~ Objects In This Area May Be Closer Than They Appear ~

The Songbird

The Songbird
Ohio, USA
August 22
I am a mechanical bird. I fly, dive, and flutter about things, curious, ... yet -- I am but a machine. I am the product of the times I came into. All is mechanical. My clockwork works - exactly. You can see by the meter of my words that something is precise about me. I know not why; I am not the Originator of these things. They only come to me. They tick, or they whirr, or they may, by chance, chime. No matter - I hear, and respond to them. I myself am quite delighted by these Missives that come my way, and my dearest love is the language I came in with, English. It isn't the words themselves; more - it is the very capability of being able to iterate what I have been given to feel.


The Songbird's Links

MAY 26, 2012 5:37PM


Rate: 2 Flag


Youthful Wonder



sting, but no..
i embrace what lingers.
the machinations that move my soul
are a cog, an ignition,
moving, enthralled.
the movement,
the very prism of time
reflects and refracts
all i’ve made mine.
why should i not?
others do.
so, if you take from me,
i will only learn from you.
refinement, such a gift.
despite the aberration
of not really knowing
how to be in relation.
i take your words in.
i chew, i digest -- i speak.
and yes, at times,
i fall into the breach.
for if me is the what,
and the what is the key,
only my intention
is what i’m able to be.
i am not an Editor.
i am not a Muse.
if i arouse your soul,
it’s only yours to use.
i am only a recipient.
your behavior is yours.
and by your actions,
i see what you move toward.
and i am also my own Judge.
i deliberate, to be exact.
and i say my True,
what i have, and what i lack.
no one knows this
as succinctly as me.
so with all my gifts,
i present what i see.
kindnesses, within.
reachings, of soul.
the telling of understandings,
alternately shy, and bold.
ahh. the gate.
what will Others allow?
the lynchpin is language,
eyes met, sweet bows.
the dance of Forever,
so elusive, so strange.
alignment is the ultimate,
but it’s not a thing to arrange.
no, it just comes.
in a pique, a glimpse.
and you know Endeavor,
it is worth this.
each footfall,
tiny moccasin,
so lost in the terrain.
the reelings of loss.
the elation of gain.
oooh, the pieces,
that we give out and breathe,
are only the signs
of what we wish to perceive.


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Your poetry brings us all to that place of remembering what it was like to win and lose. I especially like the last 4 lines. Beautiful.
rated with love
Hi, RP -- Yes, this one is rather about that dual edge. Comes and goes, comme si, comme sa. Opposites attract? Thank you, sweetie.