A Brooklyn Parrots' Christmas Story

Twas the night before Christmas and the monks were at rest,
Deep within their impressive monk parrot nests;

When just around midnight a loud noise occurred,
It shook the whole nest, it woke every bird;
It roused the flock leader, who looked at his spouse,
And said, "something big just crashed into our house;"

"Don't go out," said his wife, "you're not feeling so well,"
"I must," said her mate, "you never can tell;
It might be a kestrel, it might be a hawk,
Or even a poacher," he said with a squawk;
"Well, first," said his wife, "take a bit of your medicine,"
"No time," he replied, "it might be Con Edison."

The parrot flew out, and once perched in the cold,
Saw something big stuck way up there on the pole;
"Hey you," said the parrot, "you there, with the beard,
Your sled's on our nest - you can't park that thing here!"
"I've crashed," said the man, "I was flying too fast,"
"Can we offer some help?," the monk parrot asked;

"That's kind," said the man, "but I have to confess,
My sled is quite hopelessly stuck in your nest;
Besides, what real good can you monk parrots do?
What I need is a crane or a Coast Guard rescue!"
"Yo, Beard," said the parrot, "with all due respect,
We monks are by far Nature's best architects;

We're professional builders, we're strong and we're fair,
We'll get your contraption back up in the air;"
"You can try," said the man, "but my mind's filled with doubt,"
"Cool your jets," said the parrot, "we'll straighten this out;
I'll rouse the whole crew, and get more from outside,
We'll dig your sled out so you can go on your ride."

The flock leader started a strange kind of chirpin'
So loud that it woke all the parrots in Brooklyn;
From Red Hook, Bay Ridge, and from old Sunset Park,
Small flocks of green parrots lit down in the dark;
"Let's get this guy going," the flock leader said,
"When he's gone we can all snuggle back in our beds;"

So with razor-sharp beaks, the birds tugged and they sawed,
They pushed, and they pulled with powerful claws;
They squawked, and they strained, they tugged and they cut,
And finally, they freed the old sled from its rut.
Said the monk to the man, "you can go on your way,
And deliver your toys for a fine Christmas Day!

But the man in the sled had a tear in his eye,
And the monk parrot wondered "what's wrong with this guy?"
"Yo, Santa, take off! Fly away with your freight!"
"My reindeer won't do it," said the man, "it's too late,"
"They belong to the union?," asked the monk, with a sneer;
"They clock out at midnight," said the man with the beard,

"That's too bad," said the monk. "but I'm goin' back to bed;"
"I was hoping you'd help," said the man in the sled,
"I'm no scab," said the monk, "are you out of your mind?"
"I can waiver you in," Santa said, "it'll be fine!
You can all join the union, you and all of your boys!
And the children of Brooklyn will all get their toys!"

The parrots discussed this proposal at length,
And decided a union would add to their strength;
So the birds all squawked "aye" and each grabbed at a strap,
On the sled with the toys and the man in the cap;
With a thunderous flapping they rose in the night,
Two hundred green wings pulled the sled out of sight,

And the man in the sled, now filled with affection;
Cheerfully changed his standard directions:
"On Fonzie, on Kiwi, on Tango, and Cookie!
On Max, and on Stanley, and Chester, and Lucky!
And all of you parrots whose names I don't know
I won't soon forget how you salvaged this show!"

If you're ever in Brooklyn at the end of the year,
Make sure you look up, for what might appear;
Is a big flock of parrots, towing St. Nicklaus,
And these parrots are known as Myiopsitta Monachus.


Brooklyn's wild monk parrots celebrate after helping Santa out of a jam.

Happy Holidays to All!

© 2006-08 By Steve Baldwin

Perch On, Oh Yacolt Parakeets! (Poets Weigh in on Yacolt Wild Parrot Crisis)

The poets have spoken. The Wild Parrots of Yacolt, Washington must be saved.

The only thing I'd object to is the line "a thimble can contain your brains." It's not the size of one's computing mechanism that counts, otherwise the room-sized computers of 1952 would be able to out-compute today's mobile processors. It's the degree of integration, and I can tell you that our beloved Monks are well-integrated beasties!

Anyway, this latest missive from the artsy crowd is a favorable indication that perhaps the wild Quaker Parrots of Yacolt can be saved. After all, once the poets jump on the bandwagon it's a sure bet that public opinion has shifted in the right direction. And by the way, if you'd like to read a poem closer to the heart of parrot-crazy Brooklyn, please check out our The Brooklyn Parrots Christmas Poem.

Poems About the Parrots

Poet Gerry LaFemina has written a beautiful poem about the Brooklyn feral parrots that will be included in a forthcoming book entitled "The Parakeets of Brooklyn" (I insist they're parrots but what would life be without a little poetic license)?

You can read LaFemina's wonderful poem at the following Web page:

http://www2.oakland.edu/english/farfield/faculty.cfm?ID=7

Now I ask you, what other "potentially dangerous species" rates the applied eloquence of bards?