Wintry bellies full of remorse give birth to forgiveness in Springs
unnurtured fledgelings hop around unable to use their wings

Coming Over Here!




  The swifts have once again returned

  The pigeons have not even spurned

  The influx of these migrant flocks...

  Who've circumnavigated docks


  And flown sky high as they've defected

  Passport free and undetected

  Africa they've left behind

  Knowing that they'd surely find

  Nests and food in great abundance

  Austere months now in redundance

  Times of plenty now abound

  But have you ever really found

  In human terms, for that is how

  We think, but can you tell me now

  That in this land of wealth and plenty

  That such newcomers seeking gentry

  Are welcomed with the song we sing

  Do we make room, take under wing

  Our fellow beings on this earth

  Who live out lives to death from birth

  Who only want the safest haven

  That's surely what we all are craving

  A place to raise our young in peace

  As war and death and blight decease

  If doors were always shut in faces

  Nests destroyed in secret places

  Remember that it's only fair

  As watching fledgelings take to air

  That where there's life is where there's hope

  And for one moment could you cope

  If you were always on the run

  From those who shift you on and shun

  Those who come from other places

  They do it with their airs and graces

  Assured of their superior stance

  Rejecting as they caste askance

  Their eyes of judgment over those

  With different voices, skins and clothes

  And never once remembering

  It's one same song we all do sing

  An octave quavering as they do

  A chord that resonates with few

  Is only why we always fool

  Ourselves, and then divide and rule.

  Well carry on if so you must

  But we'll all end up the self same dust.

Matt Revans ©Copyright

Twas essential to see her in wintertide -
misery in order to appreciate the abundant daffodils -
of spring , the cardinal ever watchful over -
her fledgelings , the gaiety , pomp and circumstance -
of damsel flies , the mockingbird flautist and -
the peckerwood drumming
The morning laughter of Bear creek
The multicolored blades of March that -
stair step the Mill Falls
Morning dove woo their lovers , whitetails -
in repose , in the backdrop of misty , hardwood -
cover
Her poetic omnipotence in touch with my -
innermost being
Ever watchful as the cardinal
Breath exposed
Pious
Forever thankful

A MAN AND A HAWK
Bird of prey, what can we say
except that you have no heart?
You **** creatures which are frail
just to satiate your own crop.

Yesterday, l saw you ****
linnets just near that green hill.
You ate them and left their blood
on your curved beak as a mark.

How can you feel happy when
you **** fledgelings for your chicks?
They are too small to escape
or to shun your vicious grip.

"You speak, man," says that big bird.
"You **** herds and eat their blood.
You **** for food and for fun,
and at times, your fellow men.
I **** just to stay alive
and feed my chicks which l love."
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
____________

The nights I have gazed
   to the black shore and back
the stars, themselves, appraised
   the worth of the black.

To sail solar flares
   and to ride without wings
among the sparkling heirs
   we are mere fledgelings.

How errant I am
   to seek cloudy castles.
Across dark skies I swam
   to meet the battles,

Only to be late
   with my compass at hand.
It was clearly a stalemate
   upon the land.

What Man in the Moon—
   What Spirit of the Night—
Could make a cricket croon?
   Or claim the starlight?

So shall I never
   know who hung the moon up
'til sweet death endeavors
   or until sunup.

The willowy wind
   sends my thoughts to the sky;
And the Moon simply grins
   from his perch up high.

Who hung the moon?
   Who hung the moon?