You can't but help out a broken bird
With broken wings.
It's your poison and addiction.
You just want to see everyone fly.
But what will you do?
When there are no more birds
With broken wings?
What will you do?
When they have all flown away
And there's no one to help you
With your own broken wings?

Earlier in the morning
I’d read the movements of a stalwart blackbird
flicking dead leaves on my concrete driveway,
gleaning for grubs

Later, as I unloaded the weekly food shop,
substitute, as it was, for fun,
I heard an imperious cry,

scrolling up, the fork-tailed red kites circled
in a sunshine that denied pathetic fallacy

and the screech they made meant nothing

I feel like a bird in the wide, blue sky.
An eagle soaring in the wind,
a koel singing melody,
a crow tired by insults,
a dancing peacock insecure,
a penguin broke,
a parrot pretending,
a chicken distressed,
a vulture scavenging,
a mynah invading,
an owl leading,
an ostrich jealous
and an airplane disarming.

The parrot has 3 billion neurons in its brain
We have 86 billion
And most of mine are busy
forming unhelpful pathways
Misleading my good intentions.
Still, 3 billion neurons
seems like enough room for a few
unruly pathways


The parrot can repeat phrases
Which we thought to be
pretty cool
So we trapped him
and put him in a cage
And in our living rooms
Alone


The parrot knows how to survive happily
Within his world
Within his world, with 30 others of his kind
And a partner for life.
In his world
he would fly with his flock
To trees to pick fresh fruit
Now he perches on his own
And picks dry fruit out of a bowl.
In his world
he would prune his partners feathers
He would look after her
And she him
Now he perches on his own
And prunes his feathers
until there are none left.


Its an unhelpful neuro pathway, you see?
Some form of OCD?
Maybe its a way to cope?
Maybe its the brain spiralling
Trying to figure out what to do
Because it can't be a parrot anymore
It has to learn to be a toy
A talking point
And the parrot doesn't know how to be that
He only knows how to be a parrot

du bist auf einem himmelhohen Weg,
und ich kann nicht folgen.
Die Vögel singen,
und du bist auf dem Heimweg.
ich sehe die Vögel,
die deine Seele empfehlen.
ich vermisse dich,
aber du schläfst im Frieden.

birds are free to fly and soar the skies
while we're hostage of gravity and the ground,
tied by human limbs and tasks, money and bonds,
our friends who deceive us and
families we do not trust.
no feathers to rely on, no bird or angel
can help us leave the floor,
we'll only go down with the passage of time.
there's no hope or sky for the living self,
as there is no ground for
the birds we chase from it.
each to their realm.
pitying each other envying each other
for the ability we do not have.
no escape or faith or help from our enemies,
nothing to change our flesh and life.
our blood carries something but it isn't pretty,
it isn't beautiful, no time to run,
there are no wings on your back and
no feathers on my arms.
this is no way to live. live. live. leave.
this, fear my flight, I would fall to fly,
feel the gravity at its most and decay,
like the angel;
we will all become light.

ZzzzZzzzZzzzZzzzZzzz
It was the key of E
ZzzzZzzzZzzzZzzzZzzz
punctuated by the coloratura
of exuberant birds
greeting the morning sunlight
as the bees rushed from flower to flower
zealous to drink in the nectar of a new day

A leaf blower pierces this subtle but mighty symphony
Why can't we just allow the wind to blow the leaves?
Still the bees ZzzzZzzZzzz
Still the birds rival the greatest sopranos
And I pause
What am I adding to this grand opus?
Am I in harmony?
Am I the din?

ZzzzZzzzZzzZzzzZzzz
And we keep buzzing, humming, singing
As this little planet turns, ecstatically
In a symphony of galaxies and stars
Basking in the dayspring sun