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
You have done an amazing job keeping the metre and rhythm of this poem flowing, not always easy. I love the metaphor of the birds portaying our human foibles. Cool.
ReplyDeletevivid images,
ReplyDeleteI see a croaking frog landing in murky blog,
a fun and creative piece.
i agree about the rhyme and meter! Also your structure and use of punctuation is extraordinary. I like your imagination--the cyberworld spawned real, live birds. Excellent!
ReplyDeleteThanks for all the tweet :-) comments!
ReplyDeleteBearing in mind 'tweet' has more than one meaning these days...you have hit the nail on the head with this sonnet to the new outdoors of cyberspace.
ReplyDeleteAh, the sweetest of all forms, Philip, perfectly done. It's great you can do a sonnet on a modern theme, something I find extremely difficult.
ReplyDelete