Birds of a feather …

Dawn breaks! dimly, we may see
The birds swoop from the few trees around.
Anxiously looking for food

Even in the benign winter,
late autumnal daybreak
A clear night, foggy early morning

Sees the early morning visit
Around the hotel trash bins
Moving stealthily, hopping around the sleeping tires.

A few minutes, with the deed done
A dash back into the sheltering trees
off to the next spot where food is easily got

Their silent fluttering forms
as if falling leaves, gentle in their descents
Grey, white feather filled, early morning assault.

Crows …

… in the City,

Are sent to try us,
To see if we’re alert,
or just simply posing

The raucous call is calling,
to those far and wide,
he’s the master of his turf, also just aside.

They show no sense of ego,
just birdie sense of pride
they own all this and more of it .. beside.

They seem content to rasp their call
then look about in consternation, to see,
A challenge or interruption


Would bring about hasty retreat
off their feet
up into the world above

Crows likely dream of a world of garbage spread before them ?
they dream of a pristine world?
Where they have the only garbage piece.

Either way their prissy attitude? Is the same …

Carrion ..

… rule the skies, in the city …

In the early morning, we are ruled by gangs of birds.
Descending on the city like Genghis Khan of old.
Beaks for their spears, eyes for their bows

They bow their heads to no one. In empiric bird world
Early morning with sun, fall upon the herd,
Garbage bins and parking lots, as their main quarry

Out of the sun they drop onto the unsuspecting foe.
Detritus of human life flyblown greasy paper, polly cups
and special cardboard carton bags

First the crows then the gulls come upon the the ground
they strut their stuff, swagger with quiet kerfuffle.
silently they grab the hoard and make off up above..

Eyes bright, claws sharp, best to defeat their prey.
Mighty styrofoam monster and wax proof paper tray
To repeat the sortie. On another unsuspecting day.

Music man in the early morn …

Sing out, sing out…


Pose me a riddle, quote me a rhyme
toot me a fiddle, sing out the line

Play us a melody, sweet and sublime
give us the treble, things of that kind

Play us a tango, mango and lime
lay on bassoon, clarinet, ones that go wang

Come oh music man, pluck us your line
waltz, foxtrot, twist, cha-cha or salsa lime

The pipe sound of our music, the conch sounds of our heart
pound upon the soul’s own; sweet drumbeats of time



There is great power …

… in these fingertips.

Punching out the written word.

Placing each word carefully we lay forth our plan
to diet, make; persuade others that
this is my scam

Make each sentence worthy, of each wonder of each word
Tales, schemes and simply saying
Nothing is absurd

Happy birthday, anniversary, come what may
each and every word,
take the very breath away.

Words that are happy, joyous, sad
words spring forth, exhaled,
smaller to larger page.

Words that whisper, linger, lustre.
words evoke the smallest biggest
nuance, simile, or sarcasms

Words written by hand, or on paper.
Words given and taken words sprung forth,
seep within wells of emotion

All from our finger ends spread
we control those emotions,
show scene and set place

A power like no other. The will,
to convey, set time, enthuse.
wisdoms, scares or beliefs

Words heady, portentous, downright silly.
we have for our protector
powers of communication.

Around midnight …





In the night
the people are sleeping

In the night
the insects stir

Cleaning the landings
cleaning the stairs

In the night
people deep breathing

In the night
wonders performed

Healing wounds, scars,
deep seated miseries

In the night
comes the time before dawn

In the night
we become ancient

Dreams of our destiny
become our realities, flung, strewn on seashore