Dost thou disport thyself in thy daily pilgrimage?
What calleth 'playtime' unto thy soul?
I find my joy in the presence of ancient trees.
Where vibrant hues do spiral wild and free.
Such forests stretch beyond the sight, far and deep.
For 'tis within the winding roads of sleep.
I wander, blessed by the light that slumbered brings.
Nature doth cast a gentle, cooling breath!
To soothe my spirit, far from thoughts of depth.
O, Golden Light! Grant me lengthened rest!
For my strange, painted trees must be addressed.
With joyous heart, I fashion things of naughty.
The muse cries, "Play!" with every color squeezed,
With twinning scrolls and fancies, well appeased.
'Tis here I take my leap,
Both bold and steep,
Into a bright and variegated heap!
Written: November 13, 2025, for contest sponsored by Joseph May.
" Inspired by the song: 'Like a Wounded Bird Trying to Fly' sung by Kurt Vile.
*****************
Like a wounded bird trying to fly,
I flapped through a mellifluous sky—
not quite broken, not quite bold,
just chasing warmth over winds grown cold.
I strummed my soul on an equine red,
while ghosts of my father rode rails in my head.
My mother, shrewd, stitched up our knees—
with eleemosynary grace and teas.
Now I sit where the green ferns grow,
my kids disport in the woods below.
There’s an imbroglio in my chest—
a luculent ache I can’t arrest.
So if you find me, don’t ask why
I’m like a wounded bird trying to fly.
It is only my style of saying goodbye—
to the weight, the waste, the wondering why.
That dark ink with which you were written
burning so coarsely to leave you with
a calloused and thoughtless destiny
comes now to pickpocket all your smiles
all your loves
and loves there were to bind your time
Save now but a semblance of family
a photographs lie
an uninvited memory
and so to bitter turn all of disport
those anguished years
But ah my love
it is a death which comes to all of us
And lay you now at night in hatred
cold of sulfurous scorn
to stab the needles of the stars
upon a pillow so damp with tears
while all the while some scratching quill has rewritten
the past within your ears
But so it is my love we never listen
and so in spite and certainty
yourself you cannot unburden
Is it so how you think you are not broken
that some righteous bile is left to swallow
how can it be on such foolish errand
a callous gift indeed it was
this heartless and thoughtless destiny
Blessed art thou that believes, kneel before Thee
Morn and night our eynes unfolded on Thee
Lest we stagger or plop by the wile trap
To Thee we knock, drop the badger unwrapped
Creeds from thou embark, twitches of deeds shift
Habitus from wails and torment we drift
Hands of stone we glorify images
Images of beasts festoon above thy sages
Afore icons loss of might comes thy judgement
Erelong nay beliefs or mooncalfs will lament
Betwixt good and evil crumpets disport
Eke esurient gudgeons hence thirst and port
Orison, not purfles orts for prithee
Maugre poshes, naught comes higher than Thee
The sun was high, the wall was warm, its orange hue'd bricks looked a treat..'
Soon basking there without a care, was Humpty; disposition 'sweet'...!
He didn't sense the untoward....) Yet treachery was afoot
In a silent bound without a sound; the dasterd deed took place,
And all our poets cried, aloud ' who did us such dis-grace?
There were many of the 'souper band' who gathered his shattered shell,
His golden yolk they sadly interred, as heart's did heave and swell..!
Who could the perpetrators be? are the thoughts going around,
Now he lies deep within our portals and thoughts; yet nevermore to rise..'
The days now more drear; to me appear, since this characters demise.
He came from the land of fairy-tales, where fables disport & play
Trusting no harm could befall him here, where talent holds the sway,
Yet some there were, who did him down; who mayhap he'd thought of as friends.?
Now we bid him our true goodbyes, trying not to consider the worst
We should be aware, what happened when from the shadows his killers burst.!
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