"cables" poems
Check it I be the mic originator greater than the next hater
So my nines will degrade ya send ya back to ya maker undertaker
Shake ya
With my earthquake flows formin' portals bigger than the black hole leave ya third eye swole
My thoughts travelin' faster than the speed of light say goodnight from the snake bite
A rhyming python wears cables and nylon runnin' bars harder than marathon true champion none could knock a don
Birthed by the sun raised by moon Sonic booms soundwaves from heart rates feelin' doom and soon
To be resting in the womb
The belly of the earth retaining my turf know my worth make words hurts
So suckas better tuck in ya skirts
I'm catching mirth
Along with death til my last breath cookin' up rhymes from the *** of my mind n continue to shine
Its asinine to flex ya mind if you cross the gun line don't be a victim of a graphic design
(Ya tapped out)
Scatzzz all over the kitty katz with my woody bat making them brains cracks
Cells it ain't hard to tell ****** fear me cuz I be the archangel Michael
fallin' deep into the depths of my hell o well
If you try to inhale my lyrical tales this ship is set to sail
On ya brainwaves these days fools rappin' for cheap pay lookin' all gay **** that I rather use the AK
Sittin' by the window seal signing the release will my soul'll still
Be reaching regardless the hardest artist
Usually ends up a carcass manifest the darkest
Rhymes but shine light at the same time crime at an all time
High once I blaze my thoughts cells fought & caught
By the smokin' arrows of a ghostly pharoah
Thats just my ancestors though lettin' me know it's time to show and go blow for blow toe to toe
Hands or the chrome pistol
The ghetto Aristotle makin' bodies mold from the enemies that caught a cold
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
I grip the barbed wire that I use a rein,
For this beast of a world that I cannot yet tame,
I grit my teeth and I hold my breath,
The name of my lover is death.
I kneel in the salt as I am abused,
With cables and whips, yet I am amused,
Blood hits the floor, and I smile at the stain,
The name of my lover is pain.
I spit out the words that I hear in my soul,
Reciting them from this internalized scroll,
I gather my demons and open the gate,
The name of my lover is hate.
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 8:06 PM UTC
I
Stacked green crates by the futon,
records sealed as buried letters,
each sleeve longing
to be drawn out into daylight
by her small, thoughtful hands.
I just want to play that Nick Cave again
teenager’s resolve in her voice,
she drops the needle on "Tupelo",
traces Peter Murphy with her thumb,
holds Kate Bush to the light
like stained glass.
She laughs
at the ****** box on the speaker.
I tell her it’s never going to happen.
She grins, unbothered,
says she only came for the vinyl.
I watch her tilt each sleeve,
never touching the grooves,
brush the dust,
lay the needle like a secret,
slide the disc back without a wrinkle.
Each time I’m surprised
by her precision.
It’s the third time
she’s dropped by.
She makes mixtapes.
Pressing pause,
pressing record,
stitching songs
into a spine of hiss.
Once, to me, or to herself,
she said her father wanted a tape.
She’d mail it when
he had somewhere to send it.
She follows me across the bridge,
talking about her brother,
an ex-best friend,
mimicking her professor,
how he wags his tongue
when he writes on the chalkboard.
I haul a duffel:
apron, uniform, boots heavy with grease.
She skips in the rain,
strumming cables, humming
the last song played, still in the air.
II
I unlock the door,
steeped in garlic and kitchen sweat,
boots leaving grime on the boards.
She isn’t there-
only the crates, stacked neater,
jackets squared, spines aligned,
as if her care was meant for me.
The room settles with her absence,
yet holds me upright
in its small, thoughtful hands.
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 8:11 PM UTC
Muscles are a network of steel cables.
Winding together forming the landscape of the body,
Coiled to spring, convolted and twisting.
Rigid and strained, beneath the skin.
Taut. Tense.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 4:46 AM UTC
Vibrations of steel block engines have been lulling me to sleep lately
Eyelids swaying up and down like the back and forth of seaweed on the ocean floor
I count yellow dashed lines like others count sheep
Feeling my consciousness slip away, I’m drowsy, I’m dreaming
I dream of a golden city
A golden bay along golden grass rooted in golden soil
Golden streets with golden stop lights
Golden cars parked in golden parking buildings
Gold Telephone towers powered by gold electrical cables
I begin noticing something strange about this city, as it shone so brightly with a golden sun setting as the city’s own back drop.
