Duck:
observe the legato ease of
geese relaxing in their Vs,
or eagles, reaching out their sides
to slice the skies,
even the tiny wren flies
from tree to tree efficiently,
but you,
you flap
over-happily
like a rattlepated,
frenzied drunk,
Duck.
poem- no poem April 9, 2014
There is no poem today.
The muses did not stop my way.
Regretfully I must decline
upon some vague truth to opine
Today for you there is no verse.
but chin up, it could be worse!
poem- real estate April 8, 2014
The Canada Geese
have taken up penthouse accommodations
in the osprey platforms.
Two lady geese on two platforms
watch the cars pass on the highway
enjoying the view,
liking this nest.
They’re distant neighbours
proud to be moving on up.
I wonder how that will go
when the ospreys return?
.
.
(Ospreys are raptor type birds that like to live beside lakes and rivers where they are avid fishers, are partial to building their huge nests on the T-bars of power poles. The hydro company and/or local naturalists, build platforms beside tempting poles to relocate them to safer premises. The ospreys will return to these nesting sites year after year. Apparently, the geese like them, as well! This video is from the other side of the country, back in 2011)
poem- ancient understatement April 7, 2014
My father,
born 1914,
grumbles about his sore eye
and sighs,
“I guess
I’m getting old.”
.
.
(True story).
poem- Hello!
Well, hello there deer!
What are you doing in the middle of my lane
on the TransCanada Highway?
Deer belong in forests.
Get off the asphalt
before you die.
.
.
A little surprise on my way to work this morning: a large mule deer (I think) right behind the school where I work. He headed into the trees of the river valley after I stopped for him to carry on. Such is life in Canada!
poem- Mr. Williams April 6, 2014
Seriously
Mr. Williams,
What is so important
about that
red
wheelbarrow?
Does cleaning out
the chicken coop
really warrant
such angst?
.
.
With vague apologies to William Carlos Williams (what was your mother thinking?) and his apparently crucial wheelbarrow.
poem- when did I become a poet?
When did I become a poet?
Was I not born a poem
Washed into the world on sorrow & pain
Spun thru desire?
Do poems require words
or only bodies?
Each life is a poem
unfolding without words
that every lover reads
and feels deep in the soul.
Every mother is a poet,
birthing baby poetry.
For
We are born as poems.
.
in lieu of the Golden Shovel poem I meant to post from yesterday’s NaPoWriMo prompt. I’m still not finding a poem I want to use as the inner poem. I wonder if a stanza of another poem will suffice? Otherwise I’m looking at mile long poems!
poem- luna #NaPoWriMo April 5, 2014
I don’t know where people are finding the prompts for NaPoWriMo (someone want to send me a link?) but this new haiku-like form is spouting everywhere in response to a prompt yesterday. Here’s my contribution:
Menopausal power surge:
crimson hands shoot white beams
exploding moon tides.
poem- Black Wind April 4, 2014
A little magnetic poetry, on the fridge, of course! Several sets represented. The photo is not as tightly focused as I’d like. Sorry about that.
.
poem- lake glass April 3, 2014
Today the lake is glass
Polished and glistening
Sparkling and shimmering
Getting ready for the party
that summer will bring.
Shawn L. Bird 