Pigeons watch, as insects thaw under fall-leaves,
stoop in window wells to collect hasty mice;
small creatures, curious, vivacious, following
noses and motherly instincts. “What happens at night?”
when melting under a full moon and 40 degree weather.
“Ask an owl” a father replies—shoveling through the depths
of memories, dead gophers and summer tent-stints, measuring
widths for jars that might fit the size of half a chicken breast.
Even the fish are starting to get anxious, slapping the river surface
with their fins, breaking frost for the un-knowing
house-fly, or baby humming bird; merchants
of old creek rejuvenations. 5 Squabs screech, hoping
their bellies will be sleep compatible. They stretch back—
confused, like Icelandic orangutans waking from afternoon naps.
The stove, a stump, maybe a tooth or two.
February 25th, 2010 · 3 Comments
Tags: Bi-weekly Challenge · North Wallace
3 responses so far ↓
1 northwallace // Feb 26, 2010 at 8:12 am
I can’t get the formatting to work… but there is a sonnet in there. fall-leaves, mice, following, night, weather, depths, measuring, breast, surface unknowing, merchants, hoping, back, naps.
2 mackenzie // Feb 26, 2010 at 10:39 am
Fixed the line breaks, hopefully to how you wanted them.
3 mackenzie // Feb 26, 2010 at 10:57 am
Ha yeah the bi-weekly challenge has become the bi-annual challenge at this point. But it’s cool to see your sonnet! I like how it captures Spring from a kind of shifting set of perspectives… the pigeons, the mice, the fish, the father and child and the pidgeons again. I’d like to see it with an even more open interpretation of the form.
Pigeons watch, as insects thaw under fall-leaves,
stoop in window wells to collect hasty mice;
small creatures, curious, vivacious, following
noses and motherly instincts.
[I like the opening, maybe a different word than hasty.]
“What happens at night?”
when melting under a full moon and 40 degree weather.[this sounds a little awkward but I like the idea, the snow melting under the moon in the warm spring]
“Ask an owl”[I want something more snippy in the father’s reply] a father replies—shoveling through the depths[cool turn between the lines here]
of memories, dead gophers and summer tent-stints, measuring
widths for jars that might fit the size of half a chicken breast. [nice, interesting images. this is where the meat of the poem lies for me.]
Even the fish are starting to get anxious, [nice]slapping the river surface[for some reason I can’t explain surface doesn’t seem like the right word]
with their fins, breaking frost for the un-knowing
house-fly, or baby humming bird; merchants
of old creek rejuvenations. 5 Squabs screech,[squabs threw me off, had to google it] hoping
their bellies will be sleep compatible. They stretch back—
confused, like Icelandic orangutans waking from afternoon naps.
[the ending realy threw me. Iceland, orangutans, what the?! It’s surreal but it also seems too imposed… I could go for monkeys or something entering the mix, but I need more of an image to get me there. Have you seen Baraka? Maybe something like the opening of that movie. Also I just am lacking for what it means… but I realy enjoy the middle of the poem and the movement in it. I just want a turn that is less of a departure from the rest.]
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