There were no inhabitants.
No pigeons.
No stray cats.
No dogs scavenging for spare scraps on starving stomachs
Business Men in suits are found littering streets all around the globe. These streets lay barren
Little girls playing hopscotch and jump-rope gone as if the city misplaced them all.
My stomach dropping as I drop to my knees
Panic attacks bring back memories of family and friends
The beautiful faces of girls I once loved, and ones I may never be able to
Questioning if reality was the dream
I am alone in a wonderful Jungle
It’s not easy to be alone in a City of Gold
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
Just me
No entertainment
No stimulation
Just me
Then you came by
And installed a cable
Sports, politics, comedy, education
You had a very decent package
500 channels to show me the world
I figured I'd stay home for the rest of my life
And enjoy the romComcast upon me
By the advent of your cables
But there was a destructive storm
Power lines were snapped
And our cable went out
As I stood in the ruins
Of a house that once stood majestic
All I worried about was getting our cable re-installed
So I waited
On your ****** service
My age
Became a Time Warner
And severed strings
Were strewn on the steel scattered around me
Now that I've become a satellite in your life
I could provide you with all the same channels
If you'd just look up
But the cumulus clouds you conjure
Block our reception
As I drift out here in space
I can see everybody on Earth
Except for one man
Who's surrounded by a sea of swirling tsunamis
And a crowd of cut cords
And as I approach the chaos for a better view
I'm incinerated entering his atmosphere
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
I sat down to watch the radio
There was nothing on TV
I have two hundred channels
But there was sweet F.A for me
I could have watched one channel
And learned to fricasse
A chicken raised on wild grains
By a woman chef named Bea
I started checking channels
But I decided in mid flick
That I was getting tired
And I was also feeling sick
So I sat and watched the radio
Since there was nothing on TV
I have two hundred channels
But there was sweet F.A for me
I worked on through the listings
English, French and some bad ****
There were movies on one station
That were made 'fore I was born
Out of all the things I saw on there
The best show I could see
Was something shown in black and white
Made in nineteen sixty three
My TV s high definition
With cables left and right
But to find a show I'd like to watch
Was taking half the night
So I sat and watched the radio
Watching nothing happen fast
But as I sat there watching
I travelled bckwards to my past
Still flicking through the channels
Trying to find something to see
I thought I'd found a hockey game
But it was all in Punjabi
So, I listened to the music
Watched the radio, passing time
Then I thought, why do I have this?
With what I paid, it was a crime
eleven channels showed the same
times 8 networks made
at least eighty eight tv stations
That didn't make the grade
Twenty two were pay for view
The French networks were ten
Then the networks there in Real HD
And so, it started once again
Pay for **** was fourteen strong
New shows added two
Weather, sports and info shows
Now I was at one eighty two.
I could have bought alot of stuff
On informercials through the night
I could have bought Pro Active
But instead I watched the light
I turned back to the radio
With the station light in green
It was better than the tv set
And all the crap I'd seen
So, Tonight I watched the radio
There was nothing on TV
But as I sat there bathed in that green light
The music showed me all I need to see.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 11:03 AM UTC
hickory nuts
and wind trees
are keeping
at the old buckle bay
light house corners and
shaker church craft
slip anchor on the southern tip
secret legions
and phenolic board
tuck in at gout dock
bands and nations
and miracle speak
fill in the center hall
sand hooks
and water domes
cover wharf road
***** bay toppers
and seven horse chugs
scatter the swollen upper deck
packards and pushers
and rusty back rails
skirt the night
lanterns and sterns
and navy gulls
steady on task
sand cakes
and drift wood
held tight on
the mystery tour
yellow tails
and tide pools
flat line
at royal reach
paddles
and cables
find ripples way
smugglers and smitties
take cover
from a
northern gale
down on
pocket shoal
there’s a graceful hue
~ they’re serving up
belons and xan…
it's time to get in
for a fill
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
I exhale.
As I fade from this life, I’ll float into the next and to eternity. I am so deeply enveloped in this world that I dissolve into all the others. My body will decompose, and I will exist again as a new collection of atoms.
I suppose through delusional, philosophical excuse I am connected to this world. And I suppose that stardust constellates and buries themselves in my bones. So I must grow in dimensions greater than height, width, and length.
