#songbirds
A dark clay raven hung at a windowpane
to ward off bright songbirds from glass.
It never spoke a word, nor did it feign
to know of a departed late lass.
I asked it my questions, expecting more
conversation than it had on offer,
but plainly it found me a tedious bore
for it stayed quiet. Not much of a talker.
The brief encounter left me po-faced
as I’d been led to expect more from him.
So I turned away, belying a trace
of disappointment weighing within.
Then I heard the wind, and nothing much else
except the song of birds who’d survived
thanks to the clay raven who hung by a belt
in front of a window to keep it disguised.
Oct 19, 2024
Oct 19, 2024 at 7:12 AM UTC
If we were never here
left no mark
And disappeared
How could they ever say
That we were wrong?
But are we songbirds
Whose tune will echo on
Heavy with the hope
That all we are
And all we were
Is never done?
Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 8:51 PM UTC
My body is a rugged mountain pass
whose dangerous peaks and valleys
call out to the hubris of would be adventurers
with its hungry siren song.
Lovers have come the world over
with their maps, pickaxes, fire starters and rope.
Some brought tents intending to go the distance;
several with flags to stake their claim at the summit;
a few with pocket knives for carving their names.
All leaving trash on the trails as they went.
“Did I make you ***
they would ask believing in their foolish arrogance
that their movement and noise were really capable
of causing my avalanche.
Covered in the sweat of my labors in Sherpa-ing them to the peak
I whisper “Yes.”
Understanding in those moments that some things cannot be taught.
Only one ever came truly naked -without intention or ego.
The many times he found himself cresting my summit
it never occurred to him to pierce me with his pride
but instead he kissed the earth beneath him in gratitude.
He always moved through me as if he had gone this way his whole life
and yet still could get lost on the trails of a single limb.
He made himself an eager student of my skin
and produced waterfalls where before there had been none.
Singing songs into me as he studied my topography with adept fingers.
The echoes of which ring through me even now.
Never was he concerned with the ridges
for he being too preoccupied with the beauty of my slopes
thought of them only as trail markers.
The songbirds in the trees of me call always for him.
The animals of my wilds stay hungry as never before.
A small fire burns constantly for his return.
Unclothed.
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 5:35 PM UTC
The rain bird whistles in my ear
The boustrophedon melody fallowed loud and clear
Breach my windows and ruin my sleep
A ****** delight my eyes do weep
Cradle my head in wretched screams
Erase and memorize fallen dreams
Trapped in dusk my eye does wake
Migraines conjured will soon dissipate
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
When one thousand years has passed us by,
I hope mother earth is still beautiful
And there's fruit trees and grass so green,
And fresh air to breathe that's clean
There's animals alive of every variety,
fireflies, ladybugs, and honeybees
I hope there's an amazing blue sky,
with songbirds together flying so high
And I hope most of all flowers still grow,
and there's a winter with falling snow
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 1:14 AM UTC
As with all things
That object you hold
The song that you sing
Are connected in a web of meaning.
The 300 year-old tree was alive
When the doe lost her fawn to the hunter
When your ancestors spoke their native tongue
When the songbirds were blissfully unaware of their mortal song.
Unheard it was then, and now it is a legend.
And just as the sun rose
For one last songbird song
So will it set on you
For we know of our mortality all along.
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 12:39 AM UTC
The hope of
an early spring
was disappointed by
the quiet snowfall
last night.
I stand this morning
surrounded by
the peeping and chirping
of happy and hopeful
songbirds.
I hear the breath
of the earth, and I know
you're telling me
everything will be
just fine.
I will not quit.
I will not give up hope
for I know
even in
these cloudy skies,
even in
these lasting nights,
even in
this brumal moment,
you are here
so I will not give up.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC
Neither Nightingale or Crow
Neither Whippoorwill or Sparrow
Perched on phone lines, never trees
Still those birds have the right to sing.
Target of bad boys’ B B Guns
Splashed with water canons
They fly til they can fly no more
And tremble in the shadows.
Their feathers have a bit of shine
When sunbeams fall just right
But all too often that just makes
Them that much easier to find
And targets them for hatred rocks
Thrown by those who only
Recognize a Woodpecker
And a Robin Red Breast.
Too bad their music goes unheard
Most often it is beautiful
If they could sing with the other birds
The music would become symphonic.
ljm
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 8:15 AM UTC
Do you ever wonder
if Robert De Niro's
still
waiting?
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
S h e is playful vibrance
Struck by lightning
On a church steeple
In the eye of a storm
S h e laughs and cries and laughs again
H o l d i n g the crystal ball
But not looking in
The Sadhu dreams
Fire is a dandelion root
Being woken by songbirds in springtime
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 5:26 PM UTC
.
*Honeybees, birds and blooms unfurl
an enchanting spell
when spring comes by here
Memories waft 'neath burled rustic trellis
where flowered tendrils grasp fleshly
like the newness a love once tenderly embraced
Songbirds in your garden sing
of swooning memories rapture.., of velvet eyes,
the fragrant spicy nectar hidden within her walls
A song of honeyed bees' sweetest stinger,
and the poignant ***** of intoxicating surrender
lingers, bemused spellbound by a thorny heirloom rose
Sharp beauty beloved like a blameless trap
caught blissfully, breathlessly inbetween
all you wish for and all your wanton needs
Desire 's wellspring an unspoken passion
coquet swollen buds adorn blossoming,
sensual, untamed carnal grace
A picture perfect natural beauty;
sunlit chassé … feathered brush, demure blush
dancing with basket of lace petal’d perfume
For to colour a heart's blank pages
rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy ..,
enrapture with rainbow's luscious taste
What seems lost is but a tender vestige unfound
a passing moments innocence lost
to steal away like rumors of gold
These silent reveries seep from a hole in my heart,
as if ripe strawberries of yore, gently weeping sweetness
when pricked by a thorny rose
The ides of spring do still bleed a timeless ache
onto the page ... sweet naivety stung
by a mesmerizing dart to the heart
Songbirds in your garden do sing
of sweetest things immersed in nature's nectar
blissful memories sleeping in the petals of a rose*
Sung to the wind by a song sparrow — ♪ ♫...✩ ☼✩ ✩☺✩
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
Give me a
Thump, thump-thump
As the day goes by
And I'll know we'll be alright.
Take me somewhere
Slow to breathe
The poppy seed
And I know we'll manage well.
Carry me,
Wind, carry me
On gusts of nectar green
I know we'll live together
When the trees
When the trees
Whisper to our flying locks
I know we'll fall in love
As songbirds.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 7:37 PM UTC