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On the pugnacity of migrating hummingbirds in my backyard

The hummers moving south before the cold

Rest not content with meat and warmth and light

But flit from place to place to pick a fight

The tiniest, especially, are bold.

 

I hold my ground with manly strength of will

Against an Irish temper in the sky,

A buzzing presence with an angry eye.

I'm three times dead, if looks alone could kill.

 

A quick and dirty sketch while vision's fresh.

Semantic bones to bear up mystic flesh?

 

A conscientious bard would dip his pen

In critic's crimson ink to mark the weak,

Those words that carry noise but do not speak.

Destroy this mess, and write it all again.



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Jonathan Moore

Jonathan Moore

16 years 10 months ago

Good to see you here

Firstly, being a structure geek, I love what you've done and the couplet does work for me, both as a comment and as a transition from one set of action, the birds, to another, the poet. Secondly, some of the phrasing is inspired and the second stanza made me laugh aloud. Not from humour, necessarily, but from a perfect capture of emotion. Lastly, the final stanza, the poet in reflection and ready to disassemble the piece until he decides, "nah, to much bother," is a great commentary. This was a joy to read. And still is, your nefarious trap working to draw me in and have another read.
S

Skumpfsklub

16 years 9 months ago

Repeating: shameless self-promotion here

(shrugging) Truth is, I just like seein' my name on page one of the tracker. It is the source, the one true source of my sense of worth. And, I realize now, it really doesn't matter how I get there.