Feb. 11th, 2007

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
consider the bird
it sleeps in deepest silence
remaining quite warm

consider the clock
it stays awake the whole night
yet remains quite cold

consider the man
he remains awake till late
beholds clock shivers
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
the bird sits calmly on the cow's high back
removing parasites if that's the word
the farmer's friend when poor farmers lack
the dips and sprays the wealthier preferred
to kill the ticks and aid the healthy herd
avian paradox that sits out in plain sight
the elegant egret most useful tick-bird
that comes from africa and yet is white

above us the high winds turn clouds to wrack
something like that we think must have occurred
the winds grabbed the birds up in their sack
and with a speed that should have blurred
the sight as somewhere we've referred
hurled these poor flyers westward in the night
new migrant status on each wing conferred
that comes from africa and yet is white

hard working mountain peasant in his shack
to wealthier men's opinions that deferred
now learns that these big fellows have the knack
to eat large vermin and are not deterred
by sight or sound or by restraining word
from relieving cattle in their itchy plight
the farmer will not have this helper slurred
that comes from africa and yet is white

prince in this opinion all men have concurred
that nature in her wisdom has the right
to send our farmers the companion bird
that comes from africa and yet is white
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
against the bright cold sky memory brings
a different blue one rich with tropic heat
above the deep forested gully complete
with birds riding the thermals thought sings
of warm days' work the valuable things
one learns when walking with the steady feet
of path-making goats setting the beat
while looking down at the large birds wings
the clouds above i counted on that day
but can't recall the number when i think
of all that's past and who i was back then
looking not north but southward for the way
to escape from always walking on the brink
of narrow places that the spirits pen
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
to shape the words into the proper sense
requires both thought and patience combined
we must live forever in the present tense

the ones who learn will soon go forth from hence
we send them off in hope that they're refined
to shape the words into the proper sense

the ones who lag behind not always dense
are fearful they'll be sundered from their kind
we must live forever in the present tense

in all this work the struggle's most intense
to open eyes and heal the ones who are blind
to shape the words into the proper sense

repeated often there's now no suspense
about what happens and what we'll find
we must live forever in the present tense

whatever happens we'll not allow pretense
we seek in action but to free the mind
to shape the words into the proper sense
we must live forever in the present tense
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
fervently awaiting the coming of a power
the men and women in the prayer camp
built in the name heaven a long ramp
for the great master at the chose hour
to descend at last and on his servants dower
the seal and sign the very noble stamp
to indicate that each was a true lamp
that would upon the day of glory flower
now this group was by no means the first
to hope for their god's imminent return
and would like all be ready with excuse
when weakened by hunger and long thirst
the least convinced the sacred letters burned
and put their aching knees to better use

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fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
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