I find hope at the bottom of drawers
caught between pages
stuck together by time
written in a hurried hand
rushed ink that speaks
meaning from years ago
still waiting on wilted pages
for an ear to listen
calling from its home
to be lifted from those pages
When you hear that Canary’s melodic song
and have a sudden urge to sing right along,
do you ever wonder if your whistled reply
is heard by that bird simply flying by?
Does he hear your innocuous far off hum,
and wonder if you’re speaking in some foreign tongue?
Or maybe he simply assumes your distant call
came from a bird with a twangy southern drawl.
But what if your nonchalant whistled song,
was the response he’s been waiting for all along?
What if your call out into the sky above,
was actually a proclamation of true bird love?
That Canary hears your tune and he knows this is real–
this bird may sing off-key, but has so much zeal!
He answers eagerly and without any delay
but you unknowingly just continue to go about your own day.
Completely unaware you’ve just led this bird on,
you keep planting your flowers and mowing your lawn.
And after singing for hours, the bird gives it a rest
and sighs and goes home to his lonely bird nest.
Maybe he’ll move on and find his song once more
and never wonder again about that strange whistle of lore,
but then again, maybe, he’ll keep singing day and night
still searching for that bird who was the love of his life.
So next time you have an urge to sing back a reply
to bond with that innocent bird simply flying by,
consider the repercussions of whistling a song even sweeter
and instead perhaps opt to just buy a bird feeder.
like a single raindrop
in a storm,
we fall quickly
in an unwavering path
toward what seems to be
the easiest ending
we blindly streak
and let gravity’s pull
control our speed
we’re one in a storm
of a million
all crashing and racing
toward the surface below
and never fully grasping
that when we reach
the hardened ground
a thousand others
to break our fall.
and a thousand others
will need us
to break theirs.
anyone can talk about beautiful things
puffy white clouds and shiny jeweled rings
good hair days and your five year plan
how far you and your dog just ran
but it takes a certain kind of guts
to tell the whole world that your day sucks
what if truth was shared on Instagram
about how you baked those brownies without the Pam
and how you spent your paycheck way too fast
and worry about things that are long past
how you fear you’ll fail when you let others in
how you still regret turning down that boy with the grin
but what if into the wind self-consciousness was tossed
and we all talked freely about fear and loss
what if we shared real moments while forgoing a guise
and looked each other right in the eyes
a world without the pretense and the shiny veneer
would this reality intrude on how life should appear?
or would it provide something else completely freeing,
the beauty of truly connecting with another human being