Is It Poetry
Skipping through the fence.
Such small chinks on them caught a feather.
Preening as dominant eye's
see the worm into its deep hole.
Blue jays scramble in arguments array.
As two sparrows tug at each end untill it does.
Honeysuckle opens as a book waiting
to be explored by one nature loving child.
Comparing the coloured photographs.
To the one's grandmama gave to him.
Then there fly the crow's.
Those mean birds whom rob the other nests.
As they sit outside my window.
Eating the last baby mocking bird.
All this happeneds
while I watch from my bed, starring out my window.
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Comments about this poem (Bird by Is It Poetry )
- Fortunate enough, hasmukh amathalal
- To Bob Whelan on Discussing Pablo Neruda, Bill Grace
- Intense drive, hasmukh amathalal
- My totality, gajanan mishra
- The Other Side Of The Story, mary douglas
- Journey end, hasmukh amathalal
- Phantasies Only Relief, Numbing (me), Lonely Voyager
- Offer with promises, hasmukh amathalal
- Morning Triku XXV, Steve Kittell
- My Pencil, Steve Kittell
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