There are lots of little birds on the telephone pole.
I don’t know why they won’t go.
I would, you know,
if I could fly.
So I try
to scare them off, light a fire beneath their wings,
but they barely do a thing.
They flutter a few feet,
and I am tempted to repeat
myself.
I know there is no help
for these feathered fools, though, and I move on.
I'm feeling restless.
Silly birds. It's cold here! Fly away!
I like writing poetry. Not all of it is going to be a historical epic or an ode to something. These are like little glimpses of the subway in my mind; my train of thought isn't always artsy or symbolic or deep or meaningful, but I like to think that art takes ordinary things and makes people see a sort of beauty in them. So, look around- I've been doing this for a while. Enjoy ♥
1 comment:
i wish i could fly. sometimes i feel like i was meant to fly, as if i should have been created a bird... but then again, that wouldn't really explain why i love water so much. unless... maybe a penguin? no, they don't fly... gosh my mind is spinning now. i get irritated at the city birds when i try to chase them because they don't fly away. they're so used to humans. i'll walk toward one, and it will walk toward me. how backwards lol. i would soooo be in the air, away from the cold, hip, urban humans. haaaha
oh, and i love the einstein dress-up idea. he's actually been on my mind ever since i cut my hair. oh, albert!
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