azure ...
quite sublime …
cloudless, clear and bright
I watched the birds -
the strange, colorful birds
flitting in the sun of
a perfect, pristine morning
taking to the sky in flight -
soaring, drifting, falling ... falling
from heaven, into the
hands of God …
odd they had no feathers - no
wings to press against that
glorious, sparkling September air
but beautiful in their way
in their deadly, dancing descent
until their screams
were close enough to hear
and the sickening
thud of sinew meeting …
pavement.
#neverforget
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art by Richard Drew borrowed copyright-free by the author from public domain files at FreePik / Picasa )
Nycthemeron of banquet and chat
Gala of songs, spree in a tit for tat
12 days of running water overmorrow
Floating trams and toys in yellow...
Only birds know,
The Nature of Time,
The merle, the seagulls,
Everyone knows her,
The snail also knows
The nature of time,
Slowness is very useful,
The beautiful deer, too
know this nature,
He mates every season,
The elephant also knows
The nature of time, which passes,
He controls his power,
The turtle doesn’t like it
Let us have manners,
She’s nodding her head,
The butterfly, finally
Knows his misfortune,
His days are numbered.
Only the man runs after Time.
a bobcat awakened to confrontation from the cuckoo fluster
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 7–13, 2026)
A pretty sunny day can start off with white fluffy clouds,
the bright blue sky becomes the big backdrop.
I love to sit and watch the white fluffy clouds,
as they dance across the bright blue sky.
Many times as I watch,
I see zoo animals walking by.
Then the thunder sounds off,
like a canon across the sky.
The day is going from pretty to dark,
is rain about to come in for a visit?
As the peaceful wind starts to pick up,
the birds fly to hide.
It has been hot and dry here,
everything needs a bath and a cool drink.
The flowers and trees welcome the rain,
as the pitter patter starts.
Come down slow they seem to say,
make the rain last for awhile.
The door opens to hot sunshine
and yellow daisies sway near
red roses, where orange
butterfly sits in summer, as
blue jay sings jazz at noon,
and red robin joins the tune.
Squirrels scamper in the
sycamore trees, green sheen,
in sight of droopy willows,
where violet butterflies flutter.
Then sunbeam runs out the door
to play. He's not sick anymore!
PECKING BIRDS
Woodpeckers don’t talk;
Yet, can run their mouths all day:
Just ask a tree:-
Tangled tree bark on the ground,
hear the bush sounds all around.
Birds and leaves are here with me
and other things that I can’t see.
Even trying very hard, there are those things
from which I’m barred.
With those things I cannot see,
the bush has given peace to me.
Two quail skitter quickly up
this gentle country dirt path,
one running faster than the other.
It's hard to keep up sometimes.
A dog watches from his porch
and wonders if there's food
ahead as he barks at the quail.
Competition can be a real strain.
In his envy and frustration his barks
get louder -- the quail run faster
to the safety of bushes with berries.
"See here ... doggies don't eat berries."
What can she do, it's 12am:
a dripping faucet, ticking clocks,
mockingbirds mimicking crickets.
An elephant never forgets
these things and all that she regrets:
mockingbirds mimicking crickets,
a dripping faucet, ticking clocks --
What can she do? It's 12am.
[An Octo]
The air starts to shift and turn cool
A gentle whisper, nature's rule
A softer light begins to gleam
Reflecting in a sleepy stream
A scent of earth, a hint of frost
Where summer's vibrant bloom is lost
The sun descends in golden haze
Through shortening of passing days
A silent setting starts to weave
That only souls who watch believe
The trees in robes of russet dressed
Their leafy crowns now put to test
The fields are bare, the harvest done
A resting time for everyone
The scent of wood smoke starts to rise
Beneath the vast darkening skies
A comfort lies in the night`s chill
As the cool breeze stands deeply still.
This autumn breath, prelude to frost,
To winter`s advent, never lost.
Nightingale: "You can never laugh if you don't know how to smile. If you learned how to bow, everybody can be pleased without your wile."
African grey: "If I can whistle or sing, will I be heard and liked?"
Nightingale: "If you can dance even without singing, the World will dance with you too if the World can feel your stomp!"
on a telephone wire
waiting for things
to make sense below
I run with a swollen knee
at forty and pushing off asphalt
(28 marathons later
and none the wiser or richer)
'Dietro Casa' is playing
Behind the house
is where the best of them
grow love
I envy the birds
I envy their altitude
I envy their patience
I envy everything else
I cannot reach
from my marriage
to unforgiving ground
Someone is playing the piano
Someone is playing a cello
too many houses away
Water runs its rivers home
while I undercook the pasta
The birds know better
The birds align themselves
as sentences in the sky
Writing poetry is my life's passion- amen,
exciting to see what falls from this bleeding pen,
sometime, I pen at night then let my words fly,
sublime on wings they swirl into the morn' sky.
Love each poem like a child born from deep pain,
above they float and my soul is ever left with a stain,
spill my ink again and again until I cannot write words,
fulfill my poetic thirst creating poems like song birds.
Being there as the clouds drift by
Seeing all the colors in the sky
Makes me want to try to fly
Sakes, if birds can do it, why can't I?
Trying can't be hard at all
Flying's got to be my call
After all, I was a pilot for years
(Laughter)- If only I had Dumbo's ears
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