trees open their hearts
to welcome home
the voice of
the thornbirds
that sings
their sweet melodies
across the
Holy Land
Lord let them rest
to build their nest but
most of all
let the thornbirds sing

trees open their hands
to welcome home
the voice of
the thornbirds
that sings
their sweet melodies
throughout the
Holy Land
when the
thornbirds sing

This is what she looks like when she's sad:
The human condition effective immediately.
Winter shades shift side to side,
exploding out of each iris.
Skin falling off,
when lunging forward to kiss me.
Fingernail daggers dig into my pores.
I'll bleed under her fingernails,
if she'll drag them down my torso
until her knees click the floor.

This is her tongue inside of my mouth:
We taste each other before we waste each other.
Hip bones parallel and our eyes rubbing shoulders,
my hands surfing her rib cage
and it's all the rage because she moans.
And when she moans,
color tones orbit around her head.
Planetary tumors dancing around her skull;
jump roping with her hair,
eating morals and removing plurals.

Those are her lips around me.
Her head moves up and down
but her eyes focus on me.
She makes eye contact
and I empty my dreams
into her mouth.

We are a public forum.
I ache with alcohol poisoning
and liberal undertones.
The terrain that is my face
bleeds oils that would lubricate
the axle of the car that she drove
into the tree
that we carved our name into.

Come back to me.
I miss you so much.
I watched you die.
I watched you die
and there was nothing I could do.

They told me that she wouldn't make it.
They told me that she might make it.
My hand gripped at blood stained blanket.
I think she said my name under the air mask.
I could tell if she saw me;
her eyes rolled back into her head
after she gazed a thousand yards away
into the field of black
that sheltered the tall grass
that we would chase each other through
and get lost in
as we got lost in each other.

I love you! I ******* love you!
My back, a membrane coil
that rises my stiff neck
that cares my head full of memories.
I turn on the light and you're not there next to me.
I put my hand on your copy of The Thornbirds
and know that you've read it more than the notes
I leave in your inbox,
hoping that it'll say that you have seen it.

Walking to your grave,
I am a darkness that the abyss has swallowed
and I have followed myself into nothingness
that is such bliss
that I forget
your kiss.

not only
must
the thornbird
sing
but she
must
gather some
broken twigs
with her beak
and
with her wings
that build
a nest
made of things
for other
thronbirds
to sing

thornbirds brush their wings
against the crest
where we go
to build a nests
here to sing
the highest note
push a thorn
up through our chest
what final place to rest
when thornbirds
brush their wings
against the crest

when thornbirds sing
we hold the
sharpest thorn
to our breast
sing the
highest note
from our nest
we sing
until the
rivers crest
then we stretch
our wings though
thick white clouds
we sing out loud and
finally we leave our nest

Yay! Some cold at last, and even a dusting of snow.
We moved back into the dorm—braving knife-like breezes—yesterday.
It was bracing and heroic - do I want it to warm up?
That’s a hard no.

let’s wax poetic..

Think not of winter as bleak
wrap your steely bones warmly, wear a cap
—for gelid wintertide can bind us together.

Midwinter is the time o' the year to be warm hearted,
to find a companion, a creature fair, a lass (or a manly man)
and suggest a more temperate snuggle— it can do no harm to try.

Think not of winter as bleak
make sweet use of flattery, and face cold’s embrace
likewise, cheek to cheek, with a warming and open heart.
.
.
Snowbird by Rani Arbo & Daisy Mayhem
We'll Sing In the Sunshine by Thornbirds

Cured salmon glistening
between thick seeded slices.
Three plump tomatoes.
Like castle guards.

I watch in awe:
my toes poke through
knitted holes in the
blanket, fleshy moles.

Nan pushes in The
Thornbirds VHS and
she rambles about
the birds going west.

She says: ‘I’m glad
I can stay here and
not fly anywhere.’
cosy and safe.

Nan places another fleece
blanket on me. We drink
dark hot cocoa and
watch birds from the sofa

the reading of
a book is
a bird with wings
and suddenly
a flock of
thornbirds

the
fate
and
destiny of
thornbirds
lock
in a trance
perform
their
sacred
ghost dance
shall
witness
the
faithfulness of sky

the
wings of
the
thornbirds
shall not rest
until
we build
this
heaven's nest

lost moment
when thornbirds
calling her young
and
what deeper
shade of blue

tail
and
wing of
thornbirds
vault
through
this
heaven
the
scent of
breckenridge
blue sky

flocks of thornbirds
dip and dive
the wings
through
blueberry sky
taste the
world of harmony
when
we fly

the wings of
thornbirds
breathe
the air
be uplifted
upon
an ordinary
breeze
still
find peace
among the
gentle trees
hallelujah
hallelujah
amen