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.
I'm gonna have some dees and I'm not talking bout mickey-dees but some d-E's..divine enablements and when them needs come out to breathe..I'm ready wit some d-E's.
in fact this year with current unsettling events that keep happening consistently,i pray for ah pocket full of divine enablements that let's me not get overwhelmed with them..negative events that is. you can keep gobbling up mickey dees if you wont to!
Placid winter cuddles close, lacing exotic spring.
Tapestry of flowers, birds in heavenly wings.
Wakes up a green canopy, exalted in chirpy trill
Peeps, cheeps in rhythm, clatter in medley thrill.
Dappled throat, bright feather, flitters branch to branch.
Gyrating chest in trees, notes perch in avalanche
Tra la la.. chick a dee dees cheer, orchestra in chorus.
Red blue Robin, Cardinal...songbirds..so gorgeous.
Songs of love, waddling dance, bugles of mating calls.
Titillating tunes, virulent envy, conceals clever eyeballs.
Nuzzling beaks love wives and chicks, "its my territory."
Crescendo of man and bird..isnt it the same love story?
------------------///------------////--------------///-----------///---------
It is established that songbirds sing with the
objective of attracting female mating partners
and also to broadcast their range of territories.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
16th February 2019
PLACED FOURTH in Songbirds Contest of Tania Kitchin
PLACED FIRST in Brian Strands Feb 2019 Contest
911 sho nuff was no fun and all our guns and artillery they say..it won't stop me.oh this freedom thing is something else..oh shucks let's stop by starbucks and you just keep stopping by mickey dees and burger king and wash that down at baskin and robbins wit yo favorite ice cream but remember..this freedom thing ain't easy as it seems.
~Celebrate Life~
(Dee's Five-Seven-Ten)
Let's celebrate life
Push back all the strife
Watch the clock ticking by fast
Don't throw life away
Cast your cares today
Give them to God, His joy last
Thank the Lord right now
Time won't wait that's how
Thank Him for all that you have
Enjoy life, love, hope
With God you can cope
Thru His Son all He can save
Goodness in Him find
Open your heart, mind
There's still love, listen to heart
See light, don't be blind
Show you love, care, mind
Don't let folks rip heart apart
Celebrate life open your heart wide
Regain lost dreams, climb mountain
Reach out to God and touch each soul you can
Pray God for men's sins, all stain.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2012
April.09.2016
~Author's Notes:
"Dee's Five, Seven, Ten" is a poetry style created by Dee Dawn.
Im sending you these roses from dees ah hip hop flower shop in Beverly hills. I thought I would write you a letter cause you are so special and it occurred to me you are in a hip hop shop, ask the lady hip hop is very creative and she handed me this and I read-you are now in Beverly hills where the flavor of hip hop is alive and real and if you shop til' you drop you're in to hip hop and I love to put a lil' skip in my hip hop to the mailbox to see if I got another letter from you. smell the roses my dearest these roses are from dees they grow the faddist,baddist roses in the west and I must say I am impressed with your apparent decision to truly love me a resulting increase in my self esteem and I gleam daily with admiration and thoughts of you. when I get back let's go shop til' we drop and I will be bop and you hip hop to the beat, sounds so neat you think it was something to eat, what do you think baby beau, remember mah love is true and this is the cover letter of the covenant in which my heart is operating with life support on a love train for ever wit you.
Once within these very walls farmers woke at dawn.
The field was full of vegetable, the cows were in the barn.
Life was full of chicken clucks, and Mother's who could darn,
bales of hay stacked within but, all of that's withdrawn.
Within my walls, my embrace, I hold one matron chaste
a Smokey cat, and bric-a-brac, she's a lonely one.
Surrounded left, surrounded right, all her chores are done,
I can but hold, I can not mold, the ones that I embrace.
Four walls within, four walls without, a box of reverie
meant to hold the dreams of tykes, of pets and chick-a-dees.
Head held high, I seal the deal by denizens decree
and in the night, the shadows talk to comfort such as she.
A house, a home, a room, a box what stories people tell
but walls will not for you see, these walls are ancestral.
Under a fading Celtic moon, half
a coin left over from last night, my sheep
are feasting on pasture lush and wild
with turkeys’ wings. A titmouse chick-a-dees
from an oak that’s spring-fresh green.
On hands and knees, I harvest Indian lettuce
for a salad. Do sheep wonder at my human
foraging? I’ll come back home
wearing colors of the field, muddy knees
grass-stained; I’m hungry to savor
my tiny isle of green.
She pretends to care
Written emotion lies to all
The core of her is rancid
Her center made of fantasy
She tries to impress all
With saccharin sickly prose
The woman turns a blind eye
Her true intentions revealed
Scraps of lumber, a touch of paint,
with love, became a home.
To the smallest of the birds,
that to our yard would roam.
In his basement workshop,
Grandpa would spend hours.
With his hand saw, brace and bit,
no use of electric power.
At each rip of the saw,
I'd hear that familiar sound.
I'd watch as sawdust drifted,
like pixie dust, to the ground.
With blackened nails and hammer,
he'd assemble the bird houses.
Then he'd paint them brightly,
adding curliques and flounces.
A bit of wire in a hook,
then hung in the Pear tree.
Filled our mornings with the song,
from the Finches and Chick-a-dees.
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