The busy world and its machinations
have overwhelmed our little space.
The routined utterance of people
without life, without substance
that float in dull air
have made the last bird
to look once in the sky and sigh.
so many words wasted
at the breath of the day
and still no dreams,
no promise of change in the end.
Let's for instance
talk for the sake of talking
Let's talk like the birds
whose utterance
is as wild and free-flowing
as the Niagra, not bound
by suspicion or ill-convoluted
expression.
Let's know each other a little
and stop being strangers.
Only then can the dawn
be given a new name.
There is much truth in your poem. We talk too much and do nothing. While words form great ideas, the birds continue to be missing from the landscape and we do not know where they have gone or whether they will be able to come back. We are only birdwatchers and not scientists who can solve the problems of the world but are often thwarted by backbiting talk of no account.
To open up without restraint can be so freeing...
To ‘Talk like the birds’...
and trust a better outcome...
Suspicion cast to the winds..
I hope it works...
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
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You really left me thinking…
Ron
To ‘Talk like the birds’...
and trust a better outcome...
Suspicion cast to the winds..
I hope it works...
Best wishes,
Diana...