writing

Bird Brain

I saw a bird in a tree.

I said “hey bird talk to me.”

He turned around, we had a chat.

I wrote it down and that was that.

We said good-bye and I flew home.

I sat right down to write this poem.

 *

But lost the notes stuffed in my vest,

And whence returned I found a nest.

“My birds prose lost, how can this be?”

I said “hey bird look at me.”

She looked down so she could see,

A babbling bird brain talking to a tree.

 *

I yelled “give back my notes in your nest.”

She returned the anger, on my vest.

I started to yell one more time.

Then thought; save the vest, forget this rhyme,

A cozy nest is better than a talking bird poem.

I just hope I think of something else when I get home.

~

sck012815

Non-Sonnet

What is this thing we cannot say?

It’s something felt every day

We share with others and in return we get

When giving too much there’s seldom regret

.

Being with out’s like being alone

A feeling that should never be known

Yet we choose for this word to remain unspoken

For fear of our secrets told and hearts broken

.

It’s just a little word (of many meanings), little understood

And understanding just a little is really very good

If unsure of this word don’t drive yourself insane

Take a guess, there’s less to lose than there is to gain

.

You’ll know it when its felt, for it fits like the warmest glove

And a comfy pair is this word unspoken (that rhymes with above)

 ~

Sck011215