Thursday, 20 October 2011

The Birds

It's been a while since I wrote a poem not under a nom de plume. I put that right this week. This, for what it's worth, is it:

The Birds

can you hear the birds?
they're somewhere over there

it's so dark between the lights
they never turn them off
it sounds as if
there must be trees

we can only dream
as we walk

keep walking he said
either the wire goes on forever or
this is the place I started out

play your violin
I'll listen I said
play a tune I know
tell me what it is

they tell me the birds
are singing the national anthem only
these days my ears
don't work properly and it just sounds
like twittering to me

play your violin I say
anything is better
than the birds


The Solitary Walker said...

Oh, I love this, Dominic. I really like the way it constantly surprises, ands goes off in unexpected directions, yet is unified by a common thread (or wire or string!) Very good indeed.

The Solitary Walker said...

Do you know Leonard Cohen's song, 'Bird on a Wire'? In another one of those funny coincidences, I was intending posting some Leonard Cohen stuff on my blog tomorrow.

The Poetry Bus said...

That's an interesting one Dominic.I'm interested in interesting.Takes some chewing. I like chewing!Any insight into its genesis?

John Hayes said...

Beautiful poem. I'm smitten with it--great return for your non-nom de plume self!

Alan Burnett said...

Nice words Dominic. I recall 13 years ago when my cochlear implant was fitted and I could hear again after years of deafness - the first thing I noticed was the sound of the birds. It was so loud, so intrusive. But over the next few weeks they retreated into the background.

Argent said...

A slippery eel of a poem - delightfully simple language woven into something really captivating. So, does this mean YOU'RE Margery Clute?

Dominic Rivron said...

Thanks for these comments, everyone.

SW: No, I don't know that song, although I have been over to your blog to listen to the Cohenfest.

PB: None that I can think of. :)

JH: Thank you.

AB: My mum said similar things about her hearing aid. Your brain has to get used again to prioritizing the sounds you hear I suppose.

Argent: Aha! There are no flies on you.

The Weaver of Grass said...

If I didn't know better I would swear that you had heard the grackles in the trees in Alberquerque. They make such a racket all night under the street lights that any violin would be better.
What's this about your writing poetry under a nom de plume?