I am counting to a simple beat

of  infinite plainsong

that stopped my chorister

in the middle of something

that could wait, for the low

strong chant grabbed our

hollows and turned them,

took sinews and neurons

somewhere else. In such

voice, green settles again

as a pillow of verdancy

on which to rest.



Copyrighted by the author


sweet lorikeets

songbirds, now they say, started

way down under

though fossils cannot be found.


little wrens flew north they think

and robin song grew piquant

warbling myth from sunrise to dusk.


then my sweet lorikeets

who perch outside my window trilling for themselves.

I delight in their delicate soft song


too gentle for the south’s harsh cyclonic wash.

their ancestors had to flee

in the face of a perennial folly, belonging



Copyrighted by the author



I hear a polyphony of oscillations

Swinging through moonnight

My chorister’s songbeams

Transmitted all the way

From the attic to binary stars

Discovered hiding in constellations

Of surprise through a day

Spent computing space.

I’d sing along, the breeze

Taking me travelling

On the chords of a major C,

But sit in the wings

Listening to the quiet

Of happiness

Ascending unfettered, free.



Copyrighted by the author

A Green Book

Opening at morning to a green dawning

Of bird song and chorister yawning,


I am reading a book in a green nook

Surrounded, almost confounded


By a greening of the air we share

Page after page, leaf after leaf


Entreats me to a thoughtful retreat

Breathing an undulating green relief


Of words and chords,

Heard and absorbed.




Copyrighted by the author






I think of Birdman

I try to write music

As you talk bird

For bird knows

You are bird too

Though you are man


If I were sound

I would speak tune

I would compose songs

That any bird

Could sing


Though I am not bird

And cannot sing.

I think of birdman

Talking poems that fly

Of chorister


Singing night owl

Singing verse

While I talk song

Squawking my lines

Like a bird


Though I am not bird

And cannot fly

Though I try.

Music talks to birdman

Talks to chorister


Talks to me

Hesitant on my perch

Learning to be bird

To be night

To be song.






Copyrighted by the author