December 16, 2014 § Leave a comment
most days I’m a feather clinging to the wing of a multicolored bird
quivering from the wind, but always returning to the place where I belong
blending and fading with the soft abyss of surrounding comfort, I wait.
some days I’m the multicolored bird piercing the sky
flying with the wind, at such a height that makes my colors melt
into one single, perfect hue, blending into the welcome air, I soar.
but today I am the sky, an expanse filled with possibility, with fear
propelling the wind, but quivering and melting, fading and flying
I don’t leave or return because I’m already here, so I breathe.
July 8, 2014 § Leave a comment
When you hear that Canary’s melodic song
and have a sudden urge to sing right along,
do you ever wonder if your whistled reply
is heard by that bird simply flying by?
Does he hear your innocuous far off hum,
and wonder if you’re speaking in some foreign tongue?
Or maybe he simply assumes your distant call
came from a bird with a twangy southern drawl.
But what if your nonchalant whistled song,
was the response he’s been waiting for all along?
What if your call out into the sky above,
was actually a proclamation of true bird love?
That Canary hears your tune and he knows this is real–
this bird may sing off-key, but has so much zeal!
He answers eagerly and without any delay
but you unknowingly just continue to go about your own day.
Completely unaware you’ve just led this bird on,
you keep planting your flowers and mowing your lawn.
And after singing for hours, the bird gives it a rest
and sighs and goes home to his lonely bird nest.
Maybe he’ll move on and find his song once more
and never wonder again about that strange whistle of lore,
but then again, maybe, he’ll keep singing day and night
still searching for that bird who was the love of his life.
So next time you have an urge to sing back a reply
to bond with that innocent bird simply flying by,
consider the repercussions of whistling a song even sweeter
and instead perhaps opt to just buy a bird feeder.
April 22, 2014 § Leave a comment
Like a wind silently sweeping by
it travels often unseen, rushing past
normalcy, stirring the forest air beneath
its wings, a blur of cobalt, and then nothing
remains, but it is still very clear, an imprint
in my mind, and I often search the skies, hoping
its silvery crescent shape will glide over me
carrying serenity with it, I can remember the words
spoken the last day it was seen
when that majestic bird, looking out of place
where it perched, perfectly centered under an arch
of trees, but among conifers, plain and green,
it’s exotic beak just didn’t belong
we stared and warmed and felt it,
hope floating from a tree branch far above
the present calm settling on our shoulders
as it lifted a leg and turned its head, taking flight
“Cranes are good luck, you know.”
That was all we needed to hear.