Of the many wonderful things written and said by Carl Sandburg, there is one that often springs to mind which never goes out of fashion: Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.
Starlings are sunshine birds. They know how the light plays on their feathers.
A layer of snow and ice: first at the feeder this morning were the juncos.
A walk before sunrise, every step accompanied by a loud crunch, enough to start the neighborhood dogs barking. A breeze from the northeast; in the shadows of trees and tall houses, bare pavement. In every mossy crack and seam, a buildup of ice and snow, as if the sidewalks and roads have veins. Good morning to the neighbor at the end of the street, looking out from her open garage. Good morning cheerfully returned.
How silly to say, Thou shalt not. “I am an insecure god.”
I am only human. Only? True, perhaps, if you see your humanity as circumscribed by limitations.
I am human. Love with your hyacinths. Honey with your biscuits.
February 12, 2021
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces