I thought I'd write about your birds
how your cardinals nested a dangerous spot
tempting molestation from meaner cats
about how we all feel the mockery
of those who steal another's song
then stare as if we are the intruder
I thought about daddies who run
from the care of young
and the young who
are fed by a mother's
condescending heart
no malice in this world
no ice too
I love the birds
your birds
what they do to make me
feel
What a fantastic poem. I love how your poetry is always concurrent to real life; it seems more like real poetry than a lot of other stuff does; some poetry is completely abstract it's true; but I love when the bones of the inspiration is still barely staring you in the face, like in this one. And the truth in the last line is one of those that's not so obvious so that when we read it, we're like, wow this poet took something from real life and gave it a name and was objective enough not to pass over it even though it's something we experience often enough and never think to mention. True blue-blooded poetry really does glorify the common; and what else is there can do that, really?