Poetic Musings by Purple Martineers

by Larry Hunter*

Twas the night before Christmas in Sao Paulo, Brazil.

The Martins were singing for peace and goodwill.

Their feathers all molted, they look pretty classy.

With warm winds blowing, the males getting sassy.

We dream of their coming, we can hardly wait.

The schedule is set. What is their fate?

It won’t be long now with the days getting longer

The flight plan is made, the flock getting stronger.

From Brazil they will fly, thru Central America they’ll go,

Arriving in North America to chase away the snow.

The towns they pass they know by name.

The flight path travelled always the same.

We know they are coming, preparations are made.

Houses are cleaned — some need first aid.

Spring will arrive without any clatter.

Awaiting the Martins’ melodious chatter.

The joy they spread as they fly around

Causes spirits to rise and good tidings abound.

The Martins we love are all in flight

So Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Goodnight!

*[It should be noted that Larry is a prize winning poet.]

Donna Bradley McGlone ~ 8.26.09

Upon the high wires row on row

They take their places for the show

Some late arrivals cruising low

Above the smooth lake’s fiery glow,

Before they rise to take their places

Between the others even spaces.

They’re all assembled facing west

To watch the red sun go to rest.

Now with evening homage paid

I view a whirling bird parade!

The birds’ ballet will not begin —

Black snowflakes driven by the wind!

Swirling high and swooping low

This way and that the dancers flow.

A tornado of intricate motion!

A sunami rolling in the ocean!

In sunset’s orange afterglow

It seems they don’t know where to go.

Then some begin to disapear

Into the dark lake very near.

One by one their purple heads

Sink into their watery beds.

The aerial ballet is suddenly done.

Ending as quickly as it had begun.

Purple martins settle down to sleep

‘Mongst reeds o’er Nimisila’s deep.

I sit in darkness filled with awe!

Do I hear a waterfall?

Or is it the martin’s feathery wings

As they strum upon their reed harp strings

A lullaby to soothe their fright,

E’er they rest from daylight’s endless flight.

Portage Lakes Purple Martins Association