But the veins of this new world are thin wires of cables and in complex codes and formulas are sent to and received by another motherless machine. Although, I’d rather break these wires and create a spark that can be felt rather than seen.
Let me ignite a craving under the continents and satisfy a spark that cannot be replicated by plastic or manipulated into energy. Let me feel the pressure of the world and the thick atmosphere that caves my posture. Let me once more feel by the fibers of kings and commoners that lace through my veins.
The world is deteriorating and has been left so deprived of life’s ecstasy that it is now hollow and I can only hear my own echoes.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
This majestic mountain invites us up to play
Above the clouds and valley haze
We own it for a day
Rising in the gondola, cables taking strain
Bronzed faces still and quiet
Studying terrain
Alpine chough and ptarmigan are seen from time to time
But alpine buzz is really
What we have in mind
A pack of snowboards hurtles by doing what they dare
A whiff of marijuana
Lingers in the air
Some are here for night-life, drunk in bed by three
Not in search of apres
During's good for me
The weather's right, tons of snow
Come on, come on, we've got to go!
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 11:25 AM UTC
The city skyline
so far removed from home
chimney pots and aerials replaced by
redbrick buildings amidst fume stained concrete towers
rooftops infested with rusting air condensers
clematis and virginia creeper replaced by
conduit and cables, the ivy of the city clings to every facade
country life contrast
urban decay cannot last
function over form
May 20, 2010
May 20, 2010 at 7:04 PM UTC
The Intersection
of Interruption and Intermission.
Act 2 has been delayed.
We will come right back
After a word from our sponsors.
Remember when
Remember when meant
More than just a week ago?
When the hill was only
30 years high,
And still,
nothing held the urgency
that seems to permeate
our every desperate action.
I swear we had time, then,
It seems,
So much more than
Aging naturally eats away.
But the multitudes
have multiplied,
as they are want to,
And as the telegraph cables
Come down for corridors of Light,
The speed of time Grows,
Relatively accordingly.
And so, the second part
Of this two part play
Starts 10 years later,
while we dash madder than ever,
racing each other,
to first summit the Crisis Peak.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
Instead of foraging around making connections
with cables and wireless systems that
bluetooth and sync their way
into our pocket technologies
and portable screens
(tablets of which we self-prescribe
and regulate through overdose
and comatose keenings of stillness
and waking dreams)
why, instead
don’t we fool around
making connections
with others of like mind and brainwaves
instead of radiowaves and
the mastered minds of computer waves
and lift an arm and
really wave
beyond our windows to
real people
in real time
rather than peeping
like a holographic Tom through
tabs and browsing windows,
multi-tasking time in a state of mime
like it’s about to expire
(like the wireless wires will break)
and all that we’ll have is
all we can physically take
from this moment awake we call ‘life’
– a mistake.
What else is left now
in this vegetative
one man one woman state
where we live to close our eyes
and shut our minds and wait for
the modem-router to re-dial and
get our avatar back online and
our friends back into our
multi-dimensional realer-than-time
time?
Pseudonyms solving identity changes
emerge without birth
with designer non-faces, as
now that we no longer need imperfection
or meaning or privacy
or even perception
we alter ourselves to impress our connections
with whom we connect without really connecting
by hiding as one almost nearing detection
and tip-toeing straight past
concern or reflection
(invisible firewalls at our protection)
our own walls around us
with keys we can capslock,
screening ourselves from unfriended friends,
and playfully sated by charm and ‘pretends’
that will mean next to nothing
when fantasy ends.
