“Turkey Vulture”, poem.

 “Frank”

(courtesy of pc.wallnet.com)

Dedicated to Sherry Marr whose compassionate nature and especially her love for animals stands as example for me.

 

Knew a woman

in a trailer park

in the scrub pines of Florida.

 

Poor as a church mouse,

half–crazed by life,

fed all  strays-

pariah of the neighborhood.

 

Every evening flocks of vultures,

like fixed-wing aircraft,

skimmed the pines,

landed in a muddle of dusty feathers,

awkward, out of their element

and with a group waddle

came to the cat food offered in pans.

 

They were patient guests,

waited for the strays to finish.

 

There was decorum

amongst them,

these fierce looking birds.

Perhaps they sensed

the charity offered

humbled their nature,

perhaps they had reformed,

I don’t know.

 

“Frank” was their leader

who held back until

the others were done.

 

Frank would never face you,

he sat sideways

though I believe he peeked.

Perhaps he was ashamed

A Lord of the Sky

brought to this station,

filling his crop with kibble

from a dented metal pan.

 

 

 

Come sit with me.

Extend a feather,

I promise not to stare.

 

Your warty red neck,

your hang-dog countenance

does not disturb me.

Your feathers a faded black

on Earth,

but wheeling into the Sun,

how glorious your wings–

Feathers exploding in prisms

And diamonds from Soloman’s mines!

 

Come sit with me.

Let our talons dig into the sand

let the ocean cleanse our feathers.

I will call you friend, brother

for the gift of humility

brought in on your wings.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016 (an earlier form of “Turkey Vulture” was published in “Pitcher of Moon”, 2014, by Amazon.

some paintings of birds done by me.

 

“Sea Eagle”, jane kohut-bartels, watercolor, 2001

 

“Turkey Vulture”, from “Pitcher of Moon”…..

“Frank”

Turkey vulture

–

I once knew a woman

living in a trailer park

down in the scrub pines of Florida.

–

Poor as a church mouse,

half–crazed by life,

she fed all strays-

was the pariah of the neighborhood.

–

Every evening a flock of vultures,

like fixed-wing aircraft,

skimmed the pines,

landing in a muddle of feathers,

awkward birds out of their element

and with a group waddle

came to the cat food offered in pans.

–

They were patient guests,

waited for the strays to finish.

–

There was a natural decorum

among them,

these fierce looking birds.

Perhaps they sensed

the charity offered

humbled their nature,

or perhaps they had reformed,

I don’t know.

–

They had a leader named “Frank”

who held back until

the others were done.

–

Frank would never face you,

he sat sideways

though I believe he peeked.

–

Perhaps he was ashamed

A Lord of the Sky

brought to this station,

filling his crop with kibble

from a dented metal pan.

–

Come sit with me.

Extend a feather,

I promise not to stare.

Your warty red neck,

your hang-dog countenance

does not disturb me.

–

Come sit beside me.

Let our talons dig into the sand

let the ocean cleanse our feathers.

I will call you friend, brother

for the gift of humility

you have brought on your wings.

–

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2014, from “Pitcher of Moon”, published by Amazon.com, 2014

“Turkey Vulture”, from “Pitcher of Moon”

 

Since April is Poetry Month, I will try to post a new or old poem every couple of days.  Frankly, after 4 published poetry books, I thought this January  poetry was over for me, and I would concentrate on some novel work, but this didn’t seem to happen.  The poetry, such as it is, keeps coming and like a river flowing inside, the poems keep appearing.  I don’t have any answers as to why this is, because I never started out as a poet; I thought novels, short stories was what I was destined to write.  However, I am reading Dr. Rollo May’s “The Courage to Create” and perhaps this gives some leads where creativity come from.  My belief is creativty comes from our encounter with opposition.  Courage is needed for that in some measure.

I am glad, now, about the poetry, because I find poetry to be something deep inside the psyche, something that appears unbidden mostly, and actually, in a strange way, therapeutic.  “Turkey Vulture” was written almost two years ago after a series of phone calls to a sister of a sisterinlaw. I had never met Diana, but this poem comes from her direct experience feeding strays of different species.  “Frank” was the name she called the turkey vulture.  Diana would not use these same words as Rollo May, but I think she has the essence of what he writes in her life.  She has the courage to go up against opposition on many levels and this is a good form of creativity.  I have love and respect for this woman who does not shy away from these huge birds, especially when a possum rattled my cage the other night.

Lady Nyo

 

 

TURKEY VULTURE

 

I once knew a woman

Living in a scrubby trailer park

Down near the scrub pines of Florida.

 

She was poor as a church mouse,

half–crazed by life.

She fed all strays

-was the pariah of the neighborhood.

 

Every evening a flock of vultures,

Like fixed-wing aircraft,

Would skim the pines,

And land in a muddle of feathers,

Awkward birds out of their element

Land and with a group waddle

Come to the cat food offered in pans.

 

They were patient guests

And waited for the strays to finish.

 

There was decorum

Among them,

These fierce looking birds

Perhaps they knew

The charity offered

Had humbled their nature:

Or perhaps they had reformed;

I don’t know

But they had a leader named “Frank”

Who held back until the others were done.

