A Tufted Titmouse Braves a Cold Spell
Martin Elster

Peter-peter-peter cries my voice

echoing through the trees. Flakes fall to test

my stamina and patience. It is cold.

Tomorrow will be chillier still, fresh rime

glazing flower and fence. My whistles chime

like piccolos to pierce the stale and old

that clings as lichen to a larch. I rest

in a nest in a lifeless oak. I have no choice

but to sing and to hole up in this secondhand

woodpecker’s dimple, no alternative

but to twitter to my better half, to live

in my feathered fashion. Oh, but it is grand 

and it is hard and it’s both work and play

and—peter-peter—it is cold today.

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First published in Autumn Sky Poetry Daily; also in Better Than Starbucks

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Martin Elster, who never misses a beat, was for many years a percussionist with the Hartford Symphony Orchestra (now retired). Aside from playing and composing music, he finds contentment in long walks in the woods or the city and, most of all, writing poetry, often alluding to the creatures and plants he encounters. His career in music has influenced his fondness for writing metrical verse, which has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies in the US and abroad. His honors include Rhymezone’s poetry contest (2016) co-winner, the Thomas Gray Anniversary Poetry Competition (2014) winner, the 2022 Helen Schaible International Sonnet Contest winner, the Science Fiction Poetry Association’s poetry contest (2015) third place, a Best of the Net nomination, and five Pushcart nominations. His latest collection, From Pawprints to Flight Paths: Animal Lives in Verse, is out now, from Kelsay Books.

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