Where ARE the connections we make
in this digital age
that we rarely turn off since
the internet craze has become a new God
that we dial to be saved
as we sacrifice friends we once made
face to face
with those we are longing to meet
as we race across networks
with hunger and haste and
with spambots and data and viruses made
to detect and infect
and reject, just for starters,
and that’s not to mention
the ads and the logins and
passwords that lock us
from somewhere far yonder
that doesn’t exist
as we grow ever fonder
of pics and of pixels and
texts of expression
– the reality of which
we could lose in a second.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
I knew we were in trouble
when they taught the machines to talk
parliament of artificial owls
nocturnal park line pirates
watch and learn
these conspirators
abduct the listening chair
and strap deniability to
another infernal device
so some hotwired pilgriming woman
possesses superior ****** abilities
and a skill with
the violin, the pointy end
camera is king
yet all the negatives
have been destroyed
still somewhere out there
remains a flash card
and a hybrid set of eyes
watching all the people fall to pieces
we're perambulations around
collapsed buildings,
rather than the collapsing buildings themselves
me and the machine
of contradictions
sick as our secrets
with all kinds of shenanigans going on
welcome to the age of copying minds
onto hard drives and cellphones
a future too heavy to carry
and so we plant it deep into the soil
letting the cables sleep
like fading city lights, receding
like strange fractured reactors
at the edge of the world
in lieu of flowers send hope
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 6:37 PM UTC
The attendees are told, in a manner befitting a high mass
You have been finally set free,
(Although, in truth, free is a very large and entirely vague word),
And the message is sent forth from all comers in all corners:
Vendor and visionary alike,
German socialists who left university to ride boats for Greenpeace,
First lieutenants doing their level best
To appear at ease in civilian polos and khakis,
But no matter the vessel,
The message is still the same.
The tyranny of cables and storage space is dead,
It is all but shouted from the lecterns,
(Although it is noted, in small print and sotto voce
That there are certain requirements
In terms of hardware and licensing)
And it is stated by Those Who Know
In tones which neither brook nor invite contradiction,
That they have surmounted, all Hadrian-like,
The alpine divide separating mere data and magic.
Two or three blocks down the street from the convention center,
In a narrow storefront housing an exhibition of ether-only comics
Which have broken the nettling constraints
Of editors and syndication,
There sits, under a somewhat opaque
And slightly scratched piece of plexiglass,
A yellowing comic strip of uncertain vintage,
In which a frowzy cat,
Free of the constraints of panels, gender, and standard grammar,
Is the recipient of a mouse-tossed brick
Whose flight, unfettered by physics, probablility, indeed time itself
Ends striking its mark right between the x’s of the eyes
The projectile itself an inexplicable alchemy
Of confusion, mirth, frustration
And the impossibility of an undeniably pure love.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 9:29 AM UTC
The battle rent a cobweb diamond-strung
And cut a flower beside a ground bird’s nest
Before it stained a single human breast.
The stricken flower bent double and so hung.
And still the bird revisited her young.
A butterfly its fall had dispossessed
A moment sought in air his flower of rest,
Then lightly stooped to it and fluttering clung.
On the bare upland pasture there had spread
O’ernight ‘twixt mullein stalks a wheel of thread
And straining cables wet with silver dew.
A sudden passing bullet shook it dry.
The indwelling spider ran to greet the fly,
But finding nothing, sullenly withdrew.
2.4k
I
Put my
Coin into the
Slot
And watch the
Plastic horses
Galloping away.
Now my ears sing
And I lead straight lines to circles,
Into symbols for the eye inside the glass ball,
Its blinking is its calling.
I carry it,
Cables dripping from my sleeves
Stumbling out of
And from
The oceans favour,
Back to my own arms.
Feeding back the seagulls to the breeze.
The thunder feeds my compass
To a sun lost in a forest.
Thrown into boxes with carpeted walls;
I find myself playing
Heavy metal.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
Clings of metal, pots and kettles.
Trumpets of laughter, drumming of tables,
planting of cables.
Sounds of games, clashing of swords, narrator's voice saying "game on!"
Quiet dim lights. Sounds in sound played in rooms, as people bring dishes out at noon.
Walls of cold separated speakers, waves of warmth shook the walls.
Crying in Midnight's, cats at 3, pens clicking at half past two.
Computers locked open.
Music of this neighborhood rang in my ears, as I stand by the door, paper wrapped in hand. Looking to the lights of another home...
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 7:25 AM UTC
Like forgotten cables
on the floor,
we intertwine ourselves
and can't seem to be undone.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC
The buzz in the air, you feel that, feel that?
The tuxedoed men gonna deal that, deal that.
And now that you're here, the show can begin
Turn the lights down low, and the get the disc to spin.
The ice starts meltin' and the floor gets hot,
This parties gonna start whether you're ready or not.
The seat over there, Sit in it, sit in it,
Take a step back and watch while I'm spittin' it.
There is no need to untrust us,
Stand over there and watch while I bust this.
