Friday, October 25, 2019

More Thoughts On Turkey






She still climbs and oversees
Jennies and Jakes spread into
Prairie, gently, intently.
Not all lived --my neighbor,
And dear friend, found
Feathers in his field.
She is alone now and
How her heart roams, as
She surveys the lanes
And homes, is testament--
Proof-- that lingering love 
And care include our roof.

18 comments:

  1. She thanks you, without knowing or understanding, your existence as well as her own. She is grateful, as are we all, to be here and alive and fed.

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    1. Dear Joanne, Turkey's remaining kids grew up and still visit her to walk around the property together --but they've taken up residences elsewhere. She watches for them.

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  2. What an incredibly tender poem, friend Geo. In fact it made me cry a little. Love, cat.

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    1. Thanks, friend Cat. I hope my poem did not make you sad. Wild turkeys prefer to be free --not penned and fattened for slaughter-- and I have to respect that. Love appreciated, reciprocated.

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    1. Thank you, Rick. That means a lot coming from a man of so many songs. All my best to you and Jilda.

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  4. Thank you for the beautiful poem. Sensitive, tender and moving.

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    1. Kind Tom. Thanks in return. For me, Nature is a language. I try to consider our fellow nouns or gerunds (turkey or turkeying?) my equals on the evolutionary ladder.

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  5. Wild turkeys are faithful to the others. You were lucky to have such a neighbor.

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    1. I am pleased with all my neighbors --except for those across the south creek, whose parties sometimes include mortality rates. My current next-door neighbor, D.W., has been my friend for 60 years. Yes, I am lucky.

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  6. Replies
    1. Yes, I think you are. And for your empathy with my graceful roof-dweller, even more so.

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  7. This is the first non humorous poem to a turkey I've ever seen. It's really sweet.

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    1. Same here, Elizabeth --I never saw a serious turkey poem and thought one should be attempted. They are beautiful things and deserving of more serious thought than they get.

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  8. Geo:

    I so appreciate your abilities with poetry. I seem to have only the ability to APPRECIATE poetry. I have attempted to write poetry a variety of times, but I just do not seem to "get" how to do so with any sense of meaning or value. I even checked out of the library at the U, a pair of textbooks about poetry writing.... but reading and searching for the secrets I need to figure it all out.... still allude me.

    PipeTobacco

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    1. Best I can figure is, think of what is best and funnest about language --mainly consonance, alliteration, rhyme(in a pinch) and sincerity. Technically, it's always changing. Shakespeare wrote really well in iambic pentameter --then had centuries of Restoration playwrights dancing on his grave. Thank heaven for Oscar Wilde! He fixed comedy and drama for the future. In 1970, I got kicked out of a literature class for airing that opinion. The "meaning and value" is in YOU.

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  9. A beautiful poem. It reminds me of the lone female pheasant that came on my back patio while I was going through chemo. She got to tame after a while and she would not fly away when I opened the door to feed her.

    She came every day for a long time then one day, she came no more , like her partner. I suspect she fell prey to a fox and it made me feel so bad. She was such a comfort to me when she visited.

    Hugs, Julia

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    1. Dear Julia, thank you. Pheasants are so prone to hysteria and panic that I've never had one stay close to me. They are such beautiful creatures, though. I do delight in their use, 100 yards from our back door, of thickets and stumpery Norma provides them.

      Your pheasant was indeed remarkable. I consider Nature a language of the boundless Universe. Universe put her in your path for a reason, and perhaps you in hers. Hugs appreciated, needed and reciprocated.

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