Wednesday, August 24, 2016

She can Fly



This momma bird
sings a sad song 
this morning
her nest
a silent 
empty
space


There she goes
flying high
above clouds
and foreign lands
back to learning
and becoming
and growing
her own wings
that no longer 
fit in this nest

The momma bird
pecks at the
empty spot 
examines the tidbits
left behind
the scraps
unecessary for 
the journey
but the lifeless quality
of the tags and bags and boxes
saddens her
she will repair the nest
tomorrow
today is too soon
she needs to linger
to mourn
come to terms
once more with the
loss and grief she feels

She tilts her head up
but her eagle eye
cannot see
through the heavy clouds
that suit her heavy heart
this morning
Farewell and see you soon
are no consolation
are unable
to stop the tears that fall
mother's tears
a salty concoction of 
sorrow and pain
laughter and joy
and shared genes

Worry not
chirp the other birds
She will find her new flock again
like she has before
her wings stronger each time
she leaves this nest
The momma bird shivers
ruffles her feathers
composes herself now
There is work to do
food to gather
but not before she
sings a love song
releasing it up into the sky
for her baby bird
a sweet collection of notes
to carry her and support her
and catch her when she falls
and lift her to heights
she is yet to climb
assuring her how far she can soar
How far she will


Tuesday, August 23, 2016

The Avian Monarch



Becoming conscious
one eye
then 
the other
oh good
a grey day
rare
in this land of relentless sunshine
Roots that lie
north of the equator
long for moisture
balm for 
a poet's soul
Damp remnants
mark the footpaths
where rain fell
in the night
Bird seed turned to porridge
Yet they come
for a breakfast of gruel
I see 
as I plunge my morning fix

Write about us!
screech the cockies
The galahs doth protest
NO, us!
While the laughing one
perches silently
knowing
this will be his story
his tribute
his victory verse

How does he know
he is favoured 
above the others?
the more colourful
the more animated
the seed eaters
this confident king
his merriment obvious
loud and proud
the high branches of gum trees
surely extend 
for him 
and him alone

And so he laughs
knowing
his crown
is secure
his bush king status
solid
despite that green and red one
that plots daily
to dethrone him
Those complimentary colours
no match for his
subtle aqua swath






Monday, August 22, 2016

Messy Perfection



The Unmade Bed

Everything about this moment
whispers
pause, pause.

Light, shadow and beauty
demanding my attention
their subtle flirtations
eye-catching
soul fillers

Make the time
see the art
I am far from ordinary
if you'll just pause
observe me
absorb me

A soft mist rises
from the dewy lawn
Early rays 
sneak through the 
crack between the blind
and frame
resting where 
my dream-filled head 
just laid

Stop.
Don't make me perfect
Not yet.
Pause.
Look at how perfect 
I am right now
Wrinkled, softened,
like you
at fifty eight
like you were
at seventeen
and thirty two
Like you have been
Always
but were too hurried 
or too young
or too unbelieving
to notice

Standing now
viewing the unmade bed
while the world outside this gallery
swirls madly
rushing
going
 I frame this moment
my private Louvre
Paint me!
Photograph me!
Capture me!
Feeeel me.
See the beauty no one else can see
I won't be here long
so don't ignore me
Pause
Just pause