Fields of vision

Swaying above the street, 
the copper-winged 
wren looks out. Her head 

thrumming the seconds 
between breeze-swaggers. Her 
feet the bent wire 

of ornamentation, clipped 
to an outlying limb. In song 
she adds to afternoon 

something of the music
scratching itself in lines
across my heart. She sings

as though alone, 
speaking to the sun, drawing 
in intentions of grass.

Feathering out an empire 
of things not meant for me. Here 
on the ground, I can see her

only smaller. Quantum sufficit,
the sum of elements, avian.
Parts in disconnection. My perspective 

that of under, looking up. Always 
looking up. To miss what
has come to gone

Reviews

[kentuck14]

This poem reminds me of my father always mentioning "Jenny" wren. Must have been his favorite bird.
Interesting how the first part of your poem is fairly descriptive of the bird, whereas you seem to shift the focus to the speaker in the later stanzas. The speaker loses herself in deeper things while watching the bird above . . . the difference between bird and people perhaps?!
T

[Eilis]

Ah, yeah, I always seem to insert the human world, ha ha. My daughter’s middle name is Wren. They are one of my favorite birds too.

We actually have some birds in the yard that will watch us as we go about our business. Sometimes I wonder if they think of us as invading their space.

Thanks for your comments, Tom. I do always enjoy your visits.

[Robert Trakofler]

And what a vision you just gave me! Eilis your stylus played such a lovely birdsong in e-motion... so many times as I listen and watch them sing I wonder what the song is about and for whom they sing they never answer me when I ask they just give a sidewards glance and perhaps a quick trill but always leave me feeling stupid but I cant help but ask them anyway perhaps someday I will get an answer:)

[Eilis]

I think they are asking what the hell we’re doing half the time, ha ha. Birds are fascinating. I can’t help but be captivated by them. Their freedom is especially alluring to me.

Thanks for sharing those lovely ruminations, Robert. I do think they have a lot to teach and such beauty in the teaching.

Always nice to hear from you.

[Beccy]

Your choice of words, the weaving of your phraseology, is unique and for me, now very recognisable.

Your description of the little wren, in particular; 'Her feet the bent wire of ornamentation, clipped
to an outlying limb'' is just simple lovely.

I am am very much enjoying your poetry.

Beccy.

[Eilis]

Thanks so much, Beccy. It's always nice to hear such things. I appreciate you reading.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Suffice it to say, we don't know what we have until it's gone. Time flies on wings that we can never tame. It's funny how, as we get older and our vision fades, we start to see things more clearly, our perspective heightened by what has come to gone.

[Eilis]

Hi, Linda. So true what you say. Age matures us in unexpected ways even as things we are not ready to let go disappear.

Thanks for your interesting thoughts on this poem. I appreciate your visit.

[CD Campbell]

It's the perspective that drove humanity to flight. From Icarus to now. We see these creatures from the ground as you mentioned and it is a strange world we can almost touch, but be forever apart from, not unlike what lives under the sea. I wonder if they dream of being grounded? That's what I interpreted from your prose. So.

Intellectual imagery. Poetics from start to end in tercets. The wren as a priestess to all that she sees and sings to her god: the sun. Do we dare to pretend we are on the same plane of existence as she? Well, I could go on, but it is another natural poem to awe over and reflect that maybe there is more to natural beauty than we can begin to imagine.

[Eilis]

Interesting to think they might envy us. I do envy the simplicity and (what seems like) transcendence of the bird. A symbol for so many things for me. A close second to the tree.

Thanks for your intelligent and interesting comment, CD. I do enjoy your ideas as you always say something that surprises me. I like that. The something more you mention is, I think, what I’m trying to capture.

Thanks so much.

[gram linski]

you didn't miss the flight of the wren described in autumnal feathered poetry of the finest kind, if you look down all you see is tarmac and brown, if you look up; after the birds are the clouds after that the stars, after that the Universe in waiting

[Eilis]

An uplifting view to counter my dreary poem. That is appreciated. The universe in waiting is definitely a grand thing to keep searching for, so, I’ll see if I can look that far. Who knows.

Thanks, Gram. Appreciate you always bringing your unique outlook. I enjoy that.

[gram linski]

you call it unique, the therapists call it madness, I call it home.

[Eilis]

Ha ha, I think you need to find new therapists. I get it. My madness, I mean uniqueness, (some call it oddness, ha) is home as well.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i see an allegory here...a beauty in nature...but the allegory is dark...missing "what has come to gone" and the alone speaking to the sun...the empire..."swaying above the street" all make me think of a beggar coming from a branch which is the alleyway, onto the street begging for sustenance.
you are a marvelous poet, Eilis...i bow to your pen.
j.

[Eilis]

High praise from you, Jacob. I really appreciate that. You being an excellent writer yourself.
read moreHigh praise from you, Jacob. I really appreciate that. You being an excellent writer yourself.

I enjoy what you see here. There is a darkness, but I suppose I try to disguise it between the beauty. You’ve found it there in those phrases and ideas. Thanks for the insightful reading. Much appreciated by me.

[Eilis]

I said more here, but it’s not showing. I’ll just summarize and say thanks very much.

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Another most beautiful poem that leaves the reader breathless from the description and the feel of nature and its closeness yet distance from us and our lives. A poem worthy of the great poets.

[Eilis]

That’s a very kind comment. Thank you, John. I’m glad you enjoyed the poem.

[Delmar Cooper]

Nice poem. Any thing said in a favorable way about wrens has my favor. All people should like wrens as much as wrens seem to like people. Poor wren, to be so trusting of the untrustworthy. We know what we are, the wren favors us by her ignorance. Lovely poem and I am glad I read it.

[Eilis]

Thank you, Delmar. There are a couple of wrens that roost every night on the canopy off my back porch. Your comment just made me think of the way they always hang around us in the evening, but still keep a distance. They are curious creatures. I love watching them.

Appreciate your thoughts on this.

[Delmar Cooper]

Near my workshop a scarlet tanager built a nest. Beautiful birds but their nests look like Tom Hanks raft in "Castaway." One baby fell and I slipped it into a wren's nest. She raised it without protest. Gotta love birds like that.

[Eilis]

That’s a magnanimous bird, indeed.

[Dave Brown]

so nicely done............

[Eilis]

Thanks, Dave. Appreciate you stopping by.