Fifteen tiny swallows
Fifteen tiny swallows
All perched upon a fence
Oh what handsome fellows
But here, let me commence
To speak of all their beauty
These tiny little birds
All black and cream with a reddish throat
Oh how my heart they stirred
A lady walking with her dog
Disturbed these little guys
So from the fence these birds take wing
And head towards the skies
It seems that they are dancing
In the way they fly around
They always seem to fly in circles
And nearly touch the ground.
I walk around these wetlands
And wonder at it all
Everyday it’s something else
And it’s all so beautiful
Ducks and swallows, parrots too
And the beauty of the lake
I love to walk there most of all
At the coming of the daybreak.
16 August 2013 @ 1510hrs.
-honestly...I have no clue why...-
As I began to rest in my fickle dream
Suddenly I was stirred from my sleep
I was greeted by many a whisker
And petulant snores from my sister
The cat mewed ferociously and purred
For there on the other side of the window—was a bird!
It chirped like a wobbly siren—the ass!
And I swear by my bosom it was pecking the glass
Suddenly, I sprang up in alarm
I swear my bosom was gone!
The cat then motioned at the feathered brat
For her bright breasts seemed extra fat
Of course it wouldn’t have been that
But I couldn’t just blame the cat!
I opened the window only a crack
And asked very kindly, “May I have my breasts back?”
Such pride she attained from my bosom
Yet why? –how would she use ‘em!?
The mockingbird merely turned a goodbye
But the stolen twins were too heavy to fly!
She plopped to the ground and squawked
I would have laughed, but I was shocked!
The cat scratched at the window and with her eyes
Said, “Prithee, take your breasts—she’s mine!”
Before I could think I had fallen to the ground
To a booming, most terrible sound!
My eyes then opened to a cat on my head
As the booming sound continued from my sister’s bed
Why aren’t we happy?
What is it in the most of us?
We are not how we should be
We should be like a singing bird
Who boldly, in the trees
Sings his song when fear is done
His life just flows along
He only knows the dance of life
So he just sings his song.
And yet we humans live our lives
Enfolded in our fears
Glorifying in the sad
And making this quite clear
As we always speak of doom and gloom
And watch it on TV
And always live our lives in fear
Is this the way it should be?
If only each would take a look
And see just what we be
We never see the flowers grow
Or let our hearts be free
Maybe it’s time to see the truth
Of what this life could be
If we look at life without the fear
And live with mystery.
6 August 2013 @ 1908hrs.
Looking all around me and becoming more aware,
Of the people and surroundings at which many children stare.
I come to terms and realize the acts of hate I see,
And now I fear that this same scene will soon envelope me.
Walking on a lonesome road, though crowded it may seem,
I pass through silent hordes of people hushing silent screams.
Beside me standing hand-in-hand, older man and wife,
I wonder if they thought like me, what happened to their life.
I reminisce now further back before these broken days,
A time of wasting food and drink and dressing different ways.
But now we all look just alike in tattered grays and browns,
Drifting through these damaged streets and sporting matching frowns.
I thought we'd left the two world wars and poverty behind,
To linger in our broken books and fill an older time.
A time where death would cloud the world with sorrow and disease,
And fear would plant itself within the innocent with ease.
This made me think and look around for Noah and his arc,
And for the first time since the night I heard a flustered lark.
I quickly turned around to spot within a child's hands,
An injured bird whose time had brought it here from other lands.
The child stole a piece of thread from a redbreast robin's nest,
And wrapped around the ailing bird a splint so it could rest.
An hour past the lark took flight and answered to the wild;
The only resting place of hope is in the bright eyes of a child.
Breathe i breathless.
Sleeping in a nightmare of unseen loveliness.
Restless in my mind and body.
Through a tunnel of devastating reckoning.
Crying sound of a wounded ostrich.
The echo of a oceanwaves demolishing sea afterlife.
My feminist touches cursed.
His enduring love of a dying poetical.
He dies in his lust of pleasure.
He who weathers the swirling black feathers
Like a kill laid out by the skinner
One ninety-eight eyes
Across the night skies
With a story to tell the town spinner
And the Old Woman knows
It takes ninety-nine crows
To serve up a man Sunday dinner.
Big Cat Roars.
A big cat roared in the wilderness,
As the birds fled to the skies,
As the echo’s of the thunderbirds
Be drowning out their cries.
As mad, mad man goes off to war,
And young men die
Oh Lord what for?????
The dark green bird with the big propeller
Be dropping off some fine young fellows,
To fight a mad, mad, war in tears
As anguished mothers face their fears.
And boys, some dying for leaders pride,
Be forced to thrust their souls aside.
The Romans march they off to war,
They're still with us and that's for sure.
The Gulf, Iraq and Vietnam
Does anybody give a damn???
About boys dying in the night,
And who be wrong and who be right.?
O! O! O! Bird O! Bird!
Why quench the thirst of my enjoyment?
With your melodious beak-flute
It seems like malady to perch
On the rigid composure
Of the branch; or a dancing spectacle of leaves
Bending their way, hunch-backed, peering
Into the earth. Thus this way
Nutrients stream a bewilderment of trees
And nectarine condensation of your beak.
Will you sing to me?
Tell tales, narrate agonizing fables of yore
Sarcous sacks that build in moles,
That a atoms of being, clouded in obscurity.
But you Bird cannot evade
A temperemental quiver;
Plan of arrow, naughty,
From the bow, boys and smooth egg-stone
From beach- testicles of rubber bands
Meet and mingle with your dizzy fall
Then your quaint cooing
I would hear no more.
Another baby born, another bushel of wheat
Another piece of land, for another family to eat
Another net is cast, another fish is caught
Another fire in the forest, another tree sought
Another bird flees, another bird gone
No home for the beast, diversity all gone
Crops in the amazon, Rivers clogged up
Flooding in cities, Seas on the up
Nature under pressure, Pollution the price
Shortage of wheat, Shortage of Rice
Temperature rising, Deserts expanding
Oil running out, the world is in doubt
War for resources, the west uses force
While the poor beg in cities
Victims of policies, Victims of atrocities
Seas that are empty, bellies that are swelled
Mankind too many, Riots a plenty
The button is pushed, and humanity is hushed
The Earth is now empty, Heaven is full
And we are seven billion reasons
For God to cry “Treason” ”Treason”
And the stars look on, silent
And galaxies die alone
And no one will know.
Where once, our babies did grow.
But time will go on
And the earth is aglow
Just as it was, seven billion years ago.
Seven billion today
What is the real figure?
For all out Nuclear War?
Every autumn in the Chaos Mountains
the wind blows through the tall grass
& the rain stalls, fitful in its sublimity.
It is not a season for speaking. Only for listening.
Out there, somewhere beyond the horizon
a silence that is not silence, calls,
& men enter the duck blind, and wait,
huddled with their cartridges & ambiguities,
disguised to themselves as hunters,
re-inventing themselves with rifle eyes
fixed on some vanishing point beyond the language
of rivers & trees, turned away from
the here & now - a tempting non-existence
accompanied by hope, which may be nothing more
than the promise of a big dinner with
lots of stuffing and gravy and no questions.