Tell it, Bird


In days of dynamic 
electronic-gadget ease-
touch, swipe, and record,
all quick-click touches,
I often frame my writing-time
moments with the old-fashioned.

Give me paper, a favorite pencil or pen,
uninterrupted time to gather inspiration.
Place me in a comfortable location,
preferably near light, naturally so, is best,
by an open-blind window is a good place
where diamond-scattered sunbeams fall
in sparkling slants on the floor near my feet.

Place me cozily-couched near a table lamp’s glow
which highlights the gold brimming in my cup.
I listen for familiar sketching of ABCs on paper
as a million inspirational ideas mix and collide.
I listen for the loudest bird outside.  I notice
the singing and pausing, then singing again.

This bird and I share this day—
sorting (connecting with day’s newest time),
doing (his singing and my writing),
pausing, then repeating. And again.
As time passes, the bird’s song is louder,
the pause lengthens then shortens.

I hear sketching from my pen on paper.
I feel the pause, shorter, then longer.
Then words and phrases appear on the page.
I hear it again – delivery of song from the bird 
and delivery of the bird’s pause. All I can do is smile.
Nothing. Nothing in the moment is offset.
Nothing is absurd. 

3 comments

  1. When I was in school I wrote with three ring binder paper using first pencil and later a pan. When I got to college, I had a portable typewriter and switched to using it exclusively. When I graduated college and got married, I actually stopped writing for a long time. I’m not sure why, but I guess it had something to do with not feeling I had anything to say that more than one or two people would ever care to hear. When I was shaken back to writing by the loss of the space shuttle Columbia, I had a computer and Internet connection. I wrote “Columbia: In Memoriam” on my computer and found a poetry board on which to post it. For the first time, people I didn’t know read my work in praised it. I never knew I was that starved for attention, but I have been writing ever since. I said all that to finish with this; I have always hated writing rough drafts and then rewriting or retyping the finished copy, so early on I developed the habit of working on the text – whether it be a report, a story, or a poem (yes I did write poems way back then but they were pretty wretched) – in my head I would rehearse what I wanted to say, edit and change it until I was satisfied with how I wanted it. Then I would type it up, and very rarely was I dissatisfied with the result.

    So for me, my notebook and pen have always been in my head. No matter what I was doing; be it walking, playing, sitting in a quiet corner, or even mowing the lawn I could always make notes, record impressions, and even compose whole pieces on the paper of my mind. Your piece is nevertheless very meaningful for me because it has much of the same feeling and takes me back to those days. Thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Michael,

      Writer to reader & reader to writer we are. I’ve read your response twice, and you must know it warms my heart. Thank you. I’m glad there is a connection for you & appreciation from you. And that you told me instead of bypassing the chance is pretty special. What word gatherers we all are! I love my paper notebooks (journals) even in this high-tech age. Take care!

      Jan

      Like

  2. “I hear it again – delivery of song from the bird
    and delivery of the bird’s pause. All I can do is smile.
    Nothing. Nothing in the moment is offset.
    Nothing is absurd.”

    Jan,

    Beguiling! I am hearing that bird’s song. I am feeling your peace.

    Much enjoyed!

    Like

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