The Montclair Bird Club

Donna Traylor

Crazy turkey Spring is here

Where's your lady, where oh where?

   Prancing, dancing

   Female glancing.

Strut your stuff, Tom, show no fear.

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For birds she always did quest

Aiming always to be her best

   Species to list

   Some found, some missed

Sharing her sightings at others request.

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Bird song caressing a spring night

Seeking mates before taking flight

   Deep forest glade

   Dappled sun and shade

Wood thrush singing make my heart light

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There once was a birder who counted

All birds both flying and mounted

   In museums and parks

   Dodos and larks

And his life list he never flaunted.

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Seek, find, binoculars raised

Stellar optics all be praised

   No more to worry

   Birds all a flurry

ID never again to be fazed.

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Bird brain tiny and amazing

Worldwide flight there'll be no lazing

   Mating ground

   Then turn around

A flight around the moons' phasing.

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Norma Holmes

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Dedicated to Paul Roberts, Hawk Watcher Extraordinaire

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There once was a birder named Paul,

Advantaged by being real tall. 

   'Twas really his sight,

   That caught hawks in flight.

We could rely on his accurate call.

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There once was a birder named Paul

Advantaged by being real tall.

   O’er the heads of the masses,

   He looked through his glasses,

To spot birds no matter how small.  

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Shawn’s List (with a nod to Wally Koenig)

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There once was a birder named Shawn,

Who birded from sunset to dawn.

She hoped to see warblers and fowl,

But all that she heard was an owl.

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Shawn joined Marie for a walk,

And after they had a good talk,

Shawn turned her habits around.

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Now Shawn rises at dawn,

She stifles a yawn,

And birds to the edge of her lawn.

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Because of this twist,

She’s pumping her fist,

Amazing herself with her list.

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Michele Tomasik

When a liberal young robin confessed

That she loathed her illiberal red breast

   A jay changed the hue

   From rosy to blue

Making the left-winger much less distressed.

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Harris Cohen

Boids, boids, boids, the Brooklynite said

His companion a birder turned her head

   And started to say birds, birds, birds

   Is the proper way to say those words

But started to laugh instead.

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There once was a birder from Montclair

Who saw a flock of birds in the air

   What are they he cried

   And when no one replied

Surprised he continued to stare

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A young birder in the woods heard some howls

They turned out to come from two barn owls

   Then one left a tree

   He thought it’s coming at me

And promptly lost control of his bowels

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Frank Wood

There once was a bird who sang “Tweet”;

A colleague joined in for “Tweet” “Tweet”;

   Would you think it absurd

   Were they joined by a third,

Then successively sang “Tweet” “Tweet” “Tweet”?”

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Bill Beren

A phenomenal birder was Sandra

Who always took bins, scope and cam’ra

   When she started to search

   For rare birds on a perch

On a branch on a tree near Canberra

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Claudine Wright

A marvelous thing is a tree

Or a dog, or a bird, or a bee

   In nature fantastical 

   God's creatures are magical

And to think, they're all made just for me!

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Bob Markman

Of the birdy who flew from The Mersey,

Across the Atlantic to New Jersey.

   Wanted nothing more,

   When landing ashore,

Than be photographed by paparazzi.

 

Let’s rename the Montclair Bird Club today,

To the Montclair Word Club (oh, dismay)

   For it’s limericks you seek

   Not cute creatures with beaks,

So, it’s not what you see, but what you say.

 

The image the camera was to capture,

Filled the birder’s heart with much rapture.

   Way, way up in the tree

   For everyone to see

A proud raptor displaying its stature.

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Glenn Eichler

A chocolate bar-loving young grackle

Found a nearly intact Hershey's Krackel.

   He grew too fat to fly,

   Caught a predator's eye,

Now the grackle's inside of a jackal.

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Gene Shahan

There once were some folks from Montclair

Whose noses were kept in the air

   They weren’t so aloof

   They looked at a roof

Where many birds lined up in pair

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With starlings and blue jays galore

And others we come to adore

   The Montclair Bird Club

   An escape from hubbub

Makes living much less of a bore.

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Rafael Rodriguez

Today I am fixing a food plate

Birds and a white deer I contemplate

   Fall’s first grip, evening

   Nature’s shimmering

I am wondering if they ate.

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Beni Fishbein

Watching birds is what I like doing,

My friends think me odd and amusing,

   Let them stop and stare,

   No, I really don’t care,

What the average Joe thinks of my viewing.

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Its head shape is peaked, no it’s flat.

Its scapulars blue, no they’re black.

   Its tail, is it long?

   Maybe I’m wrong.

