"birdwatching" poems
They do not worry.
About food.
They do not worry.
About clothes.
They aren't afraid.
Of being abandoned.
They know.
God will take care of them.
They know.
Their Creator will feed them.
They know.
The One who cares for them
will never forsake them.
They know.
His eye is ever upon them.
Oh, may I learn how to live.
From watching the birds.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 9:53 PM UTC
I am lonely for you
Which is strange to me,
I do not love you
I don't want your mouth on mine
I don't want your hand on my back
I do not wish we could be together
I do not wonder about the future
(or try to draw you into it with a charcoal pencil)
But I am lonely for you
I want you, want you, truly, as my friend
But not very close,
I like to keep my distance until I decide
to give permission
Maybe I will ask you
What you think of kelp
And myths
And a thousand other things
And still I will not know
You see!
I am not lonely for you for a while
And then I think
That I like your jokes
And I wish you could tell me one now
I could use a laugh
May 8, 2011
May 8, 2011 at 8:59 AM UTC
I am a beginning and I am an end
I am a stream of consciousness and
I am my own lack of surprise
Manifested into a walking horrorshow wondering
where it went wrong.
Watching the birdwatchers checking for watches
They know no time with enough patience to share
Little smiles of knowing more than you
The ones who found what they were looking for
in the trees and canopies and little handbooks and scientific names
Flightless birds waiting to be classified
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC
Tiny shadows litter the sky
filling the horizons
circling around each other
fighting for a better view of the setting sun
as i stare outside my window,
gazing at the birds overhead,
dreams plague my mind
of what it would be like
to fly towards the sun
with no limitations,
just me
and the wind in my wings
chasing the light
that illuminates my soul
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 8:26 PM UTC
i’m sitting scrolling through Instagram taking a 5 minute brain break from my grad class work
about urban education policy which breaks my heart
because education policy and initiatives in urban school districts don’t take into account
poverty
unsafe living conditions
mom working 3 jobs just to put food on the table and keep the lights on
violence
drugs
all of which are exacerbated by the pandemic we’re in right now
all i need is 5 minutes to escape from that
but as i scroll
all i can see is
******
death
sadness
rage
another unarmed back man was murdered by white cops
another cry of “i can’t breathe”
another child died of starvation
another plane crashed
another trans woman of color was murdered
another kid committed suicide
another animal was shot so someone could have bacon for breakfast
another black man was harassed by a white woman while birdwatching in the park
another woman was beaten by her husband while quarantined together
all i need is 5 minutes
to escape the
******
death
sadness
rage
that’s everywhere
i’m just tired
everything i’ve seen today has broken my heart
everything i saw yesterday broke my heart
and the day before that
and the day before that
and the day before that
how can i help make change if i’m so **** tired all the time?
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 4:16 PM UTC
how many last words are there?
I don’t mean to suggest
my weapon
is heavy.
before every meal
a voice tells me
in its best
voice
impression
that some bombs
don’t
go off. this means eat.
bait is a bird from a brother’s birdwatching dream.
it is sad like seeing a fetus
in the dark
is sad.
have we failed to water god?
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
little birds
all yellow mouths
and hunger
chirp with needful bellies
keeping the olds
in frantic motion
to silence the calamitous cries
you are the show of the day
for the half grown, well fed instinct
that sits on the other side of the window ledge
eyes wide, ears forward, poised to leap
he watches trembling, with adrenaline
filled need to hunt, years of
domestication be ******
he is tiger, you are prey
at least till the door to the
refrigerator opens.....
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 2:08 AM UTC
Ruffle of feathers,
I hear a 'coo' above.
The voice of the sky.
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 10:12 PM UTC