Beagle’s Bagel-house: A Place For Poetry and Other Things
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#106 who are you saying it to
Radriar
#107
Hi Zee!
Hi Zee!
Ok
Bump
Man, it’s been a while
Time to share a poem ig.
Here’s one I wrote today:
It’s called “the morning birds and such”
I’ve lied
and silent’
watched and
pondered
all the birds that
from the window
wandered,
and dreamt
have I of days
when
dreams and I would not
part ways
as soon as mo(u)rning.
My beautiful,
my weightless birds,
with souls of flowers
taken to graves.
Right there’s a rose
for my daughter
(wince).
My pretty, free,
diamond birds,
I like to think
are mine.
What wouldn’t I give?
To be a bird or dream?
To soar above the mornings?
And pour my grief
into measured chirps
over the foreign smell
of coffee?
The humming light
of the sky’s
tossed bedsheets
whispered fog on this
sideways lake of window,
and the rainy fingertips
of another winter day
in fall
tugged on my humanity
with heart-sunken care.
Deep into and
out of the window,
called under formal clouds,
I parted my sleep-dried
lips and whispered back:
What wouldn’t I give?
Here’s one I wrote today:
It’s called “the morning birds and such”
I’ve lied
and silent’
watched and
pondered
all the birds that
from the window
wandered,
and dreamt
have I of days
when
dreams and I would not
part ways
as soon as mo(u)rning.
My beautiful,
my weightless birds,
with souls of flowers
taken to graves.
Right there’s a rose
for my daughter
(wince).
My pretty, free,
diamond birds,
I like to think
are mine.
What wouldn’t I give?
To be a bird or dream?
To soar above the mornings?
And pour my grief
into measured chirps
over the foreign smell
of coffee?
The humming light
of the sky’s
tossed bedsheets
whispered fog on this
sideways lake of window,
and the rainy fingertips
of another winter day
in fall
tugged on my humanity
with heart-sunken care.
Deep into and
out of the window,
called under formal clouds,
I parted my sleep-dried
lips and whispered back:
What wouldn’t I give?
Hey beagle