Magritte And This Morning Bewick's Wren Poem by W.M. Rivera

Magritte And This Morning Bewick's Wren






Magritte stuffs it all in his pipe that's not a pipe,
smokes out a thought.

A Bewick's Wren alights
"wheat, wheat" shaking
the holly-tree, a bird that's not a bird.

I would have changed places - that debonair
Wren with the white stripe over the eyebrow.
The force of song sung by a Bewick's Wren,
a fun song filled with purpose,
out for a quick date, watching too
for the feckless worm.

Sitting, singing notes on a page, moving
on in the morning, neither there nor here,
no treachery of images.

Magritte, come quick, create a chair
that's not a chair;
sketch me a Wren.

Friday, August 22, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: Nature
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