Call Of The Wild Poem by Lori Boulard

Call Of The Wild

Rating: 5.0


It is morning, as declared by my aging
feathered friend from his cage.
A wild bird echoes back, and a duet ensues
of chirps and tunes of differing dialects
and breeds.

How easy to assume his caged song
is a lament: a cry of longing
to the wild, to the nature he knows not.

Truth be told, I suspect the reverse-
a mocking of the wild
seeking one spare meal
and the refuge enjoyed
by my sad, sad companion,
secretly revelling in the luxury
of gilded domestication.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
***** ********* 27 March 2006

I really enjoyed this poem Lori, but I dislike to see caged anything, especially birds, I don't even like bonzai! lol Your poem presents a novel way of the birds eye view, very well indeed.10 from flapping for her life! lol Tai

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Mike Finley 27 March 2006

Now I'm just being obnoxous. My last line would be: of his gold-plated cage

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Mike Finley 27 March 2006

That little devil. This is a good thought. It gets at what poems want to say - what the world is really like. I would get into it faster: It is morning, my old canary sings from his prison cell. A wild bird outside sings back, and a duet of chirps and tunes ensues. In the middle, I would say 'doesn't know' in place of 'knows not' - a pointless archaism, I think 'Truth be told' is kind of a cliche. Just say it! I suspect the reverse is true - Tweety is mocking his brother, hungry for a single meal of seed while he revels in the luxury of gilded domestication.

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