The Ruby-Throated Grand Scheme of Things - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

 

The Ruby-Throated Grand Scheme of Things

 

The last hummingbird of the season, perhaps,

A tail-end Charlie, this mid-October pilgrim

Stopping a moment at the dollar-store feeder

On El Camino Real to Mexico

 

To what king will this royal messenger report?

His legions of the air and summer flowers

Are gathering in from all over the Americas

To winter in mysterious valleys and hidden fields

 

 

L’envoi:

 

We can’t know where your long journey will end

But God speed you as you fly with the wind, little friend

The Hummingbirds Have Flown to Mexico - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

The Hummingbirds Have Flown to Mexico

The hummingbirds have flown to Mexico
Above the dark malevolence of man:
No border patrols, no criminal gangs
No wire, no walls, no displaced persons’ camps

The hummingbirds have flown to Mexico
To celebrate bright Navidad and be
Pequeno flores de Nochebuena
For the delight of our dear Infant Lord

The hummingbirds have flown to Mexico
On pilgrimage, for God will have it so

Hummingbirds at Breakfast and War

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Hummingbirds at Breakfast and War

At breakfast hummingbirds are very rude
They bully each other out of the way
As if there won’t be enough hummer food
For the most important meal of the day

They’re sweet little birds, their defenders say,
But even at meals they’re an avian disgrace
They will not pause their beak-to-beak melee’
Since each one thinks it’s born a combat ace

So give those tiny tough guys lots of space
For they are ever a quarrelsome brood
And drink your coffee in some other place:
At breakfast hummingbirds are very rude

The First Hummingbird of Spring

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

The First Hummingbird of Spring

O wing’ed messenger of innocence,
Aloft among the pollinating flowers,
At last you have returned from Mexico
And warm months there among soft latitudes
Where little birds can make a holiday
Far, far away from withering Arctic winds.

O tiny traveler, what souvenirs
Did you declare to customs at the Rio Grande?
South winds to tell the flowers to wake up
And Rosaries of morning fogs to bless
The yawning grasses with a morning drink,
And fresh new sunlight for the industrious bees.

O buzzing and impatient little friend!
Just wait a minute, your breakfast is coming -
The old glass feeder washed and packed away
In harvest-rich October’s golden light
Must be recovered and refreshed for you,
And
How good it is to see you home again.