Winter Songs I Hear Each Morning, 2nd revision posted Options

[Cyn]

Winter Songs

Every early morning he flutters
- flitting, head cocked, peering
into each window- inspects each junction
of beam that joins this home.

At dawn I hear him prodding,
slender, slightly down-turned bill
probing for a gap large enough
to let him in. Treeet? he questions,

like the song inside me seeking
to get out, plumage plumped
soft in the still frigid air.
White throat expansive,

canyon wren thrums a tune
as I hear my husband downstairs,
fingers bending nylon into notes
of rosewood and spruce.

Coffee brews
and wafts between the chords,
suspended, like sevenths
in the morning air.

****************************


Winter Songs I Hear Each Morning

Every early morning he tries
- head cocked, peering
into each window - tests
each joint of beam
that joins this home.
At dawn I hear him
prodding with his slender
slightly down-turned bill, looking
for a gap large enough
to let him in.
Treeet? he questions,
plumage plumped
soft in the still frigid air.
White throat expansive,
a canyon wren plays a song
as I hear my husband downstairs,
fingers bending nylon
into notes of rosewood and spruce,
writing his song for me.
Coffee brews
and wafts between the chords,
suspended, like sevenths
in the morning air.

*****************************

Winter Songs I Hear Each Morning

Every early morning he tries
- head cocked, peering
into each window - tests
each joint of beam.
Every dawn I hear him
prodding with his slender
slightly down-turned bill, looking
for a gap large enough
to let him in.
Treeet? he questions,
his plumage plumped
soft in the still frigid air.
His white throat expansive,
canyon wren writes a song
as I hear my husband downstairs,
his fingers bending nylon
into notes of rosewood and spruce,
writing his song for me.
Coffee brews
and wafts between the chords,
suspended like sevenths
in the morning air.

[TygerTyger]

Winter Songs I Hear Each Morning

Every early morning he tries
- head cocked, peering
into each window - tests
each joint of beam .<- Here I think you mean each crossmember that holds each pane of glass that make a window. (I'm sure there is a word for those pieces but I can't seem to recall it at this present time.) If so, then 'beam', a large piece of wood, is a bit misleading. If not, then count me as not understanding. Ethier way the image here is a bit unclear to me.
Every dawn I hear him
prodding with his slender
slightly down-turned bill, looking
for a gap large enough
to let him in.
Treeet? he questions, < Should you put quotes here?
his plumage plumped
soft in the still frigid air. <- Here the first thought ends. I think a stanza break would be appropriate. Same suggestion at line 18-19
His white throat expansive,
canyon wren writes a song
as I hear my husband downstairs,
his fingers bending nylon
into notes of rosewood and spruce, < An excellent blending of the description of a guitar with the music it makes.
writing his song for me.
Coffee brews
and wafts between the chords,
suspended like sevenths
in the morning air.

A serene poem of domestic delights. Washington state is a very beautiful place to live and once again you have taken that beauty and woven into a poem that I can feel.

Thanx for sharing.

Dennis!

[JustDaniel]

Ah, Cyn... I think I can feel and see each line graphically. Though I didn't get to see this particular bird, I think of the large one that you showed me (I forget its name)... but I never did get to hear Tom's chording in person... though I certainly loved the recording!

Winter Songs I Hear Each Morning

Every early morning he tries
- head cocked, peering
into each window - tests
each joint of beam.

I'm not sure what the right word here is either, so why don't you ask Tom? joint of beam sounds a bit... uh... wooden.

Every dawn I hear him
prodding with his slender
slightly down-turned bill, looking
for a gap large enough
to let him in.
Treeet? he questions, [ Italics ? ]
his plumage plumped
soft in the still[-]frigid air. [ unless you mean still, frigid... ? ]
His white throat expansive,
Canyon Wren writes a song [ Capitalized, since you've personified it, with no article ?]
as I hear my husband downstairs,
his fingers bending nylon
into notes of rosewood and spruce,
[ beautiful description! ]
writing his song for me.
Coffee brews
and wafts between the chords,
suspended like sevenths
in the morning air.
[ likewise! ]

deLightin' in yer writin' even more, Daniel

[Guest_Cathy_*]

Hi Cyn,

You've created some lovely sights and sounds! I almost heard him knocking on your window with his beak! LOL

A few thoughts... use or lose! *smiles*

Cathy

Winter Songs I Hear Each Morning

Every early morning he tries 'Early every...?'
- head cocked, peering
into each window - tests
each joint of beam. 'jointed beam...?'
Every dawn I hear him
prodding with his slender
slightly down-turned bill, looking
for a gap large enough
to let him in.
Treeet? he questions, Italics? Treeet?
his plumage plumped
soft in the still frigid air.
His white throat expansive,
canyon wren writes a song
as I hear my husband downstairs,
his fingers bending nylon
into notes of rosewood and spruce,
writing his song for me.
Coffee brews[,]
and waft[ing]s between the chords,
suspended like sevenths Is 'sevenths' a musical term? LOL You lost me here!
in the morning air.

[AMETHYST]

Hi Cyn,

Wanted you to know I have read this and I am off to Orlando for the weekend, so will get back to it on my return, Sunday afternoon.

Hugs, Liz

[AMETHYST]

Hi Cyn,

Winter Songs

Every early morning he flutters
- flitting, head cocked, peering
into each window- inspects each joint
of beam that joins this home.

Perhaps in L4, our home.

At dawn I hear him prodding,
slender, slightly down-turned bill
probing for a gap large enough
to let him in. Treeet? he questions,

L4, perhaps ... quotations around treet. Very vivid imagery and movement...

like the song inside me seeking
to get out, plumage plumped
soft in the still frigid air.
White throat expansive,

again-very strong imagery. In L1, I keep wanting to add an adjective infront of song... such as

soariing song, sad song, old song, perhaps to give some thought...

a canyon wren thrums a tune
as I hear my husband downstairs,
fingers bending nylon into notes
of rosewood and spruce.

This is a beautful blend from one point of the poem and then how it gracefully turns in imagery to the human interaction of the poem, the connection between the music and song of the bird into the music being created for the narrator by her husband. I think this does it so elegantly and loved the entire idea of it.


Coffee brews
and wafts between the chords,
suspended, like sevenths
in the morning air.

L2, perhaps...
Coffee brews
wafts between the chords,
suspended, like sevenths
in the morning air.

Cyn I must say I love this poem and love the depth it takes the reader from linking natures' lyrical life outside the window of our lives, into the love and importance of music within us, and the gifts...

I will be nominating this for IBPC Please be checking your PM for further information!


Hugs, Liz

[JustDaniel]

I love what you're doing with this, Cyn...

and I heartily second the nomination!

deLighting in your sharing the insights, allusions and coffee, Daniel

[Mysty]

Oh Cyn...... how lovely this last version Winter Song is. Makes me wish I could hear those sounds you hear. I almost can from the way you describe them. Simply beautiful.

~Mysty~

[Cyn]

I want to thank you all for your comments on this poem, I think your comments helped with the edits (Cathy, yes a suspended seventh is a music term) and thanks for the nom Liz, I am very grateful.
I have put myself on a somewhat retricted poetry forum "diet" and you may have noticed I am not posting or visiting much. I am trying to keep my participation down to once a week.

Now with the holidays it may be even less for a little bit. But I am still "here".
Cyn

[Guest_Don_*]

Per usual, I enjoyed your skill.

A number of writers in a writer's club tend to use italics for quotation. I am unable to locate the practice in a style manual, but see the trend becoming acceptable.

Rather than quibble over architectual jargon, beams could be seams.

Thanks for sharing.

Don