Birds At Sea
Adrift upon the ocean
bob a bunch of resting birds.
What is it that they call themselves?
A flock or school or herd?
Could it be this feathered colony
is a band or horde at best
No screeches, calls or gaggling,
they don’t brood or crowd or nest
Spread out like black freckles,
birds are shuffled by default.
Flavoring the ocean
dash of pepper to sea’s salt
Not gliding like mighty albatross
with wingspan strong and wide.
Or dancing with the currents
right by the dolphins side
Just floating in the middle
between the blue and green
Neither soaring in the heavens
or a coral dance routine
And there, what’s that beneath them,
beyond their paddling feet
Just some strange attraction?
Or friends they’re yet to greet.
A sudden splash of water!
Could it be a pod of whales?
Or the giggle of a baby seal,
nipping at their tails.
Will they look right through the jellyfish,
that flash and throb and group
to the gathering bunch of mackerel
congregating in the soup
But no, they’re not much bothered
by the party in full swing.
They just gossip amongst each other
While cleaning weathered wings
Waiting for the wind to change
On the ocean they sit tight
Regaining all that energy
needed to take flight
So what's its name, this party?
Of primp and craning necks.
In the skies they flock together
On the ocean, they’re a wreck!
Copyright © Grant Norwood | Year Posted 2016
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