always remember birdsong

Feb Bluebird
It would seem odd to convey the color of the sky
and your blue eyes
in a Tuesday morning managers meeting.

It would not seem normal to describe old oak trees
as grumpy old men, tired of winter, shaking off snow and small brown sparrows
while standing at the pharmacy counter picking up cough syrup

It may sound strange to the car mechanic who is repairing the flat
to say the tires are asphalt weary
and long for humidgreen jungles
where they were once but viscous sap in the rain forest.

There is no conversation
where hummingbirds become jewels, rubies and emeralds,
or herons wait in the morning mists
or the full moon laughs
or love is the color of midnight when you finally return home

There are things that cannot be expressed
in polite company,
as my grandmother would say:

Always remember birdsong

How else am I to give voice to those words
that fire from that sparking synapse in my skull
falling into my mouth
to roll around like marbles
until, finally,
they are spat,
to the page.

12 thoughts on “always remember birdsong

  1. Kathleen… this is just gorgeous I smiled at the thought of talking poetry at a managers meeting.. (are there straightjackets for such cases in the (ab)normal world)… ha.. and yes the asphaltweary tire longing back to the jungle…

  2. smiles. there are things that only poetry can be the vehicle for.
    that there is no other arena for. i am glad you let your marbles
    out to play. smiles. ah but hummingbirds are jewels.

  3. oh this is so very beautiful… and i wonder what the car mechanic would actually say if you said something like that… it would be cool if our everyday language would become a bit more poetic as well every once and a while… keep spitting those words on the page…smiles

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