a bird's life
by Charlie Morgan
when the pink flamingos take to the air,
as the whiteness of underwings pushes
water to waves, rivulets to the ocean,
warm air lifts all to the heavens.
avocets, flamingos, stilts: wading birds
who fly to wade after life in shallows,
who also make life commonplace to each;
they peck, dip, scratch, exist to live.
on Manhattan's sides are concrete nests;
built to hold one person and no dreams;
pigeon droppings are the fresh talisman
for those in the city and homeless.
take me to the marsh, let me scratch
for waterlife, let me dip my bill in,
let me bring back all the tomorrows
i had when i was but a young heron.
Posted on 02/17/2009
Copyright © 2019 Charlie Morgan
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Jeffrey Parren on 02/17/09 at 05:46 PM|
Wow Chaz. Wow. The images and the so true thoughts are quite powerful and reflective. You never cease to amaze. ~JPP
|Posted by George Hoerner on 02/17/09 at 06:46 PM|
Great write Charlie. This could stay on POTD for a week as far as I'm concerned. Well it could if you'd lend me a couple of those "young heron days". Really nice.
|Posted by Colleen Sperry on 02/17/09 at 07:09 PM|
this is fabulous!
|Posted by David Hill on 02/18/09 at 12:55 AM|
I like your man bird images. I would choose to be a blue heron, right in Central Park.
|Posted by Anne Engelen on 02/18/09 at 09:32 AM|
This reminds me of this very popular Dutch song (De vogel = the bird) by Tim Vistrim where a wish was granted to this young boy and all he wanted to be was a bird with colourful wings and be able to cruise the skies whenever he felt like for the rest of his life.
|Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 03/21/09 at 04:42 PM|
damn charlie! well spoken sir!
|Posted by Joe David on 09/13/09 at 04:58 PM|
Found this gem thru Garth's page. Freshest, most sublime thing I have read in a while. Last stanza is quite poignant, reminding me of my lost years and when I could run and think more quickly, but perhaps not as deeply. Yes we live to exist, and we exist to live. Beyond that I am face to face with mystery. Well crafted words fitting together like a rock fence that needs no mortar. Way to go Bro.