Tag: birds

Cricket and the Bird Window (Zuihitsu poem)

by Stephen J Frankenberry2 Comments on Cricket and the Bird Window (Zuihitsu poem)

A new prompt at dVerse Poets is of a poetry called Zuihitsu. The Prompt is here and explains with a number of fantastic examples.

Now whether I’m on the right track with the style of this I’m not really sure, I could be completely off base, but it seems to me that this one does have a bit of room for interpretation so …

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Cricket and the Bird Window

I’ve a blind cat named Cricket whose Meow sounds like a plaintive cry, a howl, a meowl if you will, as she stretches her neck upwards to throw it to some cat gods that only she knows though sometimes I think, or hope, that maybe it’s a cry for me, her constant in the darkness, and that is enough for me to mean something.

I opened a wintered window last night to today’s changing morning to shock me with light birds, happier ones, not slogging with heavy wings, heavy thoughts

No one mourns some passings

They danced me stories in their landings that seeped and steeped behind my eyes into the flickering space where they kept time with my lids and flapped rhythm into song

It’s nice to fly when you can and you wake before you can’t

You can learn lessons from the pained examples of excess and hubris heaped upon us, on our angry daily as I thought to open another window the next night but thought again, thought better, trying to put lessons to use

Cricket could feel the room move around her, change temperature with a cocked nose, under the bird window and she cried, not for me but for new air? For her cat gods? For birds?

Coming back from the grocery store I passed a nursery but couldn’t afford to stop to add anything new to life, just have to hope the hardy ones return and make do with old company

This morning beneath my lids again, in my safe flights, I told the birds not to worry of the cat under the window, she couldn’t see them, they said for me the same, not to worry, that maybe she was just crying for them in the fresh wind, and that that is enough for them to mean something

Clouds (poem)

by Stephen J Frankenberry18 Comments on Clouds (poem)

The theme for this prompt at dVerse Poets is from Grace and is of False Spring and here in Northern New York in the Capital Region we’ve been experiencing a Mother Nature who just can’t seem to make up her mind about which way to go with this whole change of season thing as temps have been fluctuating on some occasions from 35-40 degrees one day to 65-70 the next … and numerous times.

Thinking about wishing for Spring to finally take hold and shake off Winter I actually posted something new with that in mind just a few days ago so the timing is pretty darn near perfect for me to simply add this intro.

Thanks Grace.

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Clouds

It’s time to let birds flutter and feather the shapes of clouds

wing finger flitter away the unslacking closed

airlessdoldrum’sboredomwinteredwindowswantonmonotony

to give slack with renewed bird flown purpose autonomy

and name clouds from our backs

again

finally

like Lucy and Linus and Charlie

Measure of Life on a Park Bench (poem)

by Stephen J Frankenberry13 Comments on Measure of Life on a Park Bench (poem)

So, there was a poetry prompt from Leslie, who you can find to explore at LeslieScoble.com, to write a poem with the main stipulation being that your narrator be seated on a bench. The rest of the prompt’s details are here, The Bench: A monologue poem including Leslie’s own wonderful take on her own prompt.

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Measure of Life on a Park Bench

I used to try to talk to birds here

who always flew clear

the crumbs of my words not enough

for them to strut at my feet

instead always taking seat

at the bench down the way

where my words echoed blunt

dead

off a statue’s head

one commissioned

instead

to just sit

as art

on a bench

in a park

for birds to just sit

as art

on a bench

in a park

.

I used to try to talk to squirrels here

as I remembered the scamper of youth

where I too was cute

proud tail tall and fluffed

from cool back pocket combs

and brushes of ego and stories attention

but now resolute to just frolic

away

and mock

melancholic heart-wrenched tales

that

then tall

tail tale

of friends once said

aloud together

but now just in my head

long dead

.

I used to try to talk to passerby

who always hasten be passers bye

eye (s) not caught

in their hurries to add not to worries

of days that are harried and carried

with them past park benches

hurried quick

with dogs

on a leash

who would shoo from a lifted leg

when I moved my head

and I tried to talk to them too

Oh, how I wished to talk to them too

at least

at most

.

I used to try to talk to the statue

on the bench down the way

where my words to birds

flitted away

or those to squirrels for skittish reminder

the truths I had to tell

when I was still young well

well young

to the dogs I wondered would maybe come

unencumbered

of leash

break free

momentarily

be my ol’ best girl, Lady

at my feet

.

I am just art

commissioned

to sit

on a bench

in a park

just down the way

with stories not heard

made of stone