Bald eagle
standing on turned over earth
Watching the cars go by on the highway
(or pretending to,
to give the small creatures
an illusion of safety).
Bald eagle
normally surveying
road and field from high above
is checking out a new perspective.
I wonder whether he prefers
dirt to sky?
Avril!
They shouted your name with a joyous fanfare
as the curtain rose on cue
but you were not there,
the stage was bare.
In a sliced second, he stared
and then the curtain dropped and
he fell into a story
as if he hadn’t called you,
We saw the flurry back stage
as you flew into position,
a tap on his shoulder and he
pointed at the stage and shouted again,
Avril!
In place of empty space you raced into song
tracing along the path without a care
to cheering throngs of youthful fans
who’d earned the fare.
.
Sometimes, we shout our expectation
and to our frustration our stage is bare
there under the glare of our desperation.
Turn and tell a story, deflect the unexpected
but when we look back,
it’s simple celebration.
The distance does not change the feelings.
the reeling,
wheeling,
squealing of my soul,
no longer whole.
The space between us stretches
and in the distance you grow small
and old,
But time has folds
in dreams I hold
you close
My soul finds healing.
Though space and time change feelings,
you haven’t changed at all.
on Twitter
Along the journey
friends beside
we listen
laugh
talk
cry
and
walk.
As paths diverge
and rejoin
we grieve the lost
or greet new found
companions on the trek.
At times, we find a plateau
spread before us
and some stand still
admiring the view
choosing to settle
in the pleasant spot
But others walk on,
climbing hills,
exploring unimagined places,
pausing to watch a while at each
before reaching
for their hiking pole
and striding on.
Some walk forever, and see the world
and some stand still.
Two horses, white and bay
stand companionably
munching their lunches.
Atop the bay,
upon each vertebrae,
perches a bitty bird,
observing the world:
A small flock aligned
along an equine
telephone line.
The white mare, back bare,
munches, and muses
on popularity’s
winners and losers.
.
.
Coming home from work the other day, I looked into a field and was amused to see this sight. I wish I’d had my camera with me, but since I didn’t, here’s a picture made from words for you. 😉
(Read this one aloud, in slam style)
.
I need a poem.
I need to feed on bones of poems.
To seed strong reeds that groan like bones and sound like poems,
I need to lead the words that alone clone more poems.
I need a poem to seed, to grow.
I need a poem to read, to know.
Beyond fat groaning tomes I need the brevity of poems.
To be complete, to seek, to speak,
I need a poem.
Captain T @capt_blues
Shawn L. Bird 