There's no way to get into it,
Close your eyes feel the beat and get intimate
Rotate your thighs and breathe in the sin of it
Rotate your mind, get high, keep on spinning it.
Stop...and watch while it gets into me
The musical blocks unlock and make a synergy.
Said ready, steady, everybody get low,
And the clubs get sweaty and we're ready to go.
The air's getting heavy and hot and you know
There's blood lust worse than Jaws and Cujo.
Light the place up, it's covered in kerosene,
The white's all over your face, oh, how embarrassing.
The lines all over the floor, there so pretty,
Take one sniff and you think you're so witty.
I'm a bomb, I'm blowing up the club now,
Can't escape the beat 'cause you don't know how,
Gonna move your feet that's all you know how,
Gonna feel the glow, the blow is so wow.
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
Yayo brings me up so I stand up and then
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
The powder knocks me down so I stay down and then
There is no need to untrust us,
Chopping the blocks, but there is no justice.
Just lustless symmetry
Closed my eyes 'cause the haze, it has enveloped me.
Shut my eyes and clogged all of my arteries,
I love the blow so much it is a part of me.
You said this had turned into my enemy,
But musical clocks tick-tock the beat right into me.
And that's not where I get all of my energy,
Jumper cables hooked up to A and D.
And don't forget the CCs in DC,
I got twenty more CCs left to inject me.
High flying humans
Set straight to zoomin',
It's spicier now then curry or cumin,
So full of life and we're only just bloomin'.
Believe in the hype if only for a little bit,
All that we need is white a just a little wit.
The worlds right here if you can unriddle it,
Play the last song and one more if it'll fit
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
Yayo brings me up so I stand up and then
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
The powder knocks me down so I stay down and then
La cocaína is no good for you
But the pony's still buckin', imma ride it through
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 8:27 PM UTC
Monday's vision's fair of face
in the evenings the plasma rays shine
bright until seen through a window at a distance
******* energy from cables to my mind
blinding into happily blinkered existence
Tuesday's vision's full of grace
guilt makes me pull the covertous shutters down
being the observer is peep peeping embarrassing
being observed pays to add overtising shows on
it's so good not stirring when it's too disturbing
Wednesday's vision's full of woe
I am wilfully weak and slack on the couch
enjoying not having to speak or think
about being set up to get upset by nothing much
the sights flow seamless except when I blink
Thursday's vision has far to go
I would be there now but for one glitch
one flaw in the network's mesmeric sell
shared channels free as birds but rich
beyond the dragnet of any script's sequel
Friday's vision's loving and giving
in the smallest way it's electric beyond measure
distractions demanding attention with a hush
willing the constant whirling on with fresh images
look-look euphoric hooks to reel me in with a rush
Saturday's vision works hard for a living
and I'm wrapped in the dream of existing
by a simple drama of a varnished toenail
extending to a click the vanish going
going the way of Ting Ting Cao
your magnetic stimulation of the transcranial
kicks in and in my scrambled vision I saw
me touch your assimilation on redial
absorbing Sunday entire and raw
footage on display a draw so real
the pay channels dropped their jaw
surreal
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
Honor. Valor. Dignity. Love.
Honor. Valor. Dignity. Love.
Three things amaze me
Four I do not understand
An eagle in the sky
A snake on a rock
A ship on the high seas
And the way of a man with a young woman
Honor. Valor. Dignity. Love.
I will always take the fall, I say
And I won't push back when you push me away
I will take the flack of a full frontal attack
And I will turn the other cheek when you slap me across the face
But I will not be known as meek!
For to be meek is to be mild
And to be mild is to be tasteless, flavorless, and vile
Devoid of passion
Crawling with passivity
Embodying all that is apathy but trying to pass it off as some kind of charity
If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you for even sinners do that well,
Try loving the ones you'd rather see burning in hell
BUT IT CANNOT BE DONE
If you agree say aye,
I, think you're just too afraid to try
Well blessed are the meek,
for the will inherit the earth
Blessed are the peacemakers
for they will be called children of God
Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me
But I'll be tossin' temple tables and chasin' people out with whips and cables
If they say my God is not able
For a city built on a hill cannot be hidden
And a man under God cannot be smitten
So I claim the love and grace in which I have been placed
And I claim the calling into which I am falling
And when the enemy comes a calling
I raise my sword in the air and boldly declare
DEVIL THIS HEART HAS NO ROOM FOR YOU TO SPARE
FOR MY GOD IS SO GREAT IT'S NOT EVEN FAIR
SO PACK UP YOUR TRICKS AND TEMPTATIONS AND TOYS
FOR GOD HAS MADE A MAN OUT OF THIS FRAIL LITTLE BOY
He said YOU are the salt of the earth but if the salt loses its saltiness it is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled under foot
So I take hold of love and grace
And I proclaim the name of the one holding me firmly in place
I lay waste to the lies replaced by fear in mine enemies eyes
And lift my hands up high
Honor. Valor. Dignity. Love.
