, , , ,

Come Fly with Me—dVerse Poetics

Photo: David Slotto

Photo: David Slotto–Quail

A few years ago, on a clear autumn day that’s imprinted in my memory as a picture of orange trees against cerulean blue skies, accented with billowy white clouds, I was standing at the kitchen sink when I heard a thud. I ran outside, knowing that, in my desire to appreciate the day’s beauty, I’d pulled the blinds up—creating a landscape that fooled a bird. In this case, it was a quail.

I lifted him gently in my gloved hand, intending to place him in the shrubbery to give him a chance to recover from his shock, but within a minute his beautiful head fell forward in death. I was broken-hearted but the moment gave me the chance to really study the intricate design and pattern of the masterpiece that his feathers created. For me this was an opportunity to wonder at the magnitude of creation.

Since then, I’ve been so much more attentive to feathers left behind and to birds that visit our feeders. Here in Reno we enjoy hummingbirds, doves, orioles, Stellar’s jays, robins, finches and so many more. In Palm Desert, the songs of the mockingbirds, wrens and others fill the morning with beauty.

For today’s Poetics, I ask you to look at feathers. Perhaps you will write of a bird, whether humble or glorious in its array, or maybe you will zero in on an individual feather in its detail, writing along the line of imagist poets. How about feathers as a metaphor, or the function of these structures as they serve our avian friends? You may even choose to get a bit spicy, but what would I know about that? Can you hear feathers? Smell, taste or touch them? What do they mean in certain cultural or religious traditions such as those of Native Americans? There are so many possible ways to fly with this prompt.

Here is a poem from Emily Dickinson that may serve to rev up your imagination:

Hope is the Thing with Feathers – (314)

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

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

hawk_tail_feathers_by_copperarabian-d5s2s4j.jpg Labeled for non-commercial reuse

Labeled for non-commercial reuse

To join in:
• Write your poem and post it on your blog or website
• Link your work to your social media sites
• Copy and paste the URL of the direct link to your poem into Mr. Linky at the bottom of this post and leave a comment
• Spend some time reading and commenting on your fellow poets who have joined the prompt
• Have fun

This is Victoria for dVerse Poetics, looking forward to reading your submissions. Don’t forget, we are in the process of choosing from the poems that you submit for publication in a dVerse Anthology. You will be contacted if your work is chosen and we will obtain your permission.