I love poetry, I really do. But I don't like writing it. Especially when it rhymes. It makes me crazy because after crafting a poem that rhymes, my brain childishly does rhymes for the rest of the day - with everything. It is internally irritating.
Never the less, I recently found myself visiting a website that is all poetry. I spent a week on the site, getting to know how it functioned, some of the writing there and lastly some of the authors. It was a good week, but I felt terribly guilty at the end of it because I know there were so many other things that needed my attention.
While there, I actually felt I needed to produce some poetry - it is difficult to say "I am an author" without proving it. So I did just that; I wrote poems on command. Really, this is hard work. Not bust your ass hard work, but hard enough so that at the end of the day, you know you had a mental workout.
Well, getting around to it, here is a poem I wrote last week in response to something another poet wrote about wanting to release a well cared for caged bird she met.
For Sensual Sorceress from Sunkist the most excellent parrot: "Rest assured, author of "Caged Bird", life indoors can be grand!"
My plumage shines so brightly
yellow, orange and green
kissed by the sun so lightly
while mama and I preen
My food cup's never empty
of vegetables and fruit
of endless sumptuous bounty
a psittacine tribute.
My baths are always taken
in a painted pasta bowl,
I flap my wings and beckon
other captive birdie souls
Brightly colored toys present
something to ponder on
hidden nuts and seeds -a pageant
of homemade bird bonbons
i've never known true freedom
my hatching was a plan
and while profit was a symptom
I was accepted in this clan.
My name is Sunkist and I'm cherished
and a companion every day
within this flock I've flourished
and play and play and play.
In the wild I'd live for five years
if I were lucky, six
but here I know and have no fear
I'll live to sixty-six!
Humans keep cats and dogs and fish
yet think I'm different than those pets
any pet unloved lives a life of anguish
yet here there's no regrets.
Just listen and I'll tell you
what it means to be a bird
in field, forest or bayou
our shrinking world is altered
The rainforests are being cut and burned
and food is getting scarce;
while within this flock I'm never spurned -
I'm loved - and happily well versed.