Tuesday, April 16, 2013


Poem #16 April 16, 2013
Pacific Northwest Morning Call
One lone bird calls out
In the blue-grey haze of early morning
The sluggish sun to arrive over the horizon,
 Barely trimmed a penchant for pink-tinged hues
 Highs and lows outlined shadow turning real
The tiny chorus member wills the day to begin
He sings the same call over and over waiting for response
From someone or thing to call back
The lonely swish of cars rush by on the nearby street
Not hearing him or his song
The dog across the street
Who bays at the moon, stray cat,
or leaf that moves under wind-power
Is silent, sleeping off the night’s intoxication
The tiny tunester changes his tone
To match the filling light that brightens
The grey to white reflecting the well-scrubbed heavens
Pure white against giant-man evergreens
Impossibly tall soldiers with their heads in the clouds
Drinking in the curtain of diffuse light and moisture
Hanging in the air filling their skyscraper-like lungs
The bird sits atop way up on a soldier’s hat
Singing for all the world
His job now is to keep the song and day going
To keep singing as the sun’s herald is renewed

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