Halcon Peregrino

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Halcon Peregrino

“Ignorance is the curse of God. Knowledge is the

wings wherewith we fly to heaven.”

--William Shakespeare.

I am the King Kong of falcons,

          Peregrine, baby, the raptor 

                  prince of the stratosphere.

                      I’m a handsome lad--been on

                           my own for 13 years. Check me

                                   out, dark gray, with a Stygian 

                           black helmet. My eyering and

                       cere is butterfly yellow. My ebon

                   beak is snappy and small, very

                sharp, very hooked and blood-

             stained. I have buff pointed

          wings, with a span of four

     feet, with a long sweet tail.

I fly high

and fast;

a lethal missile

that swoops down

on smaller birds

snatching them

out of the sky.

I can fly, cruising

     at 40mph, and when I drop

            down with my wings pinned

                  back, I can hit 170 mph, just

                       slicing the air, nearly silent, a

                               dagger of feathered death.

                       My parents were pets to

              an Asian falconer, a nomad

          on the steppes of Russia,

      a mere falcon’s flight from

  Alaska. My name stands

for Wanderer, or Pilgrim.

My brethren can be found

on every continent. I was set

free at a year old, and I

immigrated to America.

My claimed air space

is above the Olympic

National forest.

My nest is built at

    4,000 feet, on the steep

         cliff shoulders of Mt. Olympus,

            nestled on an ancient Sitka Spruce

                tree root, strong, and secure. The nest

                    once belonged to a pair of bald eagles.

                Damn, they used to hunt me, but even

              while double-teamed, I proved to be

           too swift, too bold, too powerful for         

       them. It helped that they were

    elders, and i was at the peak

of my youth.

My reward was

that I outlived

them, and now 

I own their fine nest.

I’ve had the same mate

for ten years--my Delilah.

Often we hunt as a pair,

randy carnivores feasting

on the flesh of rodents,

                        birds,

                        rabbits,

                        snakes,

and if we’re lucky,

a luscious cat 

or a tiny dog.

It’s an hour’s flight to the ocean.

Seagulls are a delicacy,

and they are fast

and fun as prey.          

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poets Pub