My dearest love,
I pray that theses words find the strength to covey beyond the mere definitions they keep. I seem to have lost you in a riddle, a battle of inability's. or at the very least I've misplaced you within corrupted ideas of what you and i once were, a totality thru a proximity of souls. Though my actionless vernacular vastly tells a different story to the contrary. It is only but the corner piece to a thousand parts, that I have yet to lay. still i find myself mesmerized by the haunting of foreign eyes. subsites for your lack of understanding or for a lack of better words. Not so long ago they held me to the flames of lustful desire. I fell Persecuted for the feeding of a lonely heart. The loss stretches beyond mere mortal comprehension. Its vastly seamless in its threaded existence. boundless, I know no measure to compare my love to thee extended hands and feet are of consequence. there is no resolve.
back door screen opens
covey of doves' wings whirr~whirr....
housewife steps into sun
hummingbirds whirr round feeder
she stands still while whirr round head
“kitchen cauldron”
gathered
together
a covey
a gaggle
mother and
mother’s
sisters and
mother
pasta sauce
simmers as a
song’s sung
for dinner
pray thee
three bay
leaves be
thy trinity
a tea
of thyme
to time
to undo
boil brought
counterclock
wisely stir
the brew
covey of doves
upon rose trellis....
first day of summer
cloudy, rainy, cold, damp day
coldest since records were kept
It was his first flight,
He had desired lofty height.
He loved fighter jets,
He talked about it on his dates.
Though he failed his enrolment exams twice,
He knew life is like throwing dice.
Sky flight was his all-time favourite movie,
Unlike the bird’s movie, Covey.
He passed his simulation practices,
He preferred them to algebra matrices.
He heard so many noises in the sky,
He landed in a lost city called Fey.
November 6, 2022.
in the garden lives a quail covey
they make me smile every day
a dozen small brown speckled bodies
of pleasing plump shape
darting about
scurrying along the garden edge
dust bathing in dirt scrapes
calling to reassure each other
something in their purposeful busyness
and social natures
is so endearing
how lucky I am
to have the trust and fellowship
of this cooperative collective
in this space we share
26 September 2022
Miss Jessica Finch, the avian sleuth
Was scratching out novels and sipping vermouth.
She lived a charmed life when she was quite young;
Her first book, “The Voyeur: Peeking Duck Hung”.
“Peacocked and Loaded,” no rivals, unequalled.
“All Bluster, No Muster, “ a fan-favored sequel.
“Migratory Murmurations of a Wandering Heart”
And “Starling, My Darling,” her cross-over art.
“Covey of darkness: the Unpheasant Truth”
Shines light in glass houses, unkempt and uncouth.
The one she’s best known for, that everyone one knows
That suspenseful thriller, “A Murder of Crows.”
But the one she loves best, that still gives her pause,
The brilliant court drama, “Probable Caws.”
————-
for the A Flock of Birds Poetry Contest
sponsored by Julia Ward
written on 09/24/22
The beauty of a well worn saddle
If only it could speak of its earlier days
It’s wear tells a story, marred by the rub of denim on the open range
The saddle soap stain; mottled by an early spring rain
The busted stitches; the remnants from a horse’s mane
It’s decorative leather tassels weathered and frayed
Manifesting a story of harder days
We can gather much by the saddles tattered worn sight
The leather reveals the cowboy riding, day and night
Driving a herd as the cattle dogs snip and bite
Busting a covey of bobwhites
O’ the irony of a saddles tale
The loneliness, the camaraderie, the serenity of life on the trail
The wear tells a story, the beauty of a saddle, worn well
“Isn't it kind of silly to think that tearing someone else down builds you up?”
? Sean Covey, The 7 Habits Of Highly Effective Teens
She listens to the lies of resentment
Struggling with a whisper of envy
When will her heart learn to give in to
The hope that lights up the spirit
With a sense of assurance and giving
A yearning to bring joy to heaven
Where God reminds His angels of Lucifer
The angel who was jealous of God
The one who lost his wings and so many
Other things – He is lost to any hope
For the joy, love and knowing
That comes to the heart who listens
To the breath of God’s unchanging spirit
Breathing light into the heart who knows
Jealousy is part of darkness’ repose
Come into the light and always know
Love that is alive and dances with a fire
That enchants, enlightens, brightens
So that love is the only part of life
That truly knows … God’s opinions
Crumpled thoughts poetry contest
Sponsored by John lawless
January 8, 2021
My views are unorthodox.
I have the new mind.
The earth isn't real.
The world isn't kind.
We can fix it, it's true.
We don't need a Prez.
We just need to do
whatever Brea says.
She's smarter than Einstein,
Nietzsche, Aristotle-
Her thoughts are all out there,
Just sip from the bottle.
We must be enlightened
With love and with wisdom,
With heart and with peace
As shown by the Kingdom.
She knows how to help us
From outside the box.
The world of tomorrow
Will soon be unlocked.
Take in her words,
Her soul is so lovely.
Just please take your time
And listen to Covey.
The future I see
Is brighter than ever.
Brea Covey for President,
Then Monarch forever.
My shoes are glad to be here
Because they are show offs.
With their crazy psychedelic colors
And their loud look-at-me designs.
My sweatshirt parades in the room
More reluctantly.
Large white letters speak for themselves.
Learn. Lead Succeed. Stephen Covey stuff.
My fluffy pink socks scrunch low to the bottom
of my shoes, wanting to be back home, safe in a dark drawer.
They are as skittish as any piece of clothing I have ever had
Including my shy pink rosebud nightgown.
I roll my eyes as I hear my clothing think for themselves.
Why did you bring those homebodies? Blue jeans queries.
If there is one item of clothing I do not answer to it is Blue Jeans.
He always has a sarcastic edge to his accusing tones.
Covey of nuns
without benefit of wimple
graciously attired
sport coat, turtleneck, skirt
scurry through the airport
iPads swinging
unaware the turtleneck
is their Roman collar.
Donal Mahoney
A covey of quails
Decided to cross the road,
The brush was their goal.
While walking down a lovely street
A tourist looking for place to eat
I spotted a variety of pretty flowers
Of which I stared at for hours
Looking through the crape myrtles
I spotted a very large mock turtle
Beside the impatiens I could see
A butterfly land on the side of a tree
Looking up into the deep blue sky
A colony of seagulls were flying by
One landing on a Victorian gable
Another landing on a balcony table
And when I reached the Lobster House
I spotted a covey of ruffed grouse.
RAIN:
Life is raining like colors shades of grey
Moron day’s passes in tray
The ray of hope vanishes away
Trying the effort to pour some light in the grey rain
No effect, every efforts in vain
The covering of every aspect is difficult cliff
Cannot explain in riff
Though the words covey a lot
Like a sun in the dark weather thought
Gloomy day’s passes away like a cutting edge of falling tree
Rhymes are not the concern thee
The matter of fact is this the cutting edge
Veins are thirsty wedge
In the search of colorful rainbow
But this heart is not functioning as thou
No matters the days are gone empty
Sunshine lost let start a new tea
Matter is the closed circuit has not completed yet
Jumble words in a climatic wet
The search is not yet finished so try to get
Trying to cover each mile to reach the truthful set
Yet to explore
The ideas are vanishing how to cover each mile upset turns to roar
Targets are so high yet to know the fact
The untold story the untold truth act
The incomplete story is incomplete.
O beauty is what it is fleet
Now Replenishing in the petrichor hope.
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