Why do birds fly?

Birds don’t fly to get away

The land and the ocean hold their prey

They seek out trees when it’s time to pray

They seek warm leaves when the skies are grey

Birds don’t fly because they’re free

Beneath the clouds is where they’re made to be

In a flock of geese or a murder of crows

In endless space they huddle close

They migrate in a widespread V

Through cold and ice, they fight fatigue

And finally when it’s time to rest

They nestle their heads within their breasts

The sky is their curse just as ours is the earth

We gaze onward as they gaze below

Knowing here we’ll spend the rest of our lives

Knowing there is where they were made to survive.

Bourbon and Vermouth

Your eyes cast a merciless spell

Your kiss banishes me to hell

My heart wonders what drum yours beats to

My kiss tastes of bourbon and vermouth

I don’t mind when your skin confronts mine

I don’t expect your heart to be mine

You see lust where I see regret

I haven’t learned how to fight it, yet.

Siren Song

Gone before long, such a shame

A moment into his voyage, he capsized in a watery grave of lily pads.

She sang to him, she lured him in, with crystal petals and a mischievous grin.

Intoxicated by flowers, and inebriated by lust, her voice reverberated within his head,

And whimsically, she braids her hair, and watches his boat break among stones.

Just another fool, yet another fool

And the love of a fool doesn’t last very long,

So he may as well suffer a siren’s song.

Strawberries in the Winter

Strawberries taste like summer, with a sweetness that gives me visions of green strawberry fields

With bright red gems glittering with the morning’s slowly dissipating fog

And fragile white, round-winged butterflies fluttering through the miles and miles of sweet strawberries.

Tasting a strawberry in the midst of a winter, I wonder how far we roam to find strawberries in a place so cold

Across the country, through the snow, to the other side of the world where it isn’t below zero

Or maybe just a little down south, where the porch is warm enough to languidly rock and watch the trucks drive by

Through day and night, to bring these strawberries out of the light and hope they survive.

A journey up the coast, to where the sun doesn’t shine and the earth is too cold for strawberries to grow

They taste like another place, or another time, as I’ve witnessed summer before with my own eyes:

It smells like the green leaves of the strawberry, tastes just as sweet and sounds like cicadas

Feels like sweat on my forehead, my bare feet on sand and a cool salty wind with an ocean wave cadence.

I wonder if strawberries in the winter taste just as nostalgic as pomegranates in the summer

To fully validate the irony in that I only miss one when I’m with the other.

Lagos

There is no wind for whispers; just the silence of the sea.

As the waves lap at my feet, I soundlessly weep at the solace the sun has given my soul.

At last, I am whole, together with the sand from which my form was span

And the salt that seasons my tears.

After so much time alone, I’m finally home to a place I’ve never been.

I long to see that blue sea once again.

Lagos, Portugal

My Name

I don’t need you to call my name to summon me from the depths of hell

In blue-black flames I listlessly dwell, wide awake just for the sake of staying warm.

Remember, December is never far away, and yet it’s been ages since I’ve seen the languid drift of snow

It melted away with all I used to know of your voice, your escape, your sordid show.

I don’t need you to call my name to douse the flames of hell

I’ve come to know them very well, more than your deceitful, demonic spell.

The dark place where you dragged my soul is only a curse if I make it so

I’ve come to peace with death and darkness, with hate and pain and years alone.

Instead, I watch in the glimmering lights as my shadow pirouettes across the floor

Light as a feather, dead as the earth, joyous as the sun, lovely as the moon

Glowing with the fierceness of the sun at noon, I delight in that I won’t hear your voice call

My heart became a rainbow after an endless tear fall

My name is not for your lips; it is for my final and joyous withdrawal.

Drought

She wanted to cry, but no one would let her

Her sighs drew out a single letter

The drought grew long as she held her tears

It hadn’t rained for several years

She wanted to scream but no one could hear her

The thunderous rumble quaked wildly within her

If she could let go of all of her tears

It could rain in the desert the first time in years

Your Shadow

He screamed at a shadow to get out of his way.

Perplexed, she said “Why shout when you could walk right through me?”

He shrugged. “I want to be heard as much as you want to be seen. Now we’re both satisfied.”

So she remained by his side forever to dance before his eyes, and he whispered his dreams to her in the dark.