The Eagles Come To Me

by PH Prochnow - Aries

The Eagles Come To Me

    About eight in the morning
going to The Cities in a 
   sunny warm south wind
    I see the miles of expanse
over the rivers and I remember
   I have not seen the first one yet

THEN, there the first eagle is...
    sitting in the swamp-lake on a 
muskrat house, still in the morning sun,
    posing, as it was.
First I thought I forgot how black
   they look, raven black..
First I thought it was a crow
      Next I saw his white head...
  so
.....I saw the first one this year.


This eagle was having a great time
   compared to the ruffled cold
brethren I’ve seen skittering on the
   river’s ice rims in February.

This eagle gave me a great time
  last Saturday, you all can recite the reasons why,
can you not?...so let me not.

Where I live these guys
   have gotten to be like pidgeons
to me, but then again I like to
  go where I can see them. 
If I did not they would seem less common.
  Eagles would be a metaphorical animal
like your griffin.
     I hear that is what eagles
are in New York City, imaginary metaphorical
  beast like griffins and minotaurs.

Some fishermen up north, I hear, 
        hook sheepsheads
   hammer the fishs’ heads,
and toss them from the boat,
  as they make their way on down here...
you know what?
   The eagles are those guys’
pidgeons too, and do neat swoops
   to snatch the dead sheepsheads.

I by know means would suggest
   sporting eagles like pidgeons,
doesn’t that seem sacrilegious?

The real experts in Keokuk,
 that’s the capitol of eagledom
   in the winter, say we should not even
     shoo them from their roosts 
       too see them fly
as they are stressed...
But I did not know that
   when I saw two up in a tree
at Riverside as I laidover for ten
   in the car.


I rolled the window down and whistled...
  man(!),
did they fly..
    they really can fly.

Up around Homer going north on sixty-one
   I seen two crows
on the bare branches...
   O no...
They have the white heads
   they have broad shoulders too,
they sit like serious black robed
    ministers, again they move not
as if posing...
   and they were posing.
A handful of lensmen were up a
   gravel road shooting the hell
out of these two.

Something big, maybe a hawk,
circles lonely as a kite
   still winged....

Up by Lake City I seen two more!

The eagles are here,
   the eagles come to me.
Birth sign: Aries
Date created: 2001-11-22 13:30:53
Last updated: 2021-04-14 17:18:14
Poem ID: 65854

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