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Paul Gardner Poem
We all were put into a cage
To be a show in a wintry land,
Spaced out along a metal perch
To spread our plumes to your command.
The best laid plans can go astray,
And in containment lies escape.
The open door, and we flew away.
Your hand brought down the lock, too late.
We swoop and soar, and the sky can hear.
We are jazz trumpets, we sing the sun.
And in the miles of sound and air,
We are the wings of a tropic song.
The trees are camouflage, our home.
We perch, and scan the world around.
And now on scented air we roam,
And never touch the solid ground.
So glimpse us gladly in plain sight,
And hear our song from tree to tree.
As we break shelter and take flight,
The element has made us free.
And you could feel the world in spin,
The patterns in the altitude
To store against the winter's wind,
And pour like sun on clouded views.
Copyright © Paul Gardner | Year Posted 2020
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Details |
Paul Gardner Poem
I've scrolled the pictures on my phone
Through racing days since curfew came,
Through restaurants, seascapes, flowering parks,
Like Eden lost beyond reclaim.
A memory came on my feed:
Three years ago, a pub with cats;
Your furry friend; a pint of beer;
Across the street a block of flats.
The towns are sitting silent now;
The shutters closed, the streets are bare,
And beer in cellars rots in peace,
And those who drank it gulp the air
On rounds of daily exercise.
Did shutdown stake its claim so fast?
Can mountains rear up at a word
Of order, and cut off the past?
The tracks that carry empty trains
Across the land where journeys end
At walls of mountains, make strange links
To Eden locked and found again.
The pictures tell their stories, tell
Of journeys that I made with you.
We stood our ground, and so we walked,
And through our steps the world was new.
And could words melt the mountain snow,
Or blaze a trail through unsafe ground,
To claim the garden that was lost,
The place where future past is found?
Copyright © Paul Gardner | Year Posted 2020
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