Another Owl Visit

They say when you find an owl feather or see an owl, its spirit is trying to communicate something to you. In the past week and a half, I’ve seen an owl twice, found one feather, and heard an owl four times. I’m speaking of one of the Great Horned Owls who lives here on the Johnson Funny Farm.

I’m wondering about the message. How does an owl message recipient know what the message is that the owl is trying to communicate? Are there owl message interpreters out there?

What does it mean to see one in a tree, then on the ground, then find a feather?

My late mother’s bird of choice for saying hello from time to time is a hawk. Generally, she’s on a wire by the road checking to see if I’m wearing my seatbelt and warning me to slow down. Sometimes she appears when something’s heavy on my mind, as if to let me know I’m thinking in the right direction.

My husband suggested that perhaps the way the owl appears has a bearing on the message. Turns out, he’s right. Overhead, they symbolize escape from a dangerous situation. In a tree, they symbolize wisdom in a situation. There is also significance according to the type of owl it is, according to the internet. A Great Horned Owl represents a deep connection with the spirit realm and brings support and peace. The internet says we have to pay attention to what happens immediately after we see the owl. If something good happens, the sighting was favorable, but if something bad happens, then more unfortunate events may unfold.

Both times I saw the owl, it was in the evening hours before sunset, followed by regularity. Normalcy. Everyday things like finishing coffee and reading on in my book. There wasn’t anything necessarily good or bad that followed the sightings – just carrying on. Hearing an owl often means some unfortunate mishap may happen to someone in the family, according to another web page. I have heard these owls for the past 3 years, so I don’t believe that their hooting is out of the ordinary – – it just means I happen to live in the middle of a pine forest, where I share their space and overhear their conversations.

Greeks believed that hearing an owl’s hooting was a good omen and symbol of wealth and fortune, reminding us to look deep within ourselves to identify anything negative that hinders our progress. Many cultures believe that owls appear in times of upcoming unfortunate events such as pandemics, plagues on the land, and impending natural disasters. Native Americans believe they are prophets of unfortunate events. I think of a movie I once saw where the maid hears the owl in the morning and by noon, someone in the household has gone to be with the Lord.

There is one other possibility, though, perhaps a stronger one. The internet assures me that aside from the lone appearance of an owl, the continued sightings of owls in any form – books, images, real life sightings – mean that owls are your spirit animal, and they are guiding you through a new life chapter, assuring you that everything is going to be okay. Their continued presence means that you aren’t alone, and that someone is watching over you.

I’m stepping out into this day with the assurance that my spirit animal is watching, leading me, guiding my steps. I wouldn’t put it past my mother to up the ante on the hawk and send an owl to get my attention in a way I’d give a hawk a passing glance and keep going.

My eyes are open, and I will continue to watch for these owls and see what message they are bringing my way.

Hummingbird Heartstrings

it's that same feeling
I get when
my children
and grandchildren
are about to leave
for home
four hours south

they're packing bags
loading their car
stripping beds
washing towels

double-checking 
for toothbrushes
under beds for  little things 
easily left behind
like tiny dinosaurs 
wayward doll shoes
lone socks

I dread 
the tail lights
heading down 
our driveway

those I love rolling away

this morning's
stirring
is not unlike 
this feeling~
already missing family
before they leave ~
as I watch 
my hummingbirds
remnants 
of a charm
heading south
on their long journey
for winter

no wee suitcases
no teeny toothbrushes
no sippy snacks for the road

but departing nonetheless
traveling lightly

I want to hug them
tell them to be safe

tell them I'll fix their favorite
nectar next spring
even weed the lantana

August Open Write with Ashlyn O’Rourke

Today at www.ethicalela.com for the final day of our August Open Write, our host Ashlyn O’Rourke of Oklahoma inspires us to write Self-Perception Concrete Poems to tell the story of a difference in who we know ourselves to be and how someone else perceives us. You can read Ashlyn’s full prompt here.

Strong

I tell the hard truth.
He asked for my opinion
then said I was wrong.

Can an opinion
be all wrong when it’s based on
long-observed patterns?

He thinks I’m too strong ~
but I don’t argue he’s wrong. 

My mother raised me.

August Open Write with Scott McCloskey

Today our host for August’s Open Write, Scott McCloskey of Michigan, encouraged us to write poems from the perspective of someone or something in any painting or its artist. You can read his full prompt here. I chose the Woodstock Festival. Since the photos are copyrighted, I can’t share the actual photo I chose, but it’s available at this link: https://artsandculture.google.com/story/AwUBOlaLnlGyLA

Once you get there, scroll down. It’s about the 14th picture in the collection. There is a woman playing a flute and a man playing a drum. There is a yellowish lab-type dog in the background, mixed in with all the people milling about. My poem is from the perspective of the drum player, clearly lost in the music and, if thinking anything, thinking to his own beat.

