The Robin

The robin bop
bop, bops along
the stone path,
her beak digging
into the cracks
she passes,
looking for supper-

looking to fill
hungry bellies,
the little ones
in their nest
crying, crying
“Mother, please;
we’re dying.”

The robin bops
along, hurried,
and at wit’s end-
I reckon she regrets
ever lying with a man.

I kid, of course.
I know as well as she:
there’s nothing like
the love of a child-
it’s simply


I’m not participating in NaPoWriMo but I’d like to use the prompts as a kickstart for my Muse. Who knows? Maybe it’ll help get me out of this rut I’ve been in. This is a poem based on the prompt from week one: write a Kay Ryan-esque poem.


Little Bird

I see you, little bird,
as you flutter in the brush
on unsteady wings. And your voice,
a tiny peal of a bell’s song,
pulls with it the first light of dawn.

But oh, little bird, don’t you know?
It’s a scary world outside your door–
here, there be monsters.

And I watch from my porch
the cat creeping close, with
the scent of prey heady in his nose,
attracted by the same song
I was enjoying just a moment ago.

And from the trees, your mother calls
in her angry lecturing voice; or
she is yelling at the cat,
scolding, warning, threatening;
but what can you do, little mother,
when he’s so much bigger than you?

It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there;
or a cat-eat-bird world;
even a bird-eat-bird world, sometimes–
because everything beautiful can be ugly, too.

Oh, little bird,
you should have stayed home.