We talk trivia, my dear acquaintance,

And such you are, and no doubt you well know,

Birds soar across the sky, always on the “go”,

And true friendship requires real maintenance.

A cat anchored to earth may be “petulance”

Towards feather friends whose liberty to fly, “so”

Over earthly terrain and mountains low…

To interact must we be in a trance?

Honestly, I don’t know how to be friends.

Can alien species learn how to mend [?]

Splintered hearts, misunderstandings send

even the strongest souls into fits.

Loyalty and love, the right friendship “blend”…

Yeah, its tough, but I do recommend it!


Part One

To sniff honeysuckle in the morning sends me up the stairway to heaven. On the fence, the Mockingbird whistled.  Hiding within the bushes, the frail Rabbit, his large brown eyes are the doors to the affairs upstairs, the stars.  Or is the female Cardinal singing within the spiraling branches of the tree?

Part Two

It’s your day, fay jay, hey let’s be gay.  May I stay?  Who cares, the airs are yours as I fly through the Vapours, digesting the contents of the strange message;

“Take the elevator to the Thirty-Seventh Floor.”


…Beautiful Bower Bird builds a bed, birthing center, a nest woven from long grass and sticks, an opening like a vulva – green leaves, food, a cape laid down to entice the female bower bird into her bower,  private curtains hung so to speak…

— Like living on a small island in the middle of the sea, “it may not be much of a kingdom, but show me one with a bigger moat

I like it when the Bower Bird lays down the blue flowers, welcome home my lady.




“Bickering of Crows” is a loud dissent

A happy Blue Jay’s warble is heaven sent.

The Mad Mockingbird hissed and raised its tail

Ad-infinitum; flying, soaring, it sails

across the field, hissing dissent –

The other Mockingbird did not linger:

dotty old bird.


The White Cat yowled; perhaps I should have left it,

But his face, oh, he appeared dyspeptic.


The Gray Squirrel scurried up the tree trunk –

desire for nuts made him a bit of a punk.


Mallard Ducks will swim in a narrow ditch,

at the side of the road – no time for that “stitch”…


Good Vibrations…

Small Sparrows and Wrens, a fluttering brood

splashing in puddles, sheer delight,

glittering drops of water, almost lewd…


A reclusive rusted Rabbit should

be discrete as it hops [no fight!]

foliage, a meditative mood…


The Fledglings chirping at dawn, so bright;

a Starling flies up, in its beak, some food,

into the hole, the nest, out of sight…


Tall Red Tulips at the edge of the Woods,

glimmer of light…


Raw essence there, let’s call it a warehouse;

Rocks and pretty discards new life garden…

Frankenstein’s creature, whereabouts,

the potential to create a rouse.

what’s there, don’t be a louse, COUNT, please harken:

fragile colored balls a Christmas “camp out”,

purple prayer beads, pious target;

Here and there a rubber ball, worn out.

Sharpen your wit – Frisbee disk faded pink;

What no kitchen sink (?) stare down;

bright-colored pebbles, black dirt, Yule pine needles

Artificial flowers [from a certain cemetery]

a blue plastic bird whose wing keeps breaking off,

a heavy red mug and my favorite cat’s grave, etc.

Ardent burden, my evolving garden…

The Cat Came In (concept of caves continued)

The Brown Tabby, a feral, visits.

Later, we found this cat …

  1. Nestled in the underwear drawer. How did she get in that cramped space?
  2. Underneath, towards the front of, the bed where all the magazines were stacked. How did she fit?
  3. In the corner of the closet behind the spindly legs of the folding chair. Why?

 Men aren’t the only ones who crave caves.

Sharing Space

Corner of the eye, fine point, “stylus” –

I saw bird shadows, wings, feathered mileage,

flying up to the roof’s corner, the edge.

Why are the Starlings dancing on my ledge?

Shuffling through this House of Cards,

I found the small hole, a discrete hiding

They’re building a nest, Yippee, Hooray!

A Starling yanked at the grass, a shyness

in its movements as it carries

“thread” in its beak back

to the hole to build the nest.

Sounds of Silence;

Otherwise they’ll leave.

So I remain mute

In my ecstasy


Puzzle, Unsolved…

When my cat is staring out the window,

what soul does he intently look into?

Wind moving through the tree branches, rustles.

Do the birds, inspired by this sound, hustle?

Sometimes, the cat instinctively chatters;

since the allure of the birds MATTERS.

But is it only birds my cat doth see?

Perhaps, it’s an animal who is free!

However, when I creep up to peek,

my cat leaves, for me a failed hide and seeks.