She doesn't feed seagulls poison,
or sic predators on pigeons, but
she hates birds.
Who knows! She does now,
that's for sure. Even those
little cheeper peepers hopping,
finches or sparrows, even the hovering
hummingbirds. She hates the musical
riot of calls chiming in and under
and around each other,
outside her window, every morning
she wakes dreaming of
She hates them.
The bald eagle, soaring
majestically, the extinct dodo
too, comes in for its belated share. Doesn't
she know? Birds are only dinosaurs
that got scared of meteors
and had to hide
To survive, we all have to figure out
how to fly. And some of us, eventually,
find other livings,
lose our wings, and look
at the sky.
A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years. Try the RANDOM button to sample the sometimes surprising breadth of quality (and in several Novembers, breathtaking quantity as well), or click the "ANY GOOD" label* for those poems labeled with it. On any poem, old or new, feel free to offer your remarkable insight or critical acumen.
*I haven't yet revisited many pockets and stretches of time to appraise and label the "any goods," so some are missing. Please feel free to point out omissions, or - especially - erroneous inclusions, in comments.