If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.
~The Notebook
If you’re a bird, I’m a bird, wing to wing
as we fly feathers synchronize and sing
a simple melody only two hearts never apart
can hear as under bright morning sun
we find filigree breezes finely spun,
as if god and angels take delight
in nature’s orchestrated pavane flight.
We curate sunrise and sing sunset lullabies
with hearts as free as dancing summer butterflies,
then resting in Luna’s soft midnight tympani,
whose notes may even charm the wetlands garganey*~
sleep easily tonight my love,
tomorrow flies the golden dove,
flying high with our true love.
* Small and unobtrusive, often described as shy, duck of reedy and vegetation-fringed wetlands.
A late March thundershower floats toward me
Like a plucked flower
Handed over on a walk to a lover
With a smile
Down this afternoon path
That breezes past
Spring-born ponds
Erupting
Of Peepers ululating and Chorus Frogs ratcheting
In a wave of Gnawa music.
The surface
Puckers
Diacritic raindrops
Slowly
Softly
Each plop and their purple ripple
Has not enough splash
To generate an echo
From the reedy shore.
The storm not so strong to hide the sun
For long
To move a wind
Or slice the sky with lightning
Rolls by with quiet thunder
Wetting my hair and all the early blossoms.
My spirit lifts while its shadow stoops
Cups the mud.
This gentle stir
Today
Seems to awaken and nudge the air
Just enough
To take His hand
Away
Sets free
The spring Dove
From his fist
Writes its wings in a mist
Changes his mind from Him to Her.
Martin came to a cleft in the rocks
The oriole must have gone this way
It was narrow and curving
A sudden turn, and everything seemed to change.
Shrill, reedy music of pipes filled the heavy air,
A smell of musk of goats and their dung.
Invisible cicadas sustained the piper's lament.
Suddenly, he found himself in front of a small but deep lake.
Weeping willows, large copper-coloured beeches
Surrounded by a large pool of azure water.
There was a calm tranquillity about the place
Whilst the air was saturated with a fragrance
Of exotic flowering lavender-like trees.
He heard a splash, and out stepped a young woman.
Her canary yellow elegant swimsuit
Clung wetly to her honey-coloured body.
Damp citrine hair formed a frame around an oval face
That was highlighted by an upturned, pointed nose.
He did not move but stood mesmerized,
Looking into her blue, limpid eyes.
A sweet smile shimmered on her lips.
"Hello," she said in a mellifluous voice.
Her smile was inviting. "My name is Goldie Oriole.
Come, sit near me
And tell me how you found this place."
To be concluded in Part 3
From out of the lacustrine,dense tract, green
Lining the silent mossy forlorn lake keen ,
Came out leaping and hopping,a fat frog ;
He landed and stopped on a reedy clog ,
As he saw the Chameleon on a stem frail ,
Gripping fast the rush with its prehensile tail ,
Croaking and flicking his tongue around,
To relish one and all the insects found ;
He made his own way on the rich moss,
And back and forth on the spread-over grass ;
His acrobatics envied and enraged the rival
Watching silently with rolling eyes since arrival .
The crestfallen had missed his chance thrice
And retracted to sit still like frozen ice -
Having lost to the place his colour and stance ;
Thrill and anxiety did the crux spell enchnce ;
A surly serpent suddenly sprang,as if to mock
Hissing , out of the crevice beneath a rock ;
It was a measured move -a prize catch ;
The victim was more a meal than a match ,
And went in neatly with a suppressed wail ;
The avenged lizard quirked and muttered his hail :
Pride goes pouncing and swooping before a fall ,
Thus to end up with a whimper, defeat and all.
Written: December 14, 2023, For Ink Empress Contest
________________________________________
Sipping from nature's cynosure duct
as yearning subtly for sweetness
quaint wings of golden glass.
lifelong square keenness
barely seen but loved
drifting nearby
reedy bird
held my
sigh
time
sunset
this winter
it feels peaceful
grasping the instant
sweet infant in my arms
she struck her velvety foot
much giggles brightening the mind
Touched my face with rose-dipped fingertips.
The Ohio wipes its face every few miles.
This bend in the river
forgets the wharfs, the gravel silos
and power plants,
only occasional coal barges
push an industrial flatus before them.
Here cattails gather herons
into measured dominions.
The river gallops under placid waves
Fish-eyed currents dip and toggle
in the ripple.
It is possible to watch yourself
being rinsed and laundered
in this newly whisked stream,
possible to wash your face anew.
A person can stand on this reedy shore
and forget, nor see the daily grime,
but observe a lathering,
as a fishing sunlight
pulls out a new image,
the spread of fathoming nets
flung far to catch this fresh
momentary wonder.
MAYFLY
I’m shadow’s child,
grown on the lake,
by women on their own.
The reedy cattails,
and brown mud pots,
occupy my time.
I’m taller now,
and skinny too,
like some noxious weed.
And in a minute,
with one frail breath,
I’m a woman too.
I’m golden new,
in nodes of light,
my love is truly found!
