The Happy Hours
In my garden are many birds,
some with pretty looks.
Alas, so many of my birds
are never found in birding books.
Here’s the Oinky Boing-Boing Bird,
a veritable sign of spring.
When he appears, get out the spade:
it’s time for gardening.
His legs are yellow, his face is blue,
but he’ll bring good luck to you.
When Mrs. Flowerhat comes along
the neighbors greet her with a song.
They cluster on branches in the tree
and chat together merrily.
No matter whether it’s rain or sun,
they tell tall tales about everyone.
Occasionally, it looks like rain
and then the birds don’t fly.
They vanish or they hang around
with a tear drop in their eye.
The sundial sleeps in the falling rain
and I find it really funny:
he only wants to tell the time
when the world is bright and sunny.
Horas non numero nisi serenas.
I count only the happy hours.
rogermoorepoet 
I have a shelf full of them. I’ll pop you some titles in an e-mail. Sibley’s, Peterson’s, there are so many.
LikeLike
These poem/pics are delightful, Roger, and isn’t a blog a good place to present both words and image? As are birds delightful, that i am observing up close and beautiful, around my (relatively) newly installed bird-feeder. Early stage for me, back-yard birder, thrilled every time i notice the smallest dot of a detail from my book. (Oh, by the way, any suggestion as to what is a good bird book, even if it does not contain info on the Oinky Boing-Boing?) –@
LikeLiked by 1 person
I use the Audobon Guides, Roger Burrows (Eastern Canada), Sibley (some excellent guides on birds and habitat etc), Peterson, and the Smithsonian. In addition, we have some specialist guides on shorebirds, raptors, and local back-garden birds (Freddy).
LikeLike
The happy hours are too fleeting
LikeLiked by 1 person
That is why we have the sundial: he only counts the happy hours!
LikeLike
Great piece! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you: above all, I have such fun writing these poems and drawing these cartoons. So glad you like them.
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂
LikeLike
No Jabberwocks in my garden, nor Jub-jub birds: I’ve only got Oinky Boing-Boings: and they’re bad enough — keep you awake all night, they do, going oinky boing-boing, like rusty bed springs in the hotel room next to you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very cute! One of my birds also says ‘Oink’ – I actually think it’s a nuthatch. I have very yellow goldfinches and a white-throated sparrow today. I share a very early poem, also feeder-inspired. Jane
my winter orchard
cold, so cold
autumn harvest far away
the feeder fills
sunflower seeds
spill down
covering snow-crusted ground
out in the orchard
under my apple tree
Inside I wait
a chirping rings
evening grosbeaks
dropping down
branch to branch
to ground
lemons in my apple tree
black chin, red cap
feathers fluff
common redpolls
flutter down
pecking at the ground
cherries in my apple tree
fee-bee chi chi chi
a nuthatch somersaults
a chickadee
hangs upside-down
darting to the ground
nuts in my apple tree
March 16, 1992
LikeLiked by 2 people
Nice poem, Jane. We haven’t seen evening grosbeaks for a long time. There used to be great flocks of them. Pine grosbeaks too. What we do have is the rose-breasted — two of them nest here every year. Redpolls, yes; cowbirds; American Goldfinches; Yellow-bellied sapsuckers; all three woodpeckers; chicadees; blue jays; used to have grey jays nesting close, but haven’t seen them for a bit — nor the Eastern Phoebe … then those wonderful hawks visit us occasionally and all falls silent …
LikeLiked by 1 person
This winter I came home one afternoon and surprised a grey jay on the top of the feeder. When I was writing my thesis, they used to come inside and eat bread crumbs from my desk (we were building our house and sides were not yet closed in!)
LikeLiked by 2 people
No jubjub bird? No frumious bandersnatch?
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought —
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
LikeLiked by 2 people