I hear him.
Making holes again.
Hollow places in dead trees.
He’s very old, you know.
Prehistoric!
Pterodactyl-like, I think.
With his red crest
bobbing up and down,
he seems so very proud.
Downright cocky, I’d say.
His drilling stops.
Oh, I hear him again!
Those odd cuk wucka sounds he makes.
His mate makes him wait.
I know he’s listening for her.
Finally she returns his call.
His work resumes.
Strange fellow–
that pileated woodpecker.
Feasting on ants and beetles
deep in the old forest,
where there’s plenty of dead wood.
The hollow tree is his drum, you know,
He’s playing a driving beat.
Latin rock, I think.
He’s ancient, you know.
I hope I see him.
First published in Stilling the Waters (2005).
Dan, you should. Thanks. Make the woodpeckers tap some jazzy melody into your day.
I remember this one!
nice one
reminded how much i miss them
that drumming has intruded on some pleasant moments in the past š
cheers
Thanks Polona and Andrew.
As Pat said, beautiful birds, but they can cause some trouble, especially to wood frame houses. Flickers are always trying to drill into our house frame.
We have a woodpecker in our back yard. I know that sound so well.
Thanks Aurora. Love those ancient woodpeckers in the forest behind our house.
Very nice, Don!
beautiful, don.
love it.
Thanks jel and Pat.
Pat, Mary Oliver is from the Cleveland area, and also a favorite poet.
Jel, welcome back and hope you’re well.
A very definite Mary Oliver feel to it. Beautiful birds, but can be very annoying.
Morning !
very cool!!!!!
Thanks Gautami. You caught my intent in this poem.
I like the way the images are slowly revealed.