Our baby girl,
is born to us,
then left for her own love.
I’ve slipped between
the sun and moon,
I’ve suddenly grown old.
Getting small, moving slow,
like some darling sloth.
“But I just got here,” I yell,
to an empty brightened room.
“I want... a Do Over!”
Who hears but the lamps,
as they blink back in shock,
and the light on the wall,
is their last for the day.
The laugh from a Mayfly,
is cruel for the count,
by shadow, by weed,
by wrinkled old sloth.
Last flicker, last moonlight,
last tick of the clock.
Deep breath, deep dream,
the stardust blew out.
By Edlynn Nau
Written: May 5, 2017
©April, 2019
Pondering Castle Ruins At Dusk
I came upon you near to dusk
watching on the final hill
as modern sculpture, graced stone
calm, slumbering, still.
I wandered through the ghostly rooms
sparely traced by tumbled walls
seeking echoes from soft souls
who coloured life into your walls.
I touched your stone with tender hand
seeking signs of yesterday
a remnant of another time
rains had washed your tales away
Yet something of those times remain
within the spaces of your keep
the wind it sped a reedy tune
and voices murmured slow and deep.
The moon shines bright, it's cascading light,
In the evening, this little meadow,
The beautiful moon, the beautiful night,
It's dim light and dim lit shadows.
The small white stars, the big blue moon,
The dark grass and chirping crickets,
As the leaves and grass play their reedy tune,
A quiet but vivid spirit.
And through the night the moon will shine,
It's light soft and sweet,
The surrounding sound of nature divine,
The sun can wait with it's heat.
And the moon's soft sweet light,
Like a blanket covering my tired body,
Sweet moon, carry me home tonight.
The blank stare, you looking back!
You want some words, my mind's on the track
Holy X Helpful
Unholy X Understanding
Maligned X Merciful
Animal X Awesome
Nasty X Nice
Bravado X Beautiful
Expendable X Enigmatic
Irresponsible X Inspirational
Narcissistic X Nurturing
Greedy X Good
Sums it up nicely.
angst, feelings, immigration, racism, retirement, slam, today,
My Cloud Nine by Didee ©
Eh, get off of my cloud you silly narrow minded fools
I never put out a ‘for rent sign’ and I make up the rules
My fluffy pure white cloud may leak if it becomes too reedy
Many free-loaders climbed today saying they are the needy
I was the original caretaker making this place float upright
It is my inspirational thoughts that bound and kept it tight
As a one-man sanctuary with a (all-time) lease signed My Cloud Nine
Circling here and there with no stops making for little lost time
I, I and I are just ‘we’ and carry on well with no house keeping
It is you, him, her, and other hitch-hikers causing this here meeting
Take all of you off and far beyond and be gone from this man’s space
And find another cloud to 'share' and feed upon from your own human race.
Somewhere downriver, among thrushes and the swallows,
Ducks in hidden hallows have silky, satin wings
Among the reedy shallows, swim ducks in hidden hollows
rest awhile where willows lean, and haloed twilight clings
Summer's been forsaken. Now the leaves are drifting
A constant current takes them to where the sun resides
Dreams are carried with them, in waters ever shifting
Without much hesitation. a few are cast aside
Sodden leaves are drifting, to where the sun resides
I watch the streams meander, and I hear the seasons call
Water soothes the jagged stones, and sparkles in the sun
The moon arrives and sun goes down, as if from earth it falls
Then it melts into the river's flow, and seams blend into one
I hear the seasons call, as the seams blend into one
_____________________________________________________
Contest: 255
Sponsor Brian Strand
I saw that elderly man this Sunday
He says he travels to my town everyday
In his 80s he appears feeble
His reedy bones are seeable
This old chap is thin as a stick
I find him so polite, I call him a brick
He looks like a parched tree without fruits
His body tremors and dying his roots
His grey hair looks neat and smart
But his wrinkly face looks swart
He keeps walking at a snail’s pace
Unlike us, he’s not a part of this rat race
He has no one to live for
There is no one he can die for
I don’t know where he goes everyday
I don’t know what is he searching for
Oh old man you’ve outlived your family
You now look older than the hills
You too should depart this life peacefully
You don’t deserve this agony
and desolation anymore
it is later than late
shadows simmer like a cold heart
the jukebox plays on
drinking and smoking
it is the jester’s time
den of iniquity
everyone here looking for a score
of some kind
danger lurks inside her faded blue eyes
she doesn’t frighten me
music loud and reedy
a song I don’t know
out of touch
I’m an old country, old rock
kind of guy
blue eyes presses my leg with hers
panic time
jukejoint closes in fifteen minutes
we must choose between reality
and make-believe
I choose make-believe
and press back on her leg
You say you are a
Saint. Your reign
Is of no indent. We
Must wrest
Out our mindless doubt. Your
Tenet is
Without debt. YES,
That was just at the
Start. No one
You called stupid
As you ought
Not do so even now. But
How do we
Reject this doubt
With your floret withered;
When you
Now break our reedy necks
Not our plummet?
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