Birdsong | Nancy May
birdsong
wakes my dreams
broken branches
More at https://twitter.com/Haikuintraining.
birdsong
wakes my dreams
broken branches
More at https://twitter.com/Haikuintraining.
night’s end
silhouettes of stars
lay in the sun’s shadow
—–
pieces of driftwood
answering your questions
blown out candles
—–
spring horizon
settling down
the long distance snow
—–
moonlit dusk
the drift of the old oak
in the empty wallet
—–
pieces of driftwood
ebb on the shore
winter sunset
—–
scents from a bubble bath
on the low laying sun
a shadow of stars
—–
spring horizon
a line of cocktails
washing away memories
—–
forgotten memories
meander in the stars
above lay lowing clouds
—–
winter horizon
echoes of your dreams
on distant constellations
—–
scent of vanilla
in the bubble bath soap
spring sunrise
Atoms cool in the roundness of new night.
A searing hiss as suns settle into skies.
Planets sigh and sway into first sleep.
Trees bed down in those dark patches
of warm earth, shiver as waves
coax water upward over sand
and the electric swing of a storm
is left dangling overhead…
After birth tremors subside
is a lull
and we lie curled up
on raw soil,
our new hearts thumping wildly
when we are drawn up,
bone by howling bone,
left standing…
Where did I find the song I sing
The song inside all other songs
No one else can ever hear
Or claim it as their own
It’s a song of connections
A melody of loving and playing
The tune is made of dreaming
Dreaming of ancient songs
From the beginning of time
The cursor signals, winks on and off, uses a code
I have yet to master. Sometimes it seems amused,
Pleased with itself over an inside joke I don’t get.
Other times, it becomes a warning, desperate for
My attention, as if the page were a flooded road
Much too dangerous to wade in or drive through,
Sinkholes waiting, hidden, ready to drown me
In paperwork and complex incomplete thoughts,
And sometimes, every once in a while, it greets,
Like an old friend might, or a fan cheering me on
As I finish a full marathon, barefoot in this rain.
The cursor signals out, like a coast watcher in war,
Like a frantic radioman as his Titanic goes down,
Like a traffic light and a really bad intersection,
The corner of my life and all these blank pages.
It winks off and on as if it were counting down
From some set number, a bit out of rhythm,
Like a poorly tuned heartbeat, a pulse beat
To check on and hope for, like an anxious medic
Triaging on a blank battlefield, a reassuring beat
Playing on, restlessly wanting me to respond.
Welcome to the strange
side of town, this is where
I’m from.
Once you live here
long enough it doesn’t
seem so odd anymore.
That’s how it is — abnormal
becomes the new normal.