Sparrows enjoy a certain reputation
For intimacy and hope
Crosby Stills and Nash sang of them
In Suite: Judy Blue Eyes
As compatriots to the morning
Air
With guitar strums and high notes
Truth be told
Sparrows are bulkier than the normal song bird
And not particularly
Pretty
Brown and gray as a mound of dirt
Chirpy jerky punk band
And they have no problem with crowding out
From a bush or bird feeder
Finches and chick-a-dees
They’re kind of a bully
Push around those that are smaller
Who carry pouches of yellow and pink
And tiny symphonies
They clog up my eavestroughs with nests
Right now
I watch one sparrow land on top of another
And the tree branch bends down
Under their heft
Bounces up and down
To their sex
Again
The limb
Seemingly
Waving them off
Or so it tries
As if it’s saying
Get off me you animals.
Categories:
crosby, bird, environment, music, nature,
Form: Free verse
I moved to this neighborhood forty-two years ago today.
I moved here six months before Elvis Presley passed away.
Crosby Park is the name of my neighborhood.
I've been here for a long time and I'll be here for good.
I still remember the day when I moved here.
It's been over four decades, that's a lot of years.
I became the owner of my property eight years ago in 2011.
My parents gave it to me two years before they went to Heaven.
I moved to Crosby Park forty-two years ago today.
I've been here since I was five and I'm here to stay.
Categories:
crosby, home, nostalgia,
Form: Rhyme
HARMONIES OF NIGHT
Weary wand'rer, stop and listen,
Give heed to this soothing song,
The voice of the night wind carries
Words of peace and rest, be strong;
Strike the harp of Zion, let's sing
Mamma's lullaby tonight,
It's melody reminds of how
Bells at evening bring delight;
Hold thou my hand in the silence,
We will sway to the rhythm light,
There's music in the air, tune in,
Before you bid me good night.
02/09/17
Categories:
crosby, inspiration, song, , Lullaby,
Form: Quatrain
We are approaching where he grew up,
Where his family is from, North Country
Woods, green trees everywhere, farm
Houses, a large sky blue, the white
Birches stand beautify still.
In the country air, old roads lead
To nowhere, the brown and green
Grasses lie everywhere. The fields
Where the sweetcorn grows,
They never end. He grew up
Here, the red barns, the old still
Wind, his family long since gone
From the air he would have breathed.
A land that surrounds can lose things.
The smell of wood and the trees
Grow older; the winter falls in snow,
Then summer on the fields. The old
Names of towns, places, mark the
Beginning. They will leave no marker
For him, over his head a large blue sky
That knew, no one person, could last long,
Or be remembered. The sweetcorn fields
Are still growing, and they asked, “What
Was his name? We remember him, it was
Long ago, he was a boy and he slept near us”.
Categories:
crosby, eulogy,
Form: Free verse
I really loved to hear this man sing.
His real name was Harry, but we knew him as “Bing”.
In his career, he ventured very far.
Not only was he a singer, he was a movie star.
All of his music was in great demand.
However, he was terrific with music of Ireland.
Each time I heard one of his melodies,
I would embark on one of many vicarious journeys.
I could just imagine myself walking the Emerald Isle.
It was the next best thing to reality all the while.
Yes, we all know the man is now gone.
However, his immortal voice is left to carry on.
Categories:
crosby, dedicationmusic, music,
Form: Rhyme