Sunday February 3rd, 2013

The exercise:

Write about: the hawk.

Not entirely sure what kind of bird this is (might not even be a hawk), but we've been seeing them around quite a bit lately:


My sister and brother-in-law have returned to Calgary after a fun (but much too short) visit. Already looking forward to the next time we'll see them.

Mine:

Circling, circling,
Preaching patience like a priest.
The hunt could take all day,
He wouldn't mind in the least.

Watching and waiting
For any sign of his prey.
One false step and he
Descends like night upon day.

4 Comments:

Greg said...

I can't say that I know what type of bird it is, but it's certainly beautiful! I really like how the trees in the background seem to defocus the background slightly, it definitely adds to the whole picture.
I love the feeling of motion you've got in your poem, the words definitely evoke the idea of a flying killer right down to the bone.

The hawk
"Howard Hughes had the Spruce Goose; we shall have the Chalk Hawk!" Dr. Septopus paused, waiting for applause. Some seconds of silence later he glared at his audience.
"You're going to build a plane out of chalk?" Sylvestra's tone was withering. "It'll never fly."
"Not in the conventional sense, no," said Dr. Septopus. "But I intend it to be carried rather than fly itself."
"Hawks aren't carried," said the Green Lightbulb. He was looking especially skeletal, and Dr. Septopus had started wondering if Sylvestra was somehow starving him. "Hawks are majestic."
"The Chalk Hawk will be carried," said Dr. Septopus, starting to sound impatient. His tentacles waved, a sure sign of agitation. "By cherubs."
"Where are you getting cherubs from?" said Sylvestra. "I thought they were vanishingly rare!"
"...it's not that hard to grow wings on babies..." muttered Dr. Septopus, half under his breath.

morganna said...

By her lone wild wing
She flies, exploiting air currents
Circling round, until
She dives.

Cathryn Leigh said...

Sporadic visit (and a true story)! :}

The Hawk

When we lived in Maine, my mother had a garden. It was big (to my under 5 self) and fences in so the banty hens (small chickens) couldn’t get out. they were great pest control, according to my mother, eating all the bugs and none of the vegetables, well except ripe tomatoes.

One morning, there was a fuss out in the garden and my mom runs out. A gorgeous red tailed marsh hawk had swooped in, thinking to make a meal of one of the hens. Well the hen was dead, but the bird got caught in the tomato cages. Very carefully with think gardening gloves on, my mom helped to free the bird. (She called me out to see it, when she got the gloves.)

Once free the hawk flew to the top of the fence and then took off, never to be seen from again. My mom left the dead hen out for it, but it didn’t take it so she plucked the bird and prepared it for dinner. Unfortunately, because it had died of fright, it made for tough eating. But, someone ought to eat it if the hawk didn’t want it.

Marc said...

Greg - the poor doc is just getting no support on this one, is he?

Though that last line makes me wonder if that's not such a bad thing...

Morganna - beautiful image :)

Cathryn - visits, be they sporadic or otherwise, are always appreciated :)

We do have red-tailed hawks here, but I'm sure it's a different variety. Also: I was about to get jealous of that photograph, but then I noticed the leash on his leg.

I was unaware that a hen dying of fright affects its toughness. Learn something new yadda yadda...