Playing with my personal doodlesack;
Breath of Life can be a playful attack.
A bird’s nest can be an intimate shack –
To hone its instrument, the doodlesack.
Cats meow, yowl, purr, chatter,an apt knack,
For strumming their own unique doodlesack.
When the impetuous wind somehow feels lack —
Fingering a tree’s twigs, its doodlesack.
The dogs frolicking in the yard out back,
Are chasing a ball, their own doodlesack.
(A DOODLESACK IS A BAGPIPE.)
Hiking through the woods I seek my Moira.
My [Fae] Mockingbird wears a Fedora.
Red-Winged Blackbird pecking through the Flora;
Born-Again Opera Star is its Moira.
When a Seagull flies it sports an Aura;
Spiraling into Sunlight, its Moira.
At Dawn, the Crow Caws, Avian Torah;
Communicate, an Ultimate Moira.
Have you listen to a Kookaburra?
To be filled with Laughter’s a nice Moira.
MOIRA (moi-ruh) – the personification of Fate.
as big as my thumb
these two birds hop through the twigs
bare branches [big bush]
disheveled Mockingbird’s nest
itty-bitty birds’ “tight rope”…
knock, knock, windowsill [!]
impudent Blue Jay descends
to grasp a branch in the bush
in the Blue Jay’s narrow beak
too many bits of popcorn…
stampede of Squirrels
Murmuration of Black Birds
my roof’s a highway…
dark Starlings crowd the thin tree
their golden “undershirts” gleam…
walking through the grass
at the edge [of] icy roads
the large black Crow pecks
while in the gray sky Geese honk
Blue Jay’s clutches the thin branch…
dashing through the house
leaping into cupboard space
— disheveled book shelves,
the cat hears fierce winds outside
…responding to its teacher…