Terry O'Leary


Captive Bird - 12 Bars 12 Dreams


12 BARS

Twelve rusty bars, one frozen lock -
Confined, sublime, an ancient Roc,
Enclosed inside a barren cage -
Her catacomb in sundown sage.

Of former days there is no trace
Except displays of fallen grace -
Twelve dreams, abiding in her place,
Are free and dwell in yawning space:

12 DREAMS

Of wings unfurled, and seething eyes
That dredge the depths of dawning skies
Unclamping clouds that hang below,
Once ice, dissolved in morning's glow;

Of clutching winds that carry free
Beyond a leaden anguished sea
Dispersing dust of stifled stars
Midst chunks of chain in slave bazaars;

Of swooping to a silent shore,
To perch beyond the ocean's roar
Amazed to feel the sobbing breeze
Message the leaves of rooted trees;

Of stalking trails of twilight tramps,
Within the fog of lighthouse lamps
That blink forlorn through caldron nights,
In search of shades of errant Kites;

Of darkling vast deserted lands,
The windswept stones, the shadowed sands,
Where ghosts of Moorish maidens lost
Conceal their groans in mourning frost;

Of blotting out the bloated moon
While feathers beat a banshee tune
And glimmers dance and prance aglow
Upon a pearly pale plateau;

Of tasting cool torrential rains,
Beyond the realm of binding chains,
And sipping freedom they exude
In quite drops of solitude;

Of whisking off a galley crew
Aboard a ship in midnight dew,
Beneath the pierce of seagull's screams
That mock the strands of scarlet streams;

Of sating once an aching craw
With tearing beak, with ripping claw
And echoed by an eldritch screech
While feasting on abandoned beach;

Of restive thoughts and weary wings
That drift on haze and smoky rings
Obscured within the opal shroud
Of her resemblance in the crowd;

Of croaking caws in broken rhyme
Of winter woe, of summer clime,
Of building nests of sundown sage
Beyond outside a barren cage.

Submitted: Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Edited: Wednesday, July 18, 2012

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Comments about this poem (Captive Bird - 12 Bars 12 Dreams by Terry O'Leary )

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  • Ruby Honeytip (2/9/2013 1:09:00 AM)

    Oh boy....you make my stuff look like preschooler scribbles.

    Of swooping to a silent shore,
    To perch beyond the ocean's roar
    Amazed to feel the sobbing breeze
    Message the leaves of rooted trees;

    No one will top this....ever! (Report) Reply

  • Ellias Anderson (7/28/2012 1:55:00 AM)

    The feeling of freedom in title...
    wow, you really paint a nice imagination Terry, ....thats fantastic. i like these two lines the most:
    Of stalking trails of twilight tramps,
    Within the fog of lighthouse lamps (Report) Reply

Read all 4 comments »

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