C.A. MacConnell
8/22/2020
ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF STRANGE SKIN!
TODAY IS THE ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF MY THIRD NOVEL, STRANGE SKIN. GET YOUR COPY ON AMAZON TODAY RIGHT HERE.
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LOVE TO YOU!
C.A. MacConnell
8/19/2020
8/15/2020
8/12/2020
8/11/2020
From the Hawk
from the point of view of the hawk
Time. Some feathers fall out. It happens.
My eyes are rolling now. Got poked
by some twigs. Robin took
my branch, but he won't be there tomorrow,
which is three minutes away.
There. Mine. Now.
Neck.
Achy.
Twitchy.
Mad. All day, looking backwards,
I've been grooming out the bad,
making way for the new.
Belly's rough too.
Hope the boy one doesn't look up here.
He looked.
He cocked his head left, which means me.
Left is my secret smile from his away place.
He's got a voice to kill. Always in the pine.
Even when the sky is white, I know he's there.
Come evening, he'll leave the needles
and fly to the thick, tricky pole.
Lookout.
There, he's taller, but so skinny.
Gave him the chipmunk yesterday.
Together four years now—since the day my Mom got caught on the wire.
A fast flyer, she was.
Wasn't her mistake.
Storms rolled in, making scary sparks.
Old Crow told Mother not to glide so close, but she wanted the fat
mole, and everyone knows it was for me. They still screech about it.
Now most fliers want to help and bring me a frog or two.
My eyes still make me look mean about it all, but the boy one thinks the yellow is all right,
and I guess I love
building the nest. When I'm too tired to fly,
I use the wind, which is sometimes helpful.
Soon, he'll come at me in the air again, but I like him.
He always comes back.
We lost one baby last year. She fell, and before I could claw her up,
the dog was there.
After, I wouldn't stop picking at everything. I admit
that the reddest part of my tail
hasn't recovered.
We have three in the nest this year.
Next week, I'll let them go.
I showed them how to rise up and stay
in the cold,
high part, where it's safe.
I see something moving.
A quarter mile.
I'd tell the boy one, but he'll hear me coming, and he'll already
know.
Now, higher. I stop beating
and glide.
I stop
to thank the sky for the sky,
because even the blue birds know that God
spreads out across the air, and those wings cover all that we see,
even the vultures,
who will one day become
what they eat.
If she wants to, God can fly next to the sun without burning.
Enough of the boy one and being wise.
Planning the dive.
Mouse, you have it coming to you.
C.A. MacConnell
8/10/2020
8/09/2020
8/08/2020
8/07/2020
8/06/2020
Garden Walk
See me now – I am a tough, roaring
mother bear.
Some lost gardeners
are watching –
strange, lonesome ones
who don't see my wet eyes
or fatigue –
the green,
the black,
the darker green,
the limp,
the broken parachute,
the fat mirror,
and the wool.
Some macho man
will hook to me, skydiving tandem.
I’m not afraid of the ground,
the fall, the sky, or the wind;
it's everything else –
the no-named caterpillar,
all the weight
in the world,
my childhood home for sale.
I’m afraid of resting, the first
day of first days,
some new sound,
and all of the dirty dirt
on earth.
I am afraid to forever
miss you
like I miss myself.
I'm guessing that plant
is called
cat mint.
-- C.A. MacConnell
mother bear.
Some lost gardeners
are watching –
strange, lonesome ones
who don't see my wet eyes
or fatigue –
the green,
the black,
the darker green,
the limp,
the broken parachute,
the fat mirror,
and the wool.
Some macho man
will hook to me, skydiving tandem.
I’m not afraid of the ground,
the fall, the sky, or the wind;
it's everything else –
the no-named caterpillar,
all the weight
in the world,
my childhood home for sale.
I’m afraid of resting, the first
day of first days,
some new sound,
and all of the dirty dirt
on earth.
I am afraid to forever
miss you
like I miss myself.
I'm guessing that plant
is called
cat mint.
-- C.A. MacConnell
8/04/2020
Migration
You, like a strange
Hawk,
Live on the wind;
You bring the glide.
You bring the climb,
The vision,
And the furious dive.
How I've always wanted
To be a flier,
To let the air and the sky
Keep me
Alive,
To swallow
Up
All distant
Shapes --
The crawlers, and the motionless --
Like a wild fire.
You are quick
And nearly
Silent,
but for the tree calls.
Perhaps, with weather,
Comes
A sudden, hidden message.
You are safe,
I imagine,
Nesting,
Looking backwards
In the pine.
Human now.
Secret.
Black licorice
and dark chocolate.
Here and there, I step
On the heels
Of your shoes.
Hurry,
Fall.
I look to you for
Wheat
Pancakes.
C.A. MacConnell
Hawk,
Live on the wind;
You bring the glide.
You bring the climb,
The vision,
And the furious dive.
How I've always wanted
To be a flier,
To let the air and the sky
Keep me
Alive,
To swallow
Up
All distant
Shapes --
The crawlers, and the motionless --
Like a wild fire.
You are quick
And nearly
Silent,
but for the tree calls.
Perhaps, with weather,
Comes
A sudden, hidden message.
You are safe,
I imagine,
Nesting,
Looking backwards
In the pine.
Human now.
Secret.
Black licorice
and dark chocolate.
Here and there, I step
On the heels
Of your shoes.
Hurry,
Fall.
I look to you for
Wheat
Pancakes.
C.A. MacConnell
