#robins
a gleeful trilling
emanated from the tree clumps
robins were singing
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 11:53 PM UTC
The sun light shining through my window but only enough to welcome me to the day. The birds are chirping only waiting for me to rise from my bed, stretch, and meditate for a minute or two. The wafting smell of coffee beans and oatmeal fill my senses as I stroll into the kitchen, but half asleep. The blue sky or maybe grey will greet me as I slide the window open to great the morning air, one with the residue of last nights rain. The morning walkers quickly walk past my window only having a conversation of their own with a friend or a lover. The 5 am shift started and the 6 am is soon to be, the cars cruising past. The children at play before breakfast is served, sidewalk chalk and a box of matchsticks, mom said never to play with. The day looks inviting, may I join?
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 1:30 AM UTC
Today I saw a Robin,
first one this year.
And part way up
the grassy hill, the cedar tree,
my mother’s grave.
Here it is halfway through March.
I hadn’t even looked
To find the first.
Hopping, flying just above the ground.
But, more than that, to hear it sing.
Robins were a thing we shared:
“I saw one.” ,
“But are you sure?”,
“Oh, yes, no mistaking that!”
Conviction in our voices making fact.
This winter’s roguery
Took me down a peg
Created pause, a looking-back in me.
When robins came
My mind was somewhere else.
Instead of running out,
I held back and sought security:
The bird stood still.
I wondered: Could it be?
Is that her way of telling me?
I try to resurrect her voice:
“It must be Spring!”
But gone ‘s that part in me
that rises up with joy,
at birds, and early leaves
It’s gone and buried there with her,
beside the cedar tree.“
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 5:50 PM UTC
...I still imagine there is.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXIX)
Lo, how a robin scolded me in pale
Dawn's eye, as if what 'zactly for intents?
And sang how sweetly as I'd toast for sense
Um, sourdough slices, raisin bread, t'avail--
Until I took the darling then to scale
In hand t'explain (cuz they are jealous, whence
I've had such grief oer Mavis' song) from hence
I'll love all birds, not just him, in betrayl.
Now blue skies so expansive warm in tour
'Cross afternoon's half lazy sense tis new,
Snow like a curse swept far off as it were,
The memry of morn's early minutes too,
My noggin full of all since then in poor
'Scuse, sparrows tease my smiles at lunch, and woo.
16Mar19a
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 11:16 PM UTC
The cold air seeped down with no heart,
What was once a sea of beauty and life,
Now had been turned to a grave of white and death,
The city had almost all but stopped living too.
Morning turned to night and yet all was still bright,
Panicking for necessities like bread and milk,
As if they were a commodity like gold and silk,
There was no lease from this grip of icy might.
The Robins so proud with their coats of glorious red,
Out playing like children on a canal iced bed,
Scattering wild seed around upon the snow covered ground,
Bobbing along like cheeky cherubim gathering with a chirpy sound.
A man stands in the not so far distance,
Stood outside clearing snow as it's finally stopped,
I ask and offer myself to give some assistance,
Is seems the final flakes have now dropped.
A path slowly appears as do others now congregate,
Friends, brothers, sister's all one with a common goal,
Time rolls on but we persist as it gets late,
A United effort from one and all like a heart to a soul.
(C) Grant Dickson 21/03/2018
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 8:09 PM UTC
Dawn
light just seeping
through slatted blinds
robins begin
their morning song
at full-blast volume
I am awake, listening
hoping you made it
through the wilderness
and are sitting on the deck
with your morning coffee
listening to robins too
or loons calling on the lake
watching the sun rise
you said you wanted
to be lying naked
next to the woman
you love
when you're ninety
I hope to be the one
in your arms
perhaps completely deaf
to the robin's cacophony
and a little
worse for wear
but still loving
each other
just the same.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
The red-breasted robin's
My first sign of Spring;
A seasonal surety
We all know.
The second sign
Glows through your hose,
The weather's right
For red, red toes.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
.
A thatched and wicker basket-nest
Cradles a cluster bright and new
And delicate and coolly blue,
With speckled royal freckles blessed.
The cherry blossoms pink the trees.
A snowy fall of tiny white
And quickly flipping petals light
Into an errant summer breeze.
Diffusely, prodigally blows
A heavy opiate-like scent,—
The lilac's prized accomplishment,—
The greenest envy of the rose.
And everywhere I idly walk
I see, in all the lightened notes
And whited tones and frosted coats,
The springtide paints that mix with chalk.
^ ^
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC