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Douglas Stoiber Poem
REPAID
by Doug Stoiber
Out walking on a mindless errand, lost in thoughts of this and that
I came upon a bleak tableau, cruel Nature in its direst test.
A battered bird with broken wing, amid the weeds had come to rest.
Within three paces, coiled to spring, a hungry feral cat.
I gave the matter scarce concern; the bird was doomed, it seemed to me.
If not the feline’s prey, it looked unlikely to survive the day
As trembling, hobbled, flightless, on unsteady legs it could but sway.
But turned to see me witness, in its eyes a mournful plea.
The moment touched within my soul an instinct unexpected there.
I bellowed, charging at the cat, who snarling, turned and fled the scene.
Though just as startled by my rage, the bird froze right where it had been,
Unsure if death would conquer it within the human’s snare.
My errand placed on hold for now, I slowly knelt to grasp the wretch,
It fluttered wildly, ‘til at last, within my palms it settled back.
I sought a haven for the injured bird, a shelter from attack
‘Though in its wounded state, a quite immobile prey to catch.
A shadowed ledge at window height, I placed the bird to rest awhile.
With bottled water I had carried, poured a capful for its thirst.
On cracker crumbs from in my pack, the wounded casualty I nursed.
It ate, then seemed to sense a respite from its fearsome trial.
And though near death, still found its voice, at first a purring warbled note,
But soon burst forth with raucous air a symphony of trilling tones
That stood my hairs on end and sent a thrilling shimmer to my bones.
This music from a wounded bird became the poem I wrote.
Copyright © Douglas Stoiber | Year Posted 2024
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Douglas Stoiber Poem
TO NALLUM IN YOUR GLIST
“I don’t understand you.” She, with pandled lips and gaze forlorn,
While I, becrimbled, sought to straff my meaning, bonsting ever stronger.
“My dear”, I kettered, “listen to my heart speak, and my eyes gerlanger
“Therein to frist with claggan thutes my ever-wunding balledorn.”
“They make no sense!”, she mickled me, “your words confound my burdened brain!”
With manstered prace, I bruffled close and said, “Then clafe me with thine heart!
“My whindered paragrete bestries the flanchet of my fresh douszharte
“And I will nallum in your glist, my bossen brack to there remain.”
Her gazzled eyes gone googly, madder made by parns of stuckly crale,
Threw up her hands, unlobbed her vergous tanders, and rose up to flee.
“Enough!” she plenned, “My world’s made dizzy by the words you offer me!”
While berging soft, I trunched at her with all my rhykless manifest tremail.
Her backwards glare and rising ire slendaked my baunder merklessly,
And all alone, I tevvered home, to ponder - nay, to whaspen! - her quinale.
Copyright © Douglas Stoiber | Year Posted 2024
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