I've wanted to do something like this for awhile, but never really had the inspiration for such an foray. It's a bit long, but basically the idea was to express a complex, mature story through childlike mannerism and language. There's a few parts that I'm not too pleased with...but some of the rhymes-the feminine ones especially-I really do enjoy. Anyway, here it is... do tell what you think of it, yes?
How Like the Birds We Are in Love!
There were two swallows that I watched
Both wing and wing in flight,
And when they reached the stars they notched
A hole there every night;
And every time they slept within
The blanket of the stars,
Venus was their soft cushion
Their storyteller, Mars.
Then, all at once, one Swallow fell
Out from its waiflike perch
And plummeted farther than hell,
To land upon the earth.
Oh weep!—the stars did weep for him,
But why did they not catch?
They cast out ineffectual limb
Too wispy borne to snatch!
And when he landed on the ground
He was too weak to fly,
His beak too bruised to make a sound,
His eyes too wet to cry.
And as he lay there on the sand
The smallest Water Nymph
In all the sea, held out her hand,
Upon which lay a glyph
That held a mantra for this bird
To mend his broken beak,
To heal up every feather burned—
And all in just a week.
Then, when the seven days had passed,
The bird regained its might;
Its wounds had finally healed, at last,
And now he’d take to flight!
But yet, the Water Nymph, she cried
For she had grown so fond
Of the bird, they say she died
Alone, in some rank pond;
Others contest she found a shelf
Somewhere along the coast
From which she haunts, all by herself,
More frightening than a ghost.
The bird, however, gave no thought
Unto the water sprite.
He soared on high, and higher sought—
Surpassing every kite.
Until, at last, he chanced upon
The nest from which he came
Snug in the sky, some ways along—
At once his laughter rang.
For he returned, at last—returned
Were both his love and home!
And, all at once, a passion burned
To never, ever, roam;
But when he came upon the nest
His throat groaned out a gasp,
For, facing out the dying west,
There stood a little glass
That held his portrait firm within,
And under scribbled words:
“Shun all emotion as a sin
Oh foolish, little birds.”
The Swallow wept, he understood
The nest was made his tomb,
A feverish shudder as he stood
Caused him a violent swoon.
And fall again, sad little beast
Did hasten to the ground;
No stars did offer help, at best
There was not one around.
Yet fluttered he before his fall
To make his landing light
And, coming down, he made a call
Unto his Water Sprite.
But none did come—oh none did come!
And bird-like bitterness
Added up, until the sum
Choked out his tenderness.
He fluttered sadly to the sea;
A cliff so desolate
He found, and cried, “What gods there be
“My heart so delicate
“Has torn asunder, like a leaf
I fear I’ve lost myself!”
And with those words he made a leap
And fell to drown himself.
And still he lies along the coast,
Haunting some bewildered ghost.
Labels: writing and poetry
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