 

Frank would never face you;

He sat sideways

Though I believe he peeked.

Perhaps he was ashamed

A lord of the sky

Brought down to this station,

To fill his crop with kibble

From a dented metal pan.

 

Come sit with me.

Extend a feather,

I promise not to stare.

Your warty red neck,

Your hang-dog countenance

Does not disturb me.

 

Come sit beside me,

Let our talons dig into the sand

Let the ocean cleanse our feathers

I will call you friend, brother

For the gift of trust

You have brought on your wings.

  

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2014

From “Pitcher Of Moon”

 

 

 

‘Turkey Vulture’ from “Pitcher of Moon”

 

This poem is dedicated to my friend, Nick Nicholson.  “Pitcher Of Moon” has not be published yet, but perhaps later this fall.  I am hopeful for the 37 poems of blessings and gratitude in there.

Lady Nyo

 

TURKEY VULTURE

 

I once knew a woman

Living in a scrubby trailer park

Down near the scrub pines of Florida.

 

She was poor as a church mouse,

half –crazed by life.

She fed all strays

-was the pariah of the neighborhood.

 

Every evening a flock of vultures,

Like fixed-wing aircraft,

Would skim the pines,

And land in a muddle of feathers,

Awkward birds out of their element

Land and with a group waddle

Come to the cat food offered in pans.

 

They were patient guests

And waited for the strays to finish.

 

There was decorum

Among them,

These fierce looking birds

Perhaps they knew

The charity offered

Had humbled their nature:

Or perhaps they had reformed;

I don’t know

But they had a leader named “Frank”

Who held back until the others were done.

 

Frank would never face you;

He sat sideways

Though I believe he peeked.

Perhaps he was ashamed

A lord of the sky

Brought down to this station,

To fill his crop with kibble

From a dented metal pan.

 

Come sit with me.

Extend a feather,

I promise not to stare.

Your warty red neck,

Your hang-dog countenance

Does not disturb me.

 

Come sit beside me,

Let our talons dig into the sand

Let the ocean cleanse our feathers

I will call you friend, brother

For the gift of trust

You have brought on your wings.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted 2012-13 

 

 

 

 

In Sickness and Health and a new poem ‘Turkey Vulture’

“Viriditas”, wc, janekohut-bartels, 2000

This has not been a good year health-wise. Beginning of the year, I severely sprained my right ankle.  That took 5 months to recover  as i ripped tissue. April 1st I had 5 weeks of vertigo where I would have been happy enough dead.  July 4th I broke my left wrist and cracked a rib in a 6 foot fall from the back porch.  I am trying to type this in the one finger peck and hunt mode.  In mid-Sept. I am scheduled for 5 dental implants and something called a sinus-floor-raising. I had to stop all pain meds because they raise blood pressure too high. 

I don’t recommend a broken bone anywhere without pain meds….now, just aspirin.

The “Sickness and In Health” part of this entry is about my husband of many years: he has shown amazing fortitude in the face of all of this, and has taken over the lion’s share of household labor.  I am truly grateful.  I make a mess of the kitchen trying one-handed to make dinner, etc…..and he spends more than an hour cleaning it up.  Everynight.

He has cheerfully been at my beck and call, and I continue to be amazed.  This is love in real time, with dirty hair, catankerous moods and tears on my side and commanding strength and patience on his.

I am reminded of part of a poem by W.H. Auden:

Rejoice. What talent for the makeshift thought

A living corpus out of odds and ends…..

The sensual properties of one dear face?

It’s from Auden’s poem “In Sickness and In Health”.

This situation has not been inspiring any poetry, or anything much else….but yesterday…or actually the night before, I went to sleep with some words in my mouth…by morning i had a poem, one that needs work, but at least there was something.  I think this is what disturbed me most of all….this emptiness of thought, any creativity….taken over by pain that I could not control. It controls me.

Lady Nyo

–

Turkey vulture

–

I once knew a woman

Living in a scrubby trailer park

Down near the scrub pines of Florida.

–

She was poor as a church mouse,

half –crazed by life.

She fed all strays

-was the pariah of the neighborhood.

–

Every evening a flock of vultures,

Like fixed-wing aircraft

Would skim the pines,

Land in a muddle of feathers,

(Awkward birds out of their element)

Land, and with a group waddle

Come to the cat food offered in pans.

–

They were patient guests

And waited for the strays to finish.

–

There was decorum

Among them,

These fierce looking birds.

Perhaps the charity offered

Had humbled their nature:

Or perhaps they had reformed;

I don’t know.

They had a leader named “Frank”

Who held back until the others were done.

–

Frank would never face you;

He sat sideways

(Though I believe he peeked.)

Perhaps he was ashamed

A Lord of the Sky

Brought down to this station,

To fill his crop with kibble

From a dented metal pan.

–

Come sit with me.

Extend a feather,

I promise not to stare.

Your warty red neck,

Your hang-dog countenance

Does not disturb me.

–

Come sit beside me,

Let our talons dig into the sand

Let the ocean cleanse our feathers

I will call you friend, brother

For the gift of trust

You have brought on your wings.

–

jane kohut-bartels

copyrighted, 2012