Three More Poems
photographs by Ron Constable
BIRDSONG by Ray Teplitz
I Don’t Know Why by Jackie Parrish
Out Fishin’ by John Reimer
BIRDSONG
by Ray Teplitz 3/17/18
I try to remember to wear my
hearing aids when I go out
walking. It is not only for me
to better participate in the
word-song that passes for
communication between me
and other walkers, but to remain
aware of oncoming traffic,
passing drones, malicious
pigeons, etc. and the music of
the bird sounds that abound.
Some of those sounds are the
twittering of gossipy conver-
sations, possibly warnings of
the time to attend school or
the need to get to a meeting of
scholars or business of other
kinds…who knows what the
finches may be up to now? But,
they burst into song now and
then. Is it a random impulse?
Or an organized event? Per-
haps, the beginning of an
opera? Whatever. I imagine
that those better informed
about birds may know, but not
I.
My memory is stirred about
the bird in our house, a yellow
canary, my father’s bird. It
was my task to see to it that
the bird was fed, watered and
the cage cleaned. But, the bird
studiously ignored us all,
except for my father. On his
return home, the bird was
released and after flying about
the room enjoying its freedom,
it would settle on my dad’s
shoulder and sing gloriously.
They would kiss. It was just
wonderful to see…………and hear.
Why and how this special
relationship came to be is
another one of those questions
I never got to ask my dad.
Back to Top
“I Don’t Know Why”
by Jackie Parrish
Old men perched high in tiered row,
Proclaim we have another foe
And insist we have to go.
But, is it so?
Yet, who can say no.
Soon missiles fly,
And invisible women cry,
and children die.
And I wish I knew why.
Old ones and young ones,
Dark ones and light ones.
They all
Silently fall.
A momentary sorrow,
Forgotten tomorrow.
Another missile sails.
A mother wails
At child blood trails
Drawn in the sand
Of the battered land.
What did they do?
I wish I knew.
For oil, for greed?
For color, for creed?
For profit, for pride?
I think they have lied.
We’re sent to kill.
They’re left to die.
Tiny specks on a hill.
And I don’t know why.
Back to Top
Out Fishin’
by John Reimer (4/19/06)
I crept up softly to the shore
of that remembered pool
I knew some trout were in it
That I would try to fool
I sent my fly to dancin’
Upon the water clear
They must have seen it floating by
There was no cause to fear
I cast the fly to make it land
Farther up the stream
I did my best to make it float —
A dead fly to be seen.
I chose my spot and made my cast
And landed it with care
And sure enough a silver fish
I found awaiting there.
I saw a fish come swiftly up —
The fly to disappear,
I felt the tug and hooked the fish —
Sent up a lusty cheer.
It plunged, cavorted, did its best
To keep from being caught
It bent the rod and pulled the line –
It fought and fought and fought
At last it tired and came to me
And landed in my net
The biggest fish I ever had –
As big as they can get.
For all the joy it brought to me
I took a memory look. –
Took the fly so gently out –
Returned it to the brook.
You see that I will fish for more
Than taking home the fish –
My memry book holds many a dream
I otherwise would miss.
For I will dream beside the stream
While I am fishing there
And whether I catch fish or not
I simply do not care.
Time for glass of wine yet? (Helen McCrea)
Thank goodness Albertson’s now delivers wine (Linda Sind)
I’m fine, I had some wine (William Silfvast)
To SIP has a new meaning. (Dolores Fisette)
Fill my glass. This will pass! (janet Hines)
Leave a Reply
Want to join the discussion?Feel free to contribute!