Two poems
Mark Blaeuer
Allies at the Feeder
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The titmouse and the chickadee
take turns, each flying in to rest
a second—one seed—harmony
between two species manifest.
If only we two on this side
of window glass were equally
in concert. I watch, edified,
our tabby cat’s own reverie:
to me it’s hope and feathered words,
to Emmy a buffet of birds.
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Mark’s notes: ​​“’Allies at the Feeder’ first appeared in a venerable U.S. poetry venue, The Lyric. I later included the piece in my collection Fragments of a Nocturne. The tufted titmouse (Baeolophus bicolor) and Carolina chickadee (Poecile carolinensis) used to be termed ’allied species.’ Indeed, they’re classified in the same taxonomic family, and they often travel together in mixed flocks. I’ve always been struck by their seeming politeness at the feeder—contrasted with members of several other bird species, who’ll simply show up and gorge for an hour. Finally, in the couplet, Emmy’s name complements (I hope) a tiny allusion in the preceding line. Now, an exclusive story! Emmy was actually a tortoiseshell named Molly. I fictionalized that part twenty years ago, based on quite reasonable suggestions offered during an internet workshop. Someday, I might restore the original version, though. I rather miss Molly.“
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To a Susceptible Guy, from the Web
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We know you well: as bookmarked evidence
let us present your online dalliance
with Amazon and all her cheap sci-fi,
that sporting itch YouTube will satisfy,
and how your Pal can Pay for current trends
in peonage. We note you wouldn’t mince
words in the commentary after “Vince
Lombardi Was a Loser” caught your eye.
We know you well—
you’re bankrupt, we can say with confidence,
so here’s our brutal demographic sense
of who you are: an ordinary guy
looks down at you in pity. OK, die—
but if you’re going, first click “Zombie Chintz.”
We know you will.
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Mark’s notes: “This cautionary tale about electronic shopping is brought to you by the rondeau form, minus its usual tripartite structure. I dispensed with the stanza breaks, which I felt added nothing to my theme. That’s one way of looking at the matter, anyway. I had fun pouring Amazon, YouTube, PayPal, Vince Lombardi, etc. into a Renaissance-era verse vessel. Lombardi, by the way, was a legendary American football coach, whose gruff sayings were printed on card stock and tacked up in boys’ high school locker rooms around the country, meant to inspire us during the Psychedelic Sixties. I particularly remember ’Winning isn’t everything. It’s the only thing.’ The poem was previously published in The Asses of Parnassus. The title’s addressee isn’t a personal acquaintance, but I suspect there are millions like him.“
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Mark Blaeuer lives just south of Lofton, Arkansas. He was a ranger for many years at nearby Hot Springs National Park, and his M.A. is in Anthropology. His poems (and a few translations from Spanish) have appeared in 100+ magazines, such as Better Than Starbucks, Bindweed, The Borough, Ezra, Grand Little Things, The HyperTexts, Lighten Up Online, The Orchards, Passionfruit Review, Pulsebeat, Susurrus, Ultramarine Literary Review, and Wales Haiku Journal. His collections are Fragments of a Nocturne (Kelsay Books, 2014) and Surfacing Below (SurVision Books, 2025). He’s also written a couple of history books: Didn’t All the Indians Come Here? (Eastern National, 2007 [out of print]) and Baseball in Hot Springs (Arcadia Publishing, 2016).
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