Saturday, June 24, 2017

Jack Scott writes

Birds in Morning Mazatlán

Colors set in silence, gems of sound
struck by master jeweler in crystal air
is birdsong.
Listen at your peril.
This music flies into your mind
through an open door or window
and remains there fluttering,
an echo of itself lingering
until some magic trick of time
spirits it away
to your quieted relief.

So it is in driving
through bird-embedded countryside,
of airborne multitudes
winking in and out of sound and sight,
as if we have flown in
through their window into their private space
as big as all outdoors.

On we drove through both the land
and our imagination
to the grotto market at the sea
where everything not sold and owned
was for sale or, for enough, for sale again.
Three prices for each object offered,
Dopplered from each seller's mouth,
the first as you approach,
another while you’re there,
the last addressed to your retreat.
Ahead, at least three sellers hovering,
behind, three hagglers haggling.

I always thought that birds were free,
but here were birds that weren’t:            
blackbirds, finches, sparrows,
a mockingbird, cardinals, and a robin,
parrots, parakeets, macaws and toucans
everywhere imprisoned in all kinds of cages:  
penitentiaries of 2x4s and hardware cloth
overkill for these tiny prisoners,
woven reed and bamboo cells,
ornate metallic birdcages.
Such a clamor, what cacophony;
every instrument in that orchestra
playing from a different score.

Are these songbirds flying meat to eat,
or prisoners for milady’s parlor
captured for their music and their color,
or, as I prefer to think,
to be given as a gift,
a token of affection
like flowers prised from chill, thin air
of mountainside
that would wilt and die and rot
between cantaloupe and carrot,
not a gift to imprison
or a meal?

One purpose of the bird
according to its catchers
is to be caged and marketed.
My purpose is to buy it
and place it in your hands,
whereupon you loose it
in simple ceremony,
feeling in that gesture
something like the bird,
freed to its native state,
not looking back,
hopefully forgetting
its incarceration.

It is barbarian,
however many smiles it brings to tourists,
to - bluntly put -
trap and hold  life hostage
simply to recycle it.

folk art painting - vintage bark painting - vibrant - exotic -tropical bird - pink flowers - yellow bird

Bevan Boggenpoel writes

Sinister Minister

They drive flashy cars -
Live in mansions
They don't pay -
Any attention

They eat buffet dinners -
Drink expensive wine
With exquisite dessert -
They wine and dine

They parade -
In expensive dress
With make-up and jewellery -
To impress

With extravagant hairstyles -
And designer shoes
The taxpayers' money -
They abuse

The dire state of this country -
They choose to ignore
Because their elegant lifestyle -
Is always paid for

 

Conspirators: Or, Delegates in Council -- George Cruikshank

Lance Tait writes



Safety in Numbers

there’s no risk in being attacked by a watermelon
like there is with a rose.

stay with your school of fish, my love.
avoid being singled out by me.
 Nick Knight, Tom Hingston, CD cover design ballistic rose for Massive Attack greatest hits, 2006.
 Ballistic Rose -- Nick Knight, Tom Hingston

Jon Huer writes

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