have mercy.

in mid-July, the summer-resident barn swallows who had successfully raised and launched four fledglings by June 23rd, 2025, attempted to raise a second brood;

while i am not absolutely sure if it was the same set of parents or another in the barn swallow community that utilized the nest — as there is a collective of more than a dozen swallows that visits and assists in feeding sometimes too — it is most likely they are the same parent pair;

this is the second summer the barn swallows have nested here in my barn — using last year’s well-constructed nest which they attached to one of the joists like a balcony cantilevered on a Chicago highrise;

i began leaving the overhead barn door open when i first noticed them circling and investigating the barn a few years back; and i was thrilled last year when they began construction of their nest — they were so very welcomed and wanted here — i now know to leave the barn door raised from mid May through July to give them access.



the first brood of four swallows,
not quite fledged, but stretching their wings in the safety of the barn, June 2025

Continue reading “have mercy.”

oh, april

it’s spring,

it’s poetry month,

but i don’t feel like a poem, much
and, i don’t feel like a poet, much

unable to wax

about the army of robins
advancing in grid formation across the wakened grass, tilting their crowns in ancient choreography, listening, listening

about a cardinal beneath
the forsythia in dulled morning light
forecasting in my mind
how stunning this scene might-could be
when that gold blooms full in a cloudless sky next week

about the bald eagle i somehow didn’t perceive,
and regrettably flushed from a towering elm tree
as i stepped out from my door
and holy fuck,
i was just as flushed
beholding the nigh colossus that was her

these seeds of words and gamete poems
just atrophy, then die, inside of me

Continue reading “oh, april”
Featured

on Christmas eve

i traveled a river of concrete in a machine,
you traveled an ocean of air in a machine,
babies crying, inconsolably, you said
i said, eustachean tubes aren’t meant for 30,000 feet.

i am not meant for this,
neither are you,
neither are they.

not the opposite of joy
on Christmas eve
but the false pursuit of it
whatever is actually contrary to it
even if we don’t know it when we see it.
even if we refuse to know it when we see it.

if i allow myself to cry, he will see it on my face.

Continue reading “on Christmas eve”

the Anti-Übermensch

if there was a Mother God,

if God was a Mother,

not “were”

this wouldn’t be
our reality

a dying planet
a deadened polity

mass extinction by chainsaw, net,
bolt-gun or bomb
they said, “96% of children in Gaza feel that death is imminent”
in Sudan, the famine is massive,
oh, this reaper, he is very discriminate
in Congo, there’s mass enslavement for minerals,
see the phone in her hand?! her hypocrisy?! she can’t claim to be innocent!
the Pacific’s so hot,
that it’s killed 4 million murres
while the Indigenous still invoke
cultural rights” to baby seal furs

therefore,

God is either male — or, truer,
the God who created everything,
was the very first one extincted,
as Nietzsche,
and the german thinkers before him,
all, belatedly said,

Continue reading “the Anti-Übermensch”

proof of life | awkward family fotos


a suspension

of borrowed time & life


recipe and method for feeding a baby starling

recipe:

one-half of a medium-boiled large egg, super finely diced

3-4 sardines canned in water, with all the bones and skin, gingerly rinsed under a thin stream of tap water, to remove excess salt, laid atop a paper towel
to passively drain the water,
then, finely chopped

mash sardines and egg together,
then slowly add up to 1 teaspoon of unsweetened organic apple sauce,

the mash should be integrated and mostly smooth
but not too wet or runny


store in sealed glass container refrigerated for no more than 2.5 days

(increase to whole boiled egg and full can of sardines and extra applesauce — and increase mash chunkiness as bird grows)

to feed:

fill a plastic drinking straw with the food,
by pumping the straw up and down into the mash with suction

warm the filled straw in hand while wearing a disposable glove to bring the mash close to room temperature

gently but quickly eject tubes/ribbons of mash into baby bird’s mouth as she gapes for food - like toothpaste on toothbrush almost; it’s daunting at first; she is so demanding! so loud! so urgent!
so hungry!

she will stop gaping when full

wash straw and reuse
(DQ & Five Guys straws are wide, flexible and work best)

repeat feeding every half hour, then eventually every hour or so, about 300 times over the course of next three weeks

to thrive:

during that time create and whistle to her a short, 3-4 note, unique song to recognize your voice

love her, talk to her,
encourage her, comfort her,
and hold her, carry her outside to see the world she will soon enter

also during that time: bring her small worms, slugs and insects to taste and/or eat / you will need to manually reduce them to be digestible for her, at first

then teach her to forage and hunt for them herself; she will use her beak as a shovel to unearth them and poke at and sever them with her beak
;
watch her back while she’s busy doing this - be her wingman!

