The Peregrine

 Past plovers hiding in pickleweed 

an airborne tilt-a-whirl of phalaropes pass by

while the Peregrine continues

his roller-coaster flight down the shoreline.

He dips, ducks dive.

The gulls rise and fall en masse

shouting a collective eek.

The Peregrine passes over the ghosts of Harlequins

taken shooting gallery style

by trophy hunters

We drive parallel to his line of flight

my speedometer reading 45

it’s a leisurely flight plan he’s filed.

We soon arrive at the end of the causeway

and the falcon having shuffled the deck on one side

like a boomerang

turns

g-force absorbed

direction reversed he rises

then wings closed, dives

and a Ring-necked Duck too slow

is struck and seized

Stunned

 his prize accompanies him

under the big top

they take a lunch break.

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3 Responses to The Peregrine

  1. bettyjochang says:

    very nice Norm.

  2. bettyjochang says:

    Re your poem: I especially liked: “The Peregrine passes over the ghosts of Harlequins
    taken shooting gallery style by trophy hunters.”
    and, “We drive parallel to his line of flightmy speedometer reading 45. It’s a leisurely flight plan he’s filed.”

    In exchange, Here is an excerpt from my tale. When this scene happens, my young lovers (Joni and Gabe) have been having a hard time of it. They are both thinking that their relationship may be breaking apart.

    “They didn’t go dancing.

    Instead, Gabe checked the rear view mirror, signaled a lane change, then cut over onto route 92 heading west to the edge of the earth.

    Hand in hand they walked the beach.
    Half Moon Bay. Half Moon.
    Half Full. Half Empty.

    Wind cooled but not chilled,
    Oft stopped to stand quiet.
    Whilst their souls set to soaring with
    Brown Pelicans surfing effortless above the coastal water.

    Hearts slowed to keep time with rhythmic thrum of wings in flight.
    Silhouetted above the waves.
    Twilight embracing sand and rock with last precious warmth of
    Brief remaining moments of gold glint sunshine.
    Half Empty. Half Full.

    They trilled a silent love song to each other,
    Through the touch of fingers entwined, warm.
    Bittersweet.

    “Whatever shall I do without you?
    For it is you who make me whole.”

    Then they drove down the old Cabrillo Highway,
    Clinging to the steep edge of the West land.
    Until darkness settled hard over sea and sky.
    When they returned to climb the stairs to bed.
    Together.

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