Motivated

It’s the flight of pregnant birds that I am reminded of Bloated and cramping Legs tucked close in, wings beating away with paternal efficacy Never towards a nest Always in flight As if the very notion of rest a circling falcon A tireless hunter, promising a swift demise, bodies left to decay… This, this is a pregnant flock of desires and ideas Notions and purpose Encumbered and floating, rolling clouds heavy with rain And this flock rolls on Until with a spasm of wings and anticipated rhythm A gush of rains and new life is announced And from each bird, pregnant from birth Comes a new flock, each end every belly swollen with life And new ideas surge forth And newly feathered wings beat with renewed zeal And a multitude of pregnant flocks take to the skies, And it’s these birds I’m reminded off When I pick up the pen to write Because in each and every bird I observe I see that pregnant mother of possibility Beating her wings, soaring above the ground To give birth in the skies, Where my ideas soar, soar and give birth And I am reminded of them Every time I come to write And fear I will write nothing at all.