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Personal Note:

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Poem

On this spring afternoon,
I lay my body, 
Belly-down on the warm deck, 
Head in my arms. 

I hear birds making 
Ugly noises that can't 
Be called chirps. 
I know that this is what 
The birds do all day, 
Everyday. 

What are they trying to say? 
Their sounds seem pointless, but 
That doesn't bother them. 

I am not a bird. 
I know I have something 
To say. I don't want 
To do stupid things 
Everyday. 

I still feel glued 
To the porch as I lay here. 
My body is tired, but 
My mind is steadfast 
In its own alertness. 

Face down, I can peer 
Through the skinny slats in the deck. 
There are unsightly things down 
There in that crawl space beneath, 
Such as a thick layer 
Of rotten leaves.  

The fresh wind can't reach 
The leaves under the deck, 
So I'm certain
That they'll sit
In that same spot 
Forever. 

I'm surprised by a sneeze, 
And my thoughts of the leaves
Are swept away from my mind.
My attention is turned 
To the tiny puff of dust that I disturbed. 

The little specks float about, 
But they really don't have 
Any choice at all 
About where they're going 
As I'm softly blowing 
Them farther away...

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