#birdpoem

[sardinesociety]

[rockawayan]

[itsshainy]

Little bird

It’s time to let go of the litte bird

I know you took care of it and created a bond

but don’t get hurt

it’s time to set it free, let it fly to the clouds and beyond.

-Shainy

[rockawayan]

Madrigal, from Leonid Aronzon

Madrigal

Your eyes, beauty, are become

not autumn churches, not churches, but their grief.

Some kind of old trees

were my armchair, you — my reed flute.

I fed a bird, I saw each hair

of that long lily your voice plaited.

I drew it on the damp clay of midday,

then washed it away, to remember it tomorrow morning.

[rockawayan]

your laugh last night —

A kingfisher diving to snatch

the silver fish from my river

[rockawayan]

You hawk wild as mountain

even as you bathe yourself

of pigeon blood in a puddle

[rockawayan]

Any way that the sky

Any way that the sky bruised and tired as the sun slips into slumber, leaving the dark bay to care for itself — only then, blacknecked geese, brants — heads straining forward, wings going steady and calm against the anxious calling — any way that it could all make some kind of sense — the magnificence of evening, the turn of day to night. No. It can’t be bothered, really. Think of it as that one who never turned to look at you twice, if that makes it any better. But better yet, see how the clouds slowly steadily darken through gold red purple to black, how the sun swells as it darkens and falls toward the water, its blaze spilling across the bay. Off in the reeds, the trees beyond, birds gather, sing, and the geese, the brants their reedy voices low and urgent.Watch and listen, smell the bay, the life in the muck– feel the chill come on. Just that. It will be dark soon enough, soon enough.

[rockawayan]

in your absence

Lured by the heavy moon

the bay’s withdrawn

leaving even geese

swans brants ducks

to stand bereft

vulnerable

in the strangely exposed

muck and rocks

stretching far from the shore

They too long

for the black waves’ return