Natural selection

The way 

Blessings pretend-

disguise themselves 

as heavy and foreboding 

Such a gift-

Good riddance 

feels, say-from divorce,

sweet endings and 

Lighter.

Life is only choices,

the pathways and doors

Present all themselves

as such

choosing persists

and curiosity is 

Chosen.

After all,

Giving up

may be 

weight or wings

such things 

open and close 

Inevitably. 

Artwork by Emperor Huizong of Song, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

feather weather

The awkward bird
arose from her branch
puffing up her breast
and shaking her head
discovering a burning
sensation
in her throat
which carried pangs
into her tiny talons.

She tried out
a few simple notes
to crack open the stale air
before asking
the question,

was there a moment,
a degree of light or altitude
a passing gale
ideal
for realization
for comprehension of wings,
to soar, to sore to try again
and again
when did it know
to sing in truth with only vowels

Where did the poet go
in verse?

The owl chimed in
wisely
turning nocturnal
eyes
with avian alibi,
refused to name names.


Painting by Friedrich Thurau, c.1868 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Fight or flight

I propose

to usurp the power that death takes

hold, clamping its rusted iron jaw on degradable values

make diffused, diluted and convert to decrease aversion

Fight or flight for

Fear?

(clipped wings are for peacocks)

I have thawed my right angles

to meet the idea of my mortality

in mirrors and simulations and held white

for a time, essentially accepting

dirt nor ash is enough to subsist us

For the birds-just-ice

Leave me

Happily ever after

Life.

Lastly, carried away

Wishes molded into clay sink

while the will

always ends 

with wind.

Painting by Melchior d'Hondecoeter [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Electra en route

The skydiver sits with legs dangling

over some hazy sepia city, where white boulders

are really single-family houses.

The words in the sky-

The only open space-

mention the management of

Trust and Risk.

From the profile

I recognize the Roman nose and swollen lower jaw,

puffed up bottom lip.

The head is tucked in a leather helmet or bonnet

and thick black gloves meant for big jobs such as 

holding on. The figure is slumped over, looks down.

I note how long it has been yet despite the gap 

easily identified as the Pioneer Amelia Earhart;

whose good fortune in men and time

required no planning of retirement,

whose fate turned ill at forty-one,

whose security was not welded to stocks or

bonded to breed,

whose figure seems compatible

in that alien atmosphere,

who was never buried

whose sealed lips, stony gaze,

Pause one to wonder what she sees

in the shadowtrees painted below,

does this sky have depth perception,

or recognize

the Miss Appropriation, the mixed media,

the teetering between jump and fall,

I tear out

the full page newspaper advertisement

and fold it back into a paper plane. 

"You haven't seen a tree until you have seen its shadow from the sky."-Amelia Earhart

Amelia Mary Earhart was born on July 24th in 1897, she disappeared in her plane Electra and was declared dead on January 5th, 1939. 

1st photo of Amelia and her husband George Putnam taken 1931, By International News Photos (eBay front back) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

2nd photo By San Diego Air & Space Museum Archives [No restrictions or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.