a little birdie knows no wordies

Little tawny thrush
why so jumpy? Spring has not sprung.
And you have certainly known before now
the cats that live here-this pride.

Silly sparrow, 'twas all made up
those felines would not know what to do
with you-yet how they do like watching
all the twitching
you do.

Look over here! Cackles rise,
this tweet and grub dash,
fidget and dart,
you cool hearted busy birdy,
on holiday.

The cat sees your ploy-a quick dip
in the fountain-this one couldn't care,
he laughs a hoarse then licks his nails.
Oh, this little bunting
gets behind his pinprick hot holed ears
and says-or chirps-
POTUS, po' po' us, po' us another
wergle fumpus, with yellow belly feathers, like a lilly livered loiterer,
tethered to others, such as the not so rare big-billion-billed cuckoo,
Who, who, who knew-
how to flap in place.

Polly-ana-cracker-barrell-of-monks like these-
Just look at that jittery pulpy face,
ask, just ask, he is fluffed and full of flock
puffy and inflated on a fence takes no flight
path to escape,
the last words were purr-purr
after the cat
finally got his tongue.

Painting by Louis Émile Pinel de Grandchamp [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Fits of all-timers disease

You must find it in Here

and protect it when you do.
Fight for it, for now,
if that feels right.

Do not let it wander off...

That should have been enough to know
all we needed
something special left for us-

most certainly we will know it when we see it.

Perhaps other things came first, easier and
stood taller,
in your face,
consuming precious attention, a natural resource
short in so many ways
making us feel we need more,
we feel need and have to have,
what we think we need for others.

Listen, that forgetting feeling,
somethings are slipping,
the way guilt works its oily way
inside to undo forward motion,
or recognized

as the inability to see
likeness anymore
it was lying there
when we passed

over the top,
afraid of depth, holding our breath and
acclimating ourselves,
we forgot what we came in Here for...


Painting by Félix Vallotton [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Bottoms up

Have you fallen
into a book, a slump,
into bed
too deep
for another to hear your muffled voice trying to climb out?

If so, please let me know, as I have been seeking
low and high for the loose end to grab onto
falling short of finding the eminent source
of your sound-
could I be late-
are you too far
underneath to speak freely?

Well,
we all make choices,
most have moved on.
I have pulled on this rope
without end
wishing and waiting for one more
buried echo-o-o-o-o-o-o...


Painting by Georg Flegel [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The metronome leads home

Ah-wakening

Water drip-drops from the roof-top

onto the plastic lid of the empty blue recycle bin

It is not raining-anymore.

While lying there, transported,

the drops dripping were tick tocks

of the clock overhead in my grandfathers den

As I lie there, my hearts mouths the waters

falling

back in sleep, absorbed in one wet second

There is no difference between

Now and Then

Some things are worth repeating

time and time again;

rain, reminiscing in rain again

Sleep

And

Ah wakening. 

Painting by Nicolas Régnier (1588/1591–1667) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

SciFi

My fantasies now dull,

I read non-fiction for spice-

Life told fantastic.

Painting by By Pieter Fris, 1650 (Sotheby's) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

dues

Re-member-you were

One once before going so-

lo(w) and beholden.

By Lady Lawley (c. 1914) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The time is Late

The world had changed overnight,

overdays-

She thought

She was

Progressing until then

when all the standing people were dumbstruck,

horrified by what had happened here.

She remembered an Eastern way of saying it right,

“May you live in an interesting time”

She heard a Western man in shock say,

“I’ve seen a’lotta things, but I ain’t never seen nuthin’ like this,”

She remembered and could not understand

the meaning.

The world had changed and

Made no sense of interesting

Times under night.

Painting by Titian, Knight of Malta with a clock (1550) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.