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,
harried,
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
humbling.

***

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.

God’s Little Angel

October 4th, 2003 – August 25th, 2015

I remember the scent of your shampoo,
and the warmth of the cotton sleeper
I dressed you in for bed.

Only, you never made it to bed.
Not for a while, at least.
You cried for hours, so sad and scared,
probably wondering where your mother had gone,
and who the strange girl was,
trying to lay you down in your crib.

I held you that night,
letting your tears soak my shirt.
Eventually you fell into an exhausted sleep,
and I placed you gently into your crib,
and slept on the couch next to it.

And when you woke up in the night,
still so sad and scared,
I held you then, too,
until your mother came home to tend you.

Now I hold your mother,
and it’s her tears that soak my shirt.
It’s one of life’s little mysteries,
why God calls back his little angels
so early. Too early.
Still, there’s a comfort to be felt
knowing you are now in a place
where no earthly pain can touch you.

And one day, you will be returned
to your mother’s loving embrace.

In loving memory of my cousin, Derek, who died too young.

Jokers Right, Clowns Left

You read me like a book, you say,
to which I have to laugh.
What’s there to glean from empty pages;
don’t you understand?
I’m a master of my craft.
It’s a game of play pretend.
With my bag of tricks,
and some joker’s quick wit,
I bring the crowd their kicks.
Though now, it’s the clown being played.
But I’d gladly condescend to claim,
you know the face behind the name.