dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: birds

Under feathers

Huddle all the dark,

Sharp things of the world.


The bird womb breeds

Beaked fury that scurries

On Swiss-army knives,

All blades bared.


Like sharp treasures

In pockets


Their cries send needles

Through veins, trains

Whistle more subtly

Than the winged refrains

Of my flightless fear.

and open doors
but when you’ve finished
slide them softly
back in their frames

like you would
a bed of matches
resting, waiting
for darkness in
their box with words

a boundary
like a cliff
with only hovering birds
and the crumbling rock edge
to break strength
and silence.

with honeysuckle stems

for fiddle strings

and dried pine needles

spread thick for dancin’,

deer and squirrels

and anything with wings

can meet in the middle

of the shady woods

and stop and listen

to the whistlin’ breeze

as it races

through the branches.


Who knew hope flew
With jet black buzzard wings
Which took the sun’s glow
And trapped it in
A tinted sheen that hovers on
Thick swarms of flies
And overused, broken machines.


Power cord ripped out,

Hacked with orange safety scissors

Until frayed wires

Peeked through

Like the bones

In a bird carcass.

Just unplug

Was all I asked.


Sparrows sit like music notes

On thin telephone wires.

Poised with puffed-up chests

Like opera singers,

They feel their elevation

Above buildings, people, cars.

Man’s voice,

In its constant travel

Beneath tiny bird feet,

Becomes only a weak

Mechanical murmur,

A meaningless silence substitute

That lacks the strength

To burst forth from

Its tiny wire prison,

Strung from pole to pole.

The sparrows’ song,

Pure and sweet,

Bounded only

By the open sky,


What beautiful melodies

Humanity may sing

If we like sparrows

Sat and let our Maker

Fill us with music.