Ain't Nobody

Ain't nobody gonna steal my joy,
Ain't nobody gonna steal my song,
Ain't nobody gonna steal my beat,
Ain't nobody gonna steal my drum,
Ain't nobody gonna steal my groove,

Ain't nobody gonna steal my love,
Ain't nobody gonna steal my peace,
Ain't nobody gonna steal my shirt,
Ain't nobody gonna steal my dog,
Ain't nobody gonna steal nothin' of mine

'Cause I'm a sharin' man, 
Yeah, I'm a sharin', man.  

August Open Write with Wendy Everand

Wendy Everand is our host today for the August Open Write, and she inspires us to write odes to our favorite poets. You can read her full prompt here.

This brought to mind the first poet I ever knew. We lived next door to a retired school teacher in Reynolds, Georgia, and one day I got loose and barged into her house (no one locked their doors in that town back then)…..and the rest is history. After she died, two of her granddaughters compiled a collection of her poems, and I got a copy as a gift. I still believe that she pulled my poetry strings out and brushed them…..maybe even crocheted them.

Ode to Mabel G. Byrd (December 10, 1900-1/20/1987)

Mama Byrd’s poems
mainly quatrains
ABCB rhyme scheme
Crafting 4-line verse veins

Born in 1900, Taylor County
Little Sweet Georgia Peach
Died 1987, Taylor County
Lived her life to write and teach

I barged right in, in ‘69
(She was 69, I was 3)
I still remember visiting
Listening to poems at her knee

She went blind
But still knew color schemes
She’d crochet blankets as gifts for folks
In gilded yarns, bright blues, and creams

She still wrote, even blind
Poems were her favorite forms
And when I read her words today,
Time turns back, my heart warms

In 1987, I went for one last visit
Dad and I, next to her bedside
Told me she’d meet me at Heaven’s Gate
About a month before she died.

The very first poet I ever knew
Still speaks to me today
In rose gardens and peach blossoms
…..and in Granny Square crochet.  

August Open Write: Nestlings with Gayle Sands

Gayle Sands is our host today for the second day of the August Open Write at www.ethicalela.com.  She brings us a challenge to write a nestling poem in the essence of Irene Latham.  You can read her full prompt here.  

I’m reading Ada Limon’s collection of books, and I chose Forgiveness from The Hurting Kind as my base poem.  If I were adding to a list of the things I would hold close forever, it’s Limon's poem. Here is mine, taken from hers:

Silent Water

dumb hearts
hurting each other
shadowy places
scars
bound to the blades
bound to outrun

Welcome to the World, Noli Mae!


Today, our host at http://www.ethicalela.com for Day 1 of the August Open Write inspires us to write poems about hands. Denise Krebs of California is hosting today’s writing. You can read her full prompt here.

Welcoming Magnolia Mae

yesterday, these hands
gripped handlebars, holding on
for the ride with friends

yesterday, these hands
swaddled babies, bandaged knees
as children grew up

yesterday, these hands
stitched a quilt for a grandchild
I will meet today

for today, these hands
will build Legos and fairy
gardens first, and then…..

today, these hands will
swaddle a new granddaughter
in rosettes and sage

so that tomorrow,
these hands will be remembered
this heart full of love

Somebody’s Tsunami Laundry

somebody's little ripple is a drama tsunami
because somebody wrote their own life rules
and dictionary about how things are
(here's a hint: we know it's empty)

somebody's "close-knit family" endures Christmas
for a sock swap and all go home disturbed

somebody is rich, too,
richer than you, than I, than all of us,
with money in the bank to do big things
(here's another hint: we know they're undefined)
and somebody has tickets to cruise again soon
and would have gone last week except
somebody's pet squirrel died and 
somebody had to bury it and grieve a little

so we might want to tolerate somebody
and act all impressed

because somebody knows how to live

when clearly you don't, I don't, we don't.  

(But we know the truth.  See, we've done 
somebody's laundry
a time or two
so we don't pity that squirrel.)

No Thunder Needed

Our Schnoodle Ollie is not like his brothers at all. I tell him all the time: You’re the smartest dog we’ve got.

Then, just to try to prove me wrong, his hilarious antics kick in.

He naps on the coffee table. He flips upside down in a chair with his feet all quirky and takes another nap. He brings me his ball to throw, then runs off in an entirely different direction like he thinks it’s landed somewhere else. It’ll be right in front of him on the bed, yet he digs through the covers pretending it’s somehow ended up inside the middle of the mattress. His never-ending humor keeps us entertained.

He is campaigning for all he’s worth to be Dog #1. He will trick Boo into getting out of his dad’s lap so he can sit in the favored spot.

He de-thrones the other two in other ways, too. He takes the prized bed spot and then pretends to be heavily asleep when either of the other barks at him.

He ain’t skeert.

You know those dogs that

hear thunder and curl up

in the sink? Meet Ollie.

No thunder needed

to do ridiculous things

for no good reason