Surely I am only a brute, not a man
I do not have human understanding
I have not learned wisdom
Nor have I attained to the knowledge of the Holy One
But I know I have found the truth.
And I will not let go.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
Floodlights.
They’re ghosts right?
From our memories,
Have been seized, we
From the perfect dream?
Drip drop drip drop
Turning tricks, dropped the jack
***** when you coming back?
It’s off it’s off
Seldom silence serves as sight’s severance.
**** chop **** chop OW!
******* pistol clock
Whip glock whipping ****
How many names can you think of for a knockoff
Of soda pop?
I’m sorry sir you’ve got the wrong Ryan,
I haven’t starred in any movies that cryin’
Old seniles, and sensitive females, so honestly claim
Was the way life should have been for them.
Oh in that case I’ll show you the brain,
Then kick you in the *** for being so gay.
Hold on there, wrong Ryan.
I ain’t waiting tables, or banefully fryin’
Up **** that I spit in for women with tips worth less
Than my two cents.
Oh I apologize, celebrity lookalike.
Must be the weather or the windshield is cracked
Or the antennae are bent or the cables are jacked
But I can’t seem to figure out just who you are
When I’m watching the TV pimped into my car,
Let’s try a few shall we
Not a cook…Not a lover boi…Silence of the…Birds, if you’re a bird I’m a…Bat…Batman! Batman and Robin! Red Robin! No not a waiter…
Red hearse, Fred Durst, Paris Hilton, Ryan Milton
Wrong Ryan, Wrong Ryan!
Oh my god, silly me
I seem to have gone on a tangent you see.
Tandem bicycles, all of them for free.
If you would only come visit. Agreed?
Of course I know that you’re THE Ryan B.
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 9:04 PM UTC
Eyes chanced upon a brown object
Nestled on a crowd of multi-colored subjects
A bunch of dried and fresh leaves,
Small, thin and soft spikes of twigs
And I wondered.....how on earth
Did fibers and strips of polyester sack
Get included in this mix?
One would think it might fall, and be slung
But it stayed put, steady, where it hang
I was trying to figure it out:
A cylnder, at first thought...but I had my doubts
I realized, it was a crooked oblong
And, from its opening on one side, came the soft songs
A small part of which, was attached
To the thorny Bougainvillea branch.
Strange.....for it was small...yet steep
A human hand could never go deep
You wouldn't think it could contain anything
And yet...inside it, were resting
Three tiny eggs...warming
And eventually, would be hatching.
Soon, the Red Palm and Sweetsop trees
Buzzed with activities
Birds of many kinds, watched, upon the bay window eave,
High on the electric cables...they perched and wouldn't leave
To and fro.......high and low, they flew
The air was filled with bird sounds i never knew
Soon, too, soft tweeting was heard
Along with the louder chirping of the older birds
Then came that morning, when, a birdling,
Eagerly, tested its wings,
Then fell off its nest
Down to the roots of the Red Palm tree
Where it almost met its final rest...
Suddenly, came to the rescue, two big palms
That put the birdling back inside its home
And reinforced the nearly displaced nest...
Both birdling and nest, were put to a test....
Today, other birds fly around this once busy space
Where life's significant phases
Inevitably took place,
Lonely and deserted now,
For the birdlings are fully grown
They're now flying on their own...
From my rocking chair, I could see
Among those entangled twigs
Hidden among a crowd of sprigs
Still ably rests
An abandoned strange nest
That once told the story
Of an Olive-backed sunbird....and its glory...
Sally
Copyright February 18, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
^^^^^^^^^^
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 1:14 PM UTC