A bird in my garden sang.
A pang
(I no not why)
Into my heart sprang.
Perhaps it is the knowledge that I will die,
Though birds will still sing
Be it winter or spring,
And bring
A melancholy joy
To girl and boy.
The tears start
When nature’s beauty overpowers.
Countless hours
Has many a poet spent,
His efforts bent
On personifying mother nature,
The creator,
Who has no heart
Yet lives and breathes
Through his art.
The disquiet
Of quiet.
Turn up the sound
And drown
Out the bird
Whose song
Before long
Will stab you to the heart
Causing tears to start.
I, for my part
Listen
Though the tears glisten.
I become a child, for a while
Without guile,
Smile
And yearn to be free
Of me.
He said, “I have wrought
What I ought
Not to have wrought
And bought
What I ought
Not to have bought.
I have caught
the wild bird
Who’s song I heard
In the lonely night.
Once delight
Of a kind, semed sweet to you and me
And we believed ourselves to be free”.
She said, “There can be no mistaking
That I flew into a cage
Of my own making
And now I rage
Against my own stupidity
And cupidity.
Expensive bras
Make for sturdy bars.
The truth is, you a bird caught
But together we rought
This cage
In which we now both uselessly rage
If I could touch the spirit behind the rain
And understand the bird’s call,
My brain
Could not contain
The pain
And joy that does underlie
It all.
Where I to comprehend why
I would surely die
And be forever lost in the endless sky.
An unspoken token.
Perhaps a ring
Or some other sundry thing
Left behind
For a man to find
May cause his heart to sing,
Or ponder on why
Birds that fly
Leave a solitary feather
To remember them by.
Outside my window the birds twitter.
No bitter
Singing from those who live, yet know it not.
Their lot
Is a happy one,
For they are here then gone
Without foreknowledge that the sky will darken.
I will harken
To another song.
The long
Summer nights have arrived.
Why do I strive
For delights
Of a different kind,
When I find
In the birds
A truth surpassing words?
The soothing rain
Washes away pain.
My thought’s train
Quieted by the rain.
The wind blows
And my heart goes
High
Untoo the sky.
Would that I could travel with the breeze
And soar amongst the trees.
But I am to the ground tied
And must dwell amongst tears and sighs.
The fallen leaves are dead
Yet Overhead
Birds sing
Presaging spring.
The sky slowly darkens.
He harkens
To birds.
No words.
Only the sun sinking
And him thinking
On time
And the divine.
I heard
A beautiful bird.
She sang of joy
To man and boy,
And nectar sweet
That I might eat.
She said, “I have flown high
And been lost in the great sky.
Come with me, you can be as I”.
I flew with her, but she did lie.
K Morris - Poet 