Bird Day

Pond lotus unfold their pearl drops

as swooping birds skim the surface

of water, their wings like fins above

green oyster pads. It was a day when

wind change flurried the magpies

feathers like seapray, when miners

practiced fishsong, when a raven

and an ibis became shark and swan.


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A reverie with Debussy

chorister sings of pensiveness

I feel the sun


even as our neighbourly


belt out their own composition,

a post-lunch belch

of  hamburger leftovers

and chocolate cake crumbs.


Undeterred by

this sleight of taste

and urban cholesterol

they chortle on

all day

until the miners fly in,


to the salmon dusk



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The Wayfarer, the Miners and the Huckberry

I sang of wayfaring today,

my song-wave

out of tune

with the words

next door.


The huckberry


in the late afternoon,

an audience of birds


once more.


Gently the arborists

say the tree

should go

from its city berth,

its self-seeded ambition



For the sake

of my friends

sipping their song,

I pretend

I can trek

with a tree on my back.


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