she will teach herself to bathe and sun, fluff, dry and preen


one day she will hop, sputter-fly into the grass, into the garden; into the bramble or tall grasses

then, she will fly and soar - high into the trees, beyond your reach, sight or protection

you will worry about predators and bird bullies, weather, machines, injury and hunger


you will listen for her voice
and whistle and call for her

sometimes you will hear her;
but she will always hear you; she knows your face, form, voice and song

she will still come home for supplemental feeding


she will still come home to sleep in her nest box inside the barn overnight because being a baby bird alone in the world - is exhausting

being a mother bird, even moreso

she will come back, again and again.


she is just pure joy.
she is pure trust.

you are so lucky to have experienced her first weeks of life

you rescued her; but she has restored you, in fact.

please know,

always remember, and never forget:

every bird you see, every wild mammal you see, they all initially survived because of a very devoted mother

Continue reading “proof of life | awkward family fotos”

Sylvia Dickinson Edgar Anne Hughes


Star — the starling, on the evening of July 7, 2024

every poet should know the company of a wild bird, at least once

i recently binged the biography:

“The Occult Sylvia Plath: The Hidden Spiritual Life of the Visionary Poet” by life-long Plath scholar Julia Gordon-Bramer

i feel fortunate this book was my introduction to Plath and her poet husband, Ted Hughes— and other significant influences in her life and poetry /

hat tip to my long-time favorite podcast: Aeon Byte Gnostic Radio — created and hosted by Miguel Conner at The Virtual Alexandria for interviewing Gordon-Bramer, because, for the first time ever, i was actually interested in Plath — and furthermore, i unexpectedly experienced a psychic “something” with Plath while listening to the audiobook; this “something” — i want to digest, explore – and possibly explain, in detail, in a future essay //


The Occult Sylvia Plath: The Hidden Spiritual Life of the Visionary Poet

Julia Gordon-Bramer

while i imbibed this book, i was simultaneously raising an injured and orphaned starling nestling — on an intensive feeding schedule — and during this time, i learned from the book, that Sylvia and Ted also attempted to rescue an injured and sick baby bird — but after a week, and upon determining rehabilitation was futile, they jointly and sadly euthanized the bird in their gas oven (i know. wow.) ///

Continue reading “Sylvia Dickinson Edgar Anne Hughes”

come back, come back

hummingbirds where have you gone?

ADDENDUM: the hummingbirds did come back, and as of September 8, 2024 10:00 AM EDT, they are still here.

mid-late april, optimistic
early may, expectant
mid may, consternation

meticulously,
i sanitize the vessels,
bases and perches
soaking and fastidiously brushing the red and yellow flower parts to clean them of all gunk and lodged debris
i employ two, simple, pinched-waist, glass hummingbird feeders //
there are more beautiful, ornamental, more expensive or cheaper feeders available,
but this design functions best/ i am a seven year veteran of hummingbird joy.

age-old recipe for hummingbird feeder nectar:

1 part pure cane sugar.

PURE. CANE. SUGAR.


to

4 parts water.

the end.

not beet sugar, not organic sugar,
nor turbinado, nor raw, never brown sugar


this so very important – other sugars are too susceptible to mold, to bacteria, or contain too much iron in the form of molasses.

pure, white, refined and granulated cane sugar, chemically and nutritionally, most closely approximates natural flower nectar

never ever, use store-bought nectar mix* or pre-mix*;
*and when in a store that sells that toxic shit, bury the packets or hide the bottles behind other merchandise on the shelf — just as when i spot Clinton, Kissinger, Amy Schumer, Dubya, or Sheryl Sandberg non-fiction fictions on the shelf at bookstores or big box stores — i flip that tripe backwards and upside down
so, again:

age-old recipe for hummingbird feeder nectar:

1 part cane sugar

to

4 parts fresh water,

i use pristine well water, here: i am so very fortunate: no chlorine, no fluoride just elements and minerals, no water treatment except for a sediment filter

these two simple ingredients vigorously shaken together, not stirred/
just like my homemade margarita with ice
in the same one-quart glass mason jar


i check the feeders
throughout the day
i obsess, i pray, in my own way

first incantation songs
then lamentation songs


a carpenter bee tricks my ear while i am on my knees digging in the garden

was that her? is she back? are they back?

no, that wasn’t;
no, they’re not.

i google:

“do hummingbirds return to the same summer nesting and feeding grounds each year?”
&
“how long do hummingbirds live?

Continue reading “come back, come back”

residuum II | collab with Yeats – he only died 84 years ago

pushed to the margins
hanging on by one stressed thread
to toxic or barren fringe-lands

when the once-verdant centres could, and did, hold

us, all/

“Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.”

while now, all about it

reel shadows of the indignant [shore] birds

harkening

one day soon, you too, will be residuum here


what remains: gulls converge in a chasmic rain-filled pothole in the parking lot of an abandoned mall

An ephemeral asphalt pond after heavy rains in the parking lot of an abandoned mall, long-infested with gulls, as testimony – not merely to the inorganic evolution of consumerism, but of the intersection of NAFTA and other free-trade agreements, American soft segregation and hard apartheid, and the inherent discriminatory and predatory migration of US and Western global capitalism.


Continue reading “residuum II | collab with Yeats – he only died 84 years ago”