Having not done the things I wanted to do
and the things I've done not being what I wanted to do
I sit here looking at lichen on the north side of trees.
cheerful and truthful expression
grouped in platoons, sharing the point.
The tribes travel together
first finches, then chickadees
following the squirrels every morning.
What luxury, abundance! Handful after handful
of grass seed thrown, into wind.
The corn ripe and the rye with it.
The other main families: pines, roses, peas,
lilies, daisies, heath, birch and oak.
Maple, honeysuckle, pink, mustard, cypress, mint, olive,
buckwheat, primrose, willow, buttercup, saxifrage,
Truth may be ascertained by considering
the truth we feel, the truth we're told,
the truth we reason, and the truth we've seen.
It is so good to be a chickadee.
To tell the truth cheerfully and joyfully.
In a way that makes others want to live.
It's time to cut the bullshit
And take the FINAL PRODUCT
DOWN TOWN !
we live in the alleyway under the el - tracks
In the darkest city
Where no humans dwell
( just us robotic imitations
In human form )
we fuck like Ken & Barbie
& pretend that Someday
We'll pretend to play House
And that we are real
And that we know love
We worship Idols
we abuse the Sacred
We abuse each other
We write poems about it !
( which I find very strange )
It's time to cut the bullshit
REALITY AINT BAD !
it's that time girl
to take the FINAL PRODUCT
DOWN TOWN !
You wrote down
Every time you saw a chickadee
When I saw you
You would tell me about them
Never did I see you as happy as when
You talked about those chickadees
Your deep brown eyes grew wide and bright
I swear I could see the whole world in them
Your gestures big enough to swallow
And the next
And your head on my stomach
Staring up at the sky
Right where we were supposed to be
Now your eyes are glassy and cold
Your gestures non-existent
Your head lies on a pillow
Which lies on wood
Which lies in the ground
A part of the earth that I used to see in you
Now I don’t see chickadees
Only mourning doves
So came the days,
long of summer's winging
sweet the cherry chickadees sang
Grasping leafy ribbons hung,
willowy warm the trees we swung
All the green - the frog soliloquy pond
Fritillaria, frilly forest fronds
grassy mountain meadow paths,
daisy clouds bloomed, swirling past
Wild geese flocked the lake,
dusk too soon alas
August night of seasons end
starry meteors flashed across
velvet black whistling to
a blue moon
This skin is alive,
but I wish it were rotting
beneath the soil,
roots forming between
my rib cage,
rain draining the blood
from my veins,
birds stealing hair for
their chickadees pillows,
insects burrowing behind
This life has no meaning so I give my life to those who could use it.
The chickadee flies around a little girls head.
Her hair hangs down her back like a rope.
A blade of grass tied around her braid.
The chickadees cheers for her to sing a story.
She won't turn around to acknowledge
the little token of friendship behind her.
The chickadee combs his claws in her hair.
The ribbon spins down and the party begins.
She stares at the setting sun to make it rise.
Her tank top helps her pretend she's strong.
Summer needs to enter the stage of snow.
Her soul is a bottle where she stores dreams.
All the clouds travel to earth in the winter.
The weight of the world is only winter.
The chickadee is the joy of winter.
Waiting listening watching -
senses strain against
Dark gives way to gray
enough to see
The woods stir slowly.
Chickadees speak, still sleepy.
Leaves rustle in the distance
alerting vigilant ears and eyes; inciting hope.
Scanning the ridge and shooting lanes, my eyes - then ears -
lock on rummaging squirrels.
Cold hands slip back into pockets;
it tries to snow.
Ravens complain back and forth.
then the rise of wind
through the trees.
Around eleven I walk to Dad’s stand.
Quiet talk and hot soup -
The afternoon is spent, back against a Maple, with cautious thoughts comfortable enough to creep forward and linger in the peace of the woods.
Honeysuckle carrier churning the spring-
Easterly shear delight beyond Dresden blue visage
Windy dream mermaid sea , Brown Pelican motion
Harper Chickadees stirring Pineapple sage-
banks of thought
Tempered , smitten , physical piedmont devotion
Pisciform schooners roaming wits damask ocean
The race of the Spring is giving way
To the pace of the Summer,
More and more
Bees hover among the flowers, and
Young Chickadees are bigger now
Ripening like fruit on the vine,
Passing the test of hours
And in the lawn grass the Adder lies--
Still, stillness it must keep,
Wrapp'd by a hundred butterflies
Reds, oranges, blues, saffron, whites
All inextricably unique
Save when they rise,
Rising as they do like smoke when the serpent bites
The fang'd body uncoiled, vicious, sheer--
Nothing left in which to hide
Nothing more to make disguise
The Adder is bare before our eyes
The Adder is yielded to scrutinize!
See it before it flies! Spare yourself the surprise!