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Contests : Margaret Reid Poetry Contest : Past Winners : 2009 : Most Highly Commended

Most Highly Commended - Noble Collins

THE FALCON

Slowly descending
in a narrowing gyre,
a large grey-brown falcon appears
under low clouds in the late afternoon.

Hungry, thirsty, tired from a long flight, his cautious calculated circles
conceal a quiet urgency.
Stretched tendons and burning muscles
are barely able to hold the wings outright and taut.

A small outcropping of granite will have to do—somewhat higher than the
surrounding terrain,
with a nice little overhang,
a good vantage point from which to hunt, a safe haven from predators,
some blessed rest at last.

The landing will be tight,
but a commitment is made,
and down he comes.

He is in desperate need of a place to rest—to eat and drink—and to
ponder.

***

Oh, he heard the falconer very well.
The shrill call and the hand motions
were part of the agreement.
"I display my amazing skill and you keep me in comfort."
Only, one time, he no longer wanted to be kept.

Higher and higher he soared,
as a vast world appeared,
expanding beyond each horizon—
more green—
more blue—
sweeter air.

All warnings ignored.

Left behind, much lower,
indignant desert birds squawked,
but could not escape their shadows.

***

What he found confused and disturbed him, though.

The bargain he made with himself
was to be free—
to swoop into green pastures, and
drink from still waters—
not to disturb the world but to engage it—

He would eat grain,
and carry seeds to far-off places.

More and more, however
each horizon was a mirage—
the air more rank—
the land below devastated and desolate—burnt stubble where there had been
crops—dead fish on the banks of still water.

He dared not land—
could not land, in fact—
each scene more threatnening than the last—strange clouds off to one side
near Jerusalem—broken seals lying on bloodied rocks near the isle of
Patmos.

There were no shrill whistles to return—only wails and moans.

So on he flew—
on and on.

***

And now, at last
in stony sleep, he rests,
but there are rumblings still
here on Ararat...


This poem won a Most Highly Commended award in the 2009 Margaret Reid Poetry Contest sponsored by Tom Howard Books. Author Noble Collins received a $100 award. Winning Writers assists this contest. Copyright is reserved to the author.


About Noble Collins
If a writer writes in the forest does he or she make a sound? Only if picked up on the sensitive sonar of folks like Tom Howard. I have been writing all my life, but only in my retirement years have I submitted anything for publication. To have the great honor and sense of achievement of having a few works published by this excellent publisher (among his many attributes), is far beyond anything I could have imagined. It is reason aplenty for continuing to seek the company of The Muse. Thank you.

Noble Collins                                                                                                                                                                                                                                



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