Darn it! Which bird is it, this one or that?!

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Why, oh, why do I like to go birding?

Waking at 4 is so disconcerting!

   I’d rather sleep in,

   Losing sleep is a sin,

But few things are so damn diverting!

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Chris Papa

The hummingbirds sure buzz around,

At our feeder and flowers are found,

   When two show, it's tight,

   There's always a fight,

Though we've never seen anyone downed!

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Adriana OToole

You make writing limericks sound easy

But instead it makes me feel queasy

   A word here and there

   Just out of the air,

It leaves me breathless and wheezy.

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David Kanegis

Aplomado, kestrel, merlin,

Gyrfalcon, prairie, peregrine.

   Look up high, look across,

   There's the voice of my boss,

"Yes, dear, dinnertime, I'll come in.”

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Sanford Sorkin

Patient Jonah long sought e-mail

The corresponder’s Holy Grail

   His screen was blurry

   He started to worry

For Wi-Fi’s dreadful inside a whale

  

Some of the birds found in the holler

Deal with a certain amount of squalor

   But down in the mouth

   They tend to head south

To find jobs and to earn a dollar

  

Backyard bunny has a warren

Much too small to put a car in

   But one assumes

   With all fifteen rooms

The idea of parking is foreign

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Birders pursue the unseen owls

Perhaps confused by hidden cows

   For oft times a moo

   Is confused with a who

But rarely from overhead boughs

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We know Icarus’ long sad tale

Culminates in an epic fail

   His wing choice was wax

   No carbon fiber tax

He’d have done much better with sail

 

Edgar’s chatty big black bird

Is the darkest ever heard

    But mere quotation

    Is never oration

If he only knows one word

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The rooster thought he might endow

Every chicken they’d allow

   Singing from the heart

   He would warble Mozart

And follow with a cocky bow

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Robins encounter feisty worms

Ready to rumble on their berms

   In the grim crunch

   All creepers are lunch

With no hope of surrender terms

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The birds in Montclair are just fine

No matter where they choose to dine

   Parking is trying

   That’s why they are flying

With carafes and small jugs of wine

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Edgar’s beautiful big black bird

Only utters a single word

   But a pallid bust

   Is required I trust

If you’re intent on being heard

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My countenance you may agree

Featherless with no goatee

   A Turkey Vulture

   Is devoid of culture

Searching for rodent debris

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Who gave the birds their Latin names?

Scholars playing their old-world games

   Strange nomenclature

   Is just not our nature

No matter its noble aims

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Ancient Mariner at a loss

Made the sea gods very cross

   A prophetic curse

   As we’re told in verse

To answer for the albatross

  

Atop the mountain perched the Roc

Many below gazed up in shock

   They looked on eBird

   It’s not listed we heard         

Still pleased it was not in a flock

 

Phoenix and Griffin are quite rough

But we could use some novel stuff

   Really not regal

   One explosive Eagle

Will do the job oddly enough.

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We know Icarus’ long sad tale

Culminates in an epic fail

   His wing choice was wax 

   No carbon fiber tax

He’d have done much better with sail

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Awoke to birds throughout the house

Annoying me and my spouse

   In an ironic twist

   Santa got my eBird list

Now we must find homes for grouse 

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Rick Wright

There was a young birder named Avril,

Who journeyed to old Cape Canaveral

   In search of the scrub jay.

   But it was their off day.

The disappointment was fully bilateral.

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There was a retriever named Gellert,

When it came to dead ducks a real expert.

   He was startled to find

   All the birds were alive,

So he dropped out of the local rare bird alert. 

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A Florida birder named Karen

Discovered a very rare heron.

   But along came a ‘gator—

   It was goodbye, rare wader.

And for good measure the beast swallowed Karen.

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He was tired, my fat nephew Edward.

As I sent him upstairs and then bedward,

   He let out a burp

   And a familiar loud chirp.

That glutton had eaten a redbird.

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Pretty girl at the seawatch, I sat down beside her,

And unpacked my scope as I carefully eyed her.

   Hey, look, there’s a scoter,

   I helpfully told her.

She snorted and said, That’s an eider.

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The front door was stuck, so I pushed it.

The bird on the step—well, I smooshed it.

   My eyes opened wide

   When I opened my guide:

The bird I had killed was a bushtit.

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Out birding one fine afternoon,

I saw what I guessed was a loon.

   But I had to rethink

   When the bird was all pink

And its bill was shaped just like a spoon.

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Want more? Oh, thanks, just a smidgeon.

I expected a nice breast of pigeon,

   But there on the fork

   Was a filet of wood stork,

Sautéed in the fat of a wigeon.

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