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i hear your waltz, dear bird.

the soliloquy,

the melodies that pull at the strings holding what’s left
of my heart evermore.

i listen, to the shuffle of your ruffled feathers,
your light feet
dance to the creak of hardwood.

a sonical prison.
as this intrepid cell guard is
fueled by my schizophrenia,

and van gogh like delusions.

none of grandeur.

so here are my ears, one sliced from reality,
the other searching for its vibrations.

each majestic, and just as much
consequentially miserable, piano strike
marks a new set of steps for you.

and although i no longer feel,
nor see, i still hear exactly how you carry yourself.

and from that i draw insane conclusions.
from there, upon just listening,
i can imagine what your ****** expressions are like,
and from your laugh as you dwindle around this penitentiary
like a loose branch amongst gusts of wind

i can tell you’re free.

free to fly. free to feast.
free to find a new mate.
free to watch the world burn
from a bird's eye view.

just as we used to do.

free at last, most importantly from us,
more specifically from me.

and although i no longer

feel, nor see.

i still hear exactly how happy you are.

and that isn’t the most heart shattering aspect of our ordeal,

or should i say, my ordeal, to live with, alone.

because the part that really allows me to carefully and diligently pluck single strands of hair from my head as if i could somehow string out the memory of you out from my infinite depths,

is the fact that i can hear, clear as day,

another bird’s chirp,
another bird’s laugh,

another set of feet, on this waltz you’re on.

and when i say heart shattering,

i hope you hear it break, as the sounds of it
reverbs across this room’s vast loneliness.

oh, where are my van gohg like delusions now?

i’ll continue my search, since now i fully know that

you’re just gone. with the wind.

fly, my dear. and leave me, here.

to die amongst your waltz.

-melancholicreator
this is a very personal piece for me and it emanates the fabric of this very niche and specific, yet broadly experienced, sorrow within heartbreak and/or moving on.
Pluck these feathers one by one
never mind the setting sun
I now have only just begun
to do what cannot be undone

Condemned to this tiny cage
Perched upon its iron stage
It's no way to come of age
So alas I am enraged

I have prayed now to the lord
to ask if he can afford
for death to be my reward
But again I am ignored
Forever I'll be bored

Pluck these feathers one by one
never mind the setting sun
I now have only just begun
to do what cannot be undone

I will gladly trade these wings
to feel ordinary things
I care not what this may bring
so, don't ask for me to sing

I suppose the time is nye
to my wings I say goodbye
I will never get to fly
and I'll seldom see the sky
but that pain it felt alive
Like a caged bird, I will anxiously pluck out my feathers until my escape is forever out of reach
Zywa Jan 3
On the windowsill,

a bird, does it sing to me?


Is it bringing news?
Poem "Penelope's Stubbornness" (1996, Louise Glück)

Collection "Chance"
Josephine Wild Dec 2023
Mar
The dolphins display
splashing pepper spray.

Marred marine
toxic plastics
flow through
the Gulf Stream
and blood streams
of Fish, Bird, and Man.

None safe in water.

None safe
on land.
Just came up with on a whim while looking at sketches of dolphins that I drew a while back.
Don Moore Dec 2023
Flipping, flickering through the air
   Darting from branch to branch
Caught at times by the slight breeze

Alighting, picking at plants tiny seeds
   But, with one eye always seeking motion
Trees, bushes bound by their deep needs

Bare your weight without a frown
   And as you lift to seek another perch
Those branches hardly ever move

So delicate your grasping wee feet
   Your eyes so bright and shining
I watch silent as you land at my toes

You and I, we know each other well
   Me, I’ve seen you so very many times
Either fathers, mothers, here you dwell

Drop brown bread crumbs for you
   See your toes check, before you peck
So I’m lost gazing, my love for you true

Then away you flit, dart back to tree
   Leaving me behind, somewhat forlorn
However I know it’s better that you’re free
A tribute to all the little birds who I have feed over the years.
George Krokos Oct 2023
The phoenix is a bird said to rise from its own ashes
being a symbol of immortality and spiritual rebirth.
So life in this world undergoes many similar flashes
which determine the degree and quality of our mirth.
_______
From 'The Quatrains' ongoing writings since the early 90's.
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2023
You may be strolling
along a muddy path
yet the birds sing
atop the Eden's tower
deep down you're a wonder!
There’s a new bird in the garden
A call I haven’t heard before.
I dream of beavers, incongruous and out of place.
Dam-building swimmers with no tails.

In a field nearby crows shout their business
I saw the planting there yesterday
A strong woman soring up the earth against the seedlings.

I spend too much on small-***** organic chickens.
Forage mushrooms righteously
Whilst wondering if they’ll make us sick.
I try to get it right
Over and over again
Heidi Franke Apr 2023
Start with self.
The others can wait.

Thoughts are just passing clouds for which to meditate.
Observe the world as the observer, not the taker or receiver.

Judges are for benches. Do not sit alone.
   Stand and walk into the songs of birds.
   Free within your self called home.
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