A Reading Feathers and Rings
I’ve been sitting here thinking about
patterns:
grief to comfort
comfort to recognition
recognition to joy
joy to loss.
Meanwhile flies buzz around my front porch,
planes drone by.
I go back so far my tail is barely formed of mud-earth,
I’m so new
I lie in a nest ofv COLORS
“Sweet one sing to me and I will recognize your song,
(having just sung it myself a few hundred
times. Sure took you long enough.)”
v “Well, I’m here now.”
“Yes
Yes”
“My heart is as tender as your heart.”
“Yes”
There’s only one thing to be said HONEY,
there’s just a hell of a lot of entertaining ways to
say it.
Now that you’ve seen my instruments
and I’ve seen yours,
Let’s Play
it’s more fun than fighting
Isn’t It?
Back at my patio,
I hear one of my neighbors practicing drums.
Several birds are singing
and shitting on my oak tree
(I’ve told them do do it anywhere
but on this poem,
which is either too profound to desecrate, or
too profane to anoint
or both.)
If I disguise myself noisily,
flaunting feathers and rings,
it is
for the fling tumble LEAP of it,
and
so that you will recognize me.
“Hey you guys,
I’m here you guys,
can I play too?”
“No, there isn’t enough, besides I want to sit next to Ginny”
“No. I was here first ...eww...that looks good.”
“There’s not enough. What’s that in YOUR hand?”
“Just an old cookie. I’d rather have what you have.”
“I’ll let you have
a bite of mine,
if I can have
a bite of yours
ok?” “If I say ok too soon
you might go away,
so I think I’ll let you hang around
and ask
a while,
Seeing as how
I’m kind of lonesome.
patterns:
grief to comfort
comfort to recognition
recognition to joy
joy to loss.
Meanwhile flies buzz around my front porch,
planes drone by.
I go back so far my tail is barely formed of mud-earth,
I’m so new
I lie in a nest ofv COLORS
“Sweet one sing to me and I will recognize your song,
(having just sung it myself a few hundred
times. Sure took you long enough.)”
v “Well, I’m here now.”
“Yes
Yes”
“My heart is as tender as your heart.”
“Yes”
There’s only one thing to be said HONEY,
there’s just a hell of a lot of entertaining ways to
say it.
Now that you’ve seen my instruments
and I’ve seen yours,
Let’s Play
it’s more fun than fighting
Isn’t It?
Back at my patio,
I hear one of my neighbors practicing drums.
Several birds are singing
and shitting on my oak tree
(I’ve told them do do it anywhere
but on this poem,
which is either too profound to desecrate, or
too profane to anoint
or both.)
If I disguise myself noisily,
flaunting feathers and rings,
it is
for the fling tumble LEAP of it,
and
so that you will recognize me.
“Hey you guys,
I’m here you guys,
can I play too?”
“No, there isn’t enough, besides I want to sit next to Ginny”
“No. I was here first ...eww...that looks good.”
“There’s not enough. What’s that in YOUR hand?”
“Just an old cookie. I’d rather have what you have.”
“I’ll let you have
a bite of mine,
if I can have
a bite of yours
ok?” “If I say ok too soon
you might go away,
so I think I’ll let you hang around
and ask
a while,
Seeing as how
I’m kind of lonesome.