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Where Bluebirds Fly


 Above image courtesy of the RSPB




They have cut down the trees

on which I hung my thoughts

for rearrangement

into coherent patterns


The branches were arteries

that turned my inspiration

into textured leaf

evergreen, sturdy, holm oaks


from the Mediterranean

whispering of sunflowers

rosemary, olives and lemons

in their natural element


sports ground of squirrels

schola cantorum of rooks

the wings of collar-doves

sunspread upon the boughs


On windy days they rocked

with interior knowledge

of history and compound time

frail scions now remnants of hope


They have slaughtered my trees

in the full flush of being

for fear of litigation

and rumours of frenzied gales


Mammon destroys the planet

I said to the Lord. Why must it?

Behold the new perspective, he said

I am giving you the skies.



Above image courtesy of Tom Pirro



From The Twain, Poems of Earth and Ether

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