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Dec 26, 2012

The Blue Jay

                                                                           Photo by BarrytheBirder
The Blue Jay
by Emily Dickinson

No brigadier throughout the year
                                So civic as the jay.
                                A neighbour and a warrior too,
                                With shrill felicity
                                Pursuing winds that censure us
                                A February day,
                                The brother of the universe
                                Was never blown away.

                                The snow and he are intimate;
                                I've often seen them play
                                When heaven looked upon us all
                                With such severity,

                                I felt apology was due
                                To an insulted sky,
                                Whose pompous frown was nutriment
                                To their temerity.

                                The pillow of this daring head
                                Is pungent evergreens;
                                His larder - terse and militant -
                                Unknown, refreshing things;

                                His character a tonic,
                                His future a dispute;
                                Unfair an immortality
                                That leaves this neighbour out.

Please comment if you wish.

1 comment:

David Love said...

My favorite "bird poem" is The Windhover by Geraard Manley Hopkins. A windhover is a Kestrel - a sparrow hawk.

I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.