hiss, 

door whines,

and falls shut.


Painting by Augustus Egg [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Fair share

A lone loquat leaf
            curled and crisp,
                       tap dances down
the sidewalk

An empty aluminum can
              dented in the middle
                       throws light and marches making
a din down the driveway

The loitering suburban trees
                        fluff their updos
                         while locks of leaves fall down

Two lips pucker in the sun
                          a short Spring song
                           now nearly done
wilting while the bulb goes out

A blurry old man shuffles a shopping cart
                         gripping his estate
                           for near life.
A trim mom runs in the bike lane
                          chasing rolled dollars
                             barreling down the boulevard
A police officer cruises by
                           in his city issued
                              beemer, observing the peace

A couple makes up
                         in the parking lot
as two seagulls squawk over scraps
                         out and out-mollifying
mean-
while
A raven snags the snack pack
with-
out
argument or a caw on the wind

This is how
gusts, nameless airs,
blow things
out of (pro) portion.

Does that make it more than it is?
If heard
it Is.


Image By Tomwsulcer (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Fruits of Labor

White noise whir of the circular saw,

sputtering gears of mower blades churning,

taunting the helpless pungent grass

still dotted in hopeful dew.

A mockingbird stretches his lungs,

flying through the scales.

Beaming golden rays,

warmth rapping on panes.

Asking to come out and play

on a steamy summer suburbia day.

Waves and smiles, neighborly beeps,

off to work with kisses on the cheeks.

Dishwasher soapy claws churn away,

and the dynamic laundry duo readily toil through the day.

Lemon zested home sparkles with a happy clean,

primped and buffed, for no one it is seen.

Busy body chores, errands and more,

barely ever done by four.

Futile with growth, grime and clutter,

the gas tank starts to sputter,

The daily grind,

brews another hot cup of day.

A sweet moment in the citrus glow of evening,

freedoms breezy greeting,

stops all-

butterflies, hummingbirds, dragonflies,

even the birds held their note-

to inhale the nectar's

still blooming sweat.

lingering in the orange summers eve.

Feature image by Jon Sullivan, via Wikimedia,Public Domain"Bees really like pollinating my Meyer Lemon tree"