Gray, downy feathers
drift slowly
toward the ground,
like the first flakes of snow.
High on a branch,
bent with cherry buds,
sits a red-tailed hawk,
resting on the limp remains
of an early morning meal.
Chocolate brown feathers
fold down toward
a cinnamon red tail.
A quick swivel
of the bird’s head
reveals a piercing yellow eye.
Understanding is quick,
prey never has a chance.
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
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The imagery in this poem is so strong. “limp remains of an early morning meal,” “cinnamon red tail,” “piercing yellow eye.” Such vivid pictures. The sight of a hawk, for me, is always humbling–that recognition of the power of a predatory bird.
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Amazing hunters, and you do a masterful job of communicating their exacting skill. Breathtaking – both the hawk, and your poetry.
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Yes, love the brevity of your description that still captures the whole scene of the hawk and its prey..
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For me, the colors were so strong, carrying me through your poem: gray, brown, red, yellow.
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“resting on the limp remains
of an early morning meal.”
Nothing more traumatizing than watching a hawk shred a little birdie to pieces.
You’ve captured both the majestic and the vicious characteristics.
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