My God is hungry, he stabs your God;
The people are up in arms,
Though they say your God will raise again-
No gods were really harmed.

No Gods died to further a plot;
They were not experimented on,
And resemblances to people living or dead-
Must always be frowned upon.

The Gods used to own the whole world once;
We gave them dominion over fish and fowl;
But their pedestals toppled lean centuries ago,
And now they can only nod and bow.

This longing, he says, is nice to feel;
Like magnets attract, if could never repel,
Like two birds in flight, each other's trail;
And finding your thoughts, in the mind of another.
Never to touch your soul's secret lover;
That fire which burns, yet never singe
That tear which falls, yet leaves a tinge
Of color, on a dampened cheek-
And red rimmed eyes; how they could speak!
But this longing has to say it all for me
And those two birds stay forever free.

The Pansies curtsied deeply, in their flouncy purple dress,
To the yellow Jonquils; and then only to impress.
And Amaryllis hides her newly naked-lady stem,
But her bouffant clothing opens, at each thrill of puffing wind.

The Bluebell always bows her head, when saying any grace,
Though Iris has Apollo's tears, fresh on her upturned face;
While Daffodil has sunshine, in her ringing petticoats-
Poor Honeysuckle is quite gone; all eaten up by goats.

Please smile, when you read these words
So nobody will know, that I love you;
And don't be afraid, for it's only this,
That I love you, and then please smile,
As if it were only the daily news.

But not the same smile that you use
With her; for smiles are more
Than mere muscular signatures,
For they enclose a private world;
So smile, smile; this is meant for you
And only you;

Smile as if it were only a sweet surprise
Between us two;
Please smile again, as you read my words,
So nobody will know, this love is for you
(And then afterwards, don't forget
to smile for her too)

White birds cover the sea of the parking lot;
No sails fly, and clouds are few between.
The air is hot, as they fight for rights to insects;
On oceans of cement, they drift like sailor's dreams.

White birds wait, for baking asphalts cooling;
Evening falls, and they vanish in the gloom.
Dew falls down, and with it ocean's ceilings,
While overhead, rides the face of smiling moon.

Though moonlight and dreams may be
Our starlit route to ecstasy,
A touch holds more than worlds can show,
In planetary light's day-glow;
And soft words said at evening-fall
May hold a captive heart in thrall.

I long to take you all the way,
Somewhere even words can't say;
Somewhere stars won't disappear,
Whether it be far or near-
And timid Violet's in the shade
Will know that they by love were made.

if a bird just can't sing the Blues
what can you do?
buy him some lessons
with a mezzo-soprano,
or lower his beak
to an alto contralto?
take him to doctors;
buy him a shrink
but don't give him time
to just sit and think?
buy him a *****,
and a liter of Beam-
then tell him that things
are not what they seem;
give him good food
and lots of attention;
then rent him out
to the woodpecker's convention.

(and if all else fail,
he can guard your corn
and play his nostrils
like an old French horn)