I’m a poet with a particular point of view. In these next blog posts I’ll post poems on different subjects from my point of view. Each poem is an expression, through me, of inspiration or Spirit or emotion. What you see in this light is what you bring to the poem.
Even though it’s not quite winter yet, it’s getting there. Here is my rendition of the cruelest season.
The bird hops on the branch
closer and closer
Head cocked, eye a small ball bearing
down on me.
Does she see a worm or a shiny piece of metal?
We stare at each other across
the chilly space.
Between us evolution, the difference
between the wild and the tame.
Her feathers in my mind.
Hat and gloves, scarf and jacket
on the movie screen in her head.
I stamp the snow with my boots,
jeans too thin for a day like this.
The branch waves as the bird,
small brown/grey inches closer.
Embarrassed by this scrutiny I
Out of the corner of my eye I see snow
coming down, the branch swaying,
this bird has flown.
Leaving me alone on a cold snowy day.
Wanting the feathers and the beady eye
to come back.
But I am alone.
And winter goes on forever.
© Anne Westlund