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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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