Geese fly by in a V
watched by laid back clouds
coloured flamboyant pink
by a sun that says
“See you tomorrow.”

Fat snow tickled us
and we forgot all that
for a string of heartbeats.

Wild ducks and grasses mingle so deeply this morn
I saw them beneath the blackish red sunny dawn
The sun rises behind the clouds, to cover it's face
And cry dip dip dip, now and then - this time anytime
Aroma has blown on the air, the message is floating
Everywhere: Night-birds --street-girls, drunk Romeos go back home
O old beggar mom, don't depart your dome and Starve today,
Let your breast-feeding baby quite in fasting by red eyes,
Pray rain, rain, rain, and raining today day and night
Drops on things anywhere, on wild geese, and on grass

Two lovebirds snuggle
in the shade of a weeping willow,
oblivious to chastising honks
of Canadian geese.

Blushing buds begin to bloom,
swollen with anticipation
as the solstice draws near
and blood boils beneath the skin.

Weathered voyeurs train watchful eyes
on the short-lived marriage of the flesh,
scoffing at the consummation of seasons,
knowing the fickle nature of the sun.

When the geese fly south, so will he.

The geese
Form a procession
in their northern formal dress.
Single file they march down
The hill
Coming from deep out of
the tree line and through
A courtyard of grass and sedge,
Their solemn walk
An act of unison metered by
webbed feet.
And an overdone elegance.

At shore of the pond
They prostrate themselves,
Head bowed to the water.
As if encountering an old
priestess among the
church pews.
Solemnly they shake their
Necks like human hands-
A time honored ritual.
Then, an unknown cue,
Their heads
turn up to the blue sky
launching themselves Into
the water
splash-less, like
Floating clouds blown on
The breeze.
Now moving independently,
leaving ripple paths
across the pond.
The ritual has ended.

Ducks are the quacking sunshine of a noisy day

geese are moonlight in flight

silent graceful sailors of the clouds

they go where the wind takes them,

free spirits of the air.

Tallen the Mighty Thrower
by Michael R. Burch

Tallen the Mighty Thrower
is a hero to turtles, geese, ducks ...
they splash and they cheer
when he tosses bread near
because, you know, eating grass *****!

Keywords/Tags: child, children, boy, thrower, throwing, bread, turtles, geese, ducks, grass

The geese are standing there
just being geese in the grass
poking through the leaves
going deeper for nourishment
may I follow their example

canadian geese honking overhead
                     ravi shankar in my head
                               pandora's box

The geese are a honking loose thread across the sky. I can hear them in my wicker chair like they're sitting right next to me and I think their voices carry at least as far above as down below. So loud. The sound of changing seasons on the wing. You'd think a goose-whisper would be enough to keep their conversation going, but no. I need to hear them in my wicker chair too, apparently. I kinda like that. Maybe they are talking to me. Maybe their sounds are like street-songs for strangers, or God-praise, or apple pie cooling on a neighbor's window. Maybe they made something really pretty in their hearts, and it's so big they can't keep it down their noodle-necks anymore. And so they're singing it out, for the whole world to see, like a big grin, and it's just perfect that I hear it in my wicker chair, it makes it even better, and that's why they're so loud. It could be.