Thursday, July 29, 2010


a poem for the birds

I fly alone, then, flock to flock, rejoin
To chirp — pretend — as though my theme was heard.
Harsh caws — should I respond? sweet tweets, purloin?
To be the leader of a flock: this bird?

In consonance they verge to left or right,
Attack the plumaged cock or hen unfair.
While some seek for a perch, but some, a fight,
A race to first ensnare Tip' Hedren's hair.

Our lonesome cries entwine with fractured rhyme;
Our hasty pecks retort the latest song —
Becomes the status of our fast-paced time
And virtual space to which my songs belong.

Below they hear the croaking of a frog.
Swoop down, they go, to land in murky blog.

placed in Poets United Poetry Pantry #2 and in the imaginary garden with real toads