Wednesday, January 25, 2006

poems from sunday

ages
it seems
have passed
since
last
it rained.
the land
is parched
brittle
stone.
the rain
has come
again.
the earth
sighs
in relief.

...

Dance is in my blood
My heart beats
native rhythms
My hips lead a belly dance
Feet stomp, leap, twirl
Serpentine arms
sway through the air
Undulating fingers
Hair flowing raven streams
a covering
Eyes uplifted set fast
upon my lover
Who watches
with delight.


...

She cannot be apart from him
too long
Or he from her.
She attacks him
sometimes
When he's near
He's just begun
fighting back.
But if he lights upon
another perch
Across the room,
down the hall
She must find him
see him,
seek him out
She does not idly await
his return
But leaps out and flies
scuttling after him
Until again she is beside him
and at peace.

...

"They mate for life,"
my daughter said.
We have played
matchmaker
But as she sits now
perched outside
He inside feeding
through the bars
He feeds her
creamy curd
"They mate for life,"
my daughter said
And I hope
it's true.


...

He cannot escape her attention
Preening aqua feathered britches
She strikes out
He withdraws
She follows
until he preens
her head, beak
delicately nuzzling
blood feathers stirring
circling her eyes
she turns her head over
as his tiny tongue
passes each down and quill
their devotion shows.

...

Sometimes they fight
amidst warbling song
screeching call
Latching beaks
Thrust, Retreat
Then settle, side by side
and sleep.

...

He strikes at her
When she picks at his feet
She pursues him
like night follows day
He rests between the forays
no doubt, saving strength
For her love tangles.
When she has tempted him
enough, she pulls a foot
into her fluffy down
and they warble themselves
to sleep.

...

She will turn her head around
Tuck it gently under
diminutive wing
While He, close to sleeps
head erect--a sentinel
She sings until she sleeps
He listens, close at hand
--or wing--
The black bead of his eye
closes gently
He ensures their safety
or sounds the alarm.
While she, half-asleep
warbles her song.
He rests only when,
they are safe.

...

when perched by the window

i.
outside flocks of birds
fly by, they call
out, "hey, wait for me"
then leap and flap
but cannot fly
their wings are clipped
they call out
"wait for me"
but the flock
unhearing, unseeing
passes on their
daily pilgrimage
for worm or seed
our birds retreat
to cage and feed
uncertain of why
they cannot
fly.

ii.
when the flock has passed
and silence falls
their heads together form
a single silhouette
consoling one another
in their captivity
bred and reared
indoors, apart from sun,
rain, hunger, predator
they know no freedom
of flight
the flock returns
and leaping, flap
but cannot fly
grounded seek their solace
in shared captivity.

1 comment:

Deborah said...

Hey Suz,
Love this poem.

Deb