Come with me on a trip to bountiful where the trees hide little mysteries. We can move our hips on liberty’s highway a red winged blackbird will shout and up above the owlets gaze while we dance on venom’s grave. Yes! Democracy must ring true while we sway in nature’s view. Our shoes are madeContinue reading “The walking blues”
Author Archives: Anne Birkam
Frio y caliente and all that is between
What is this virus that stalks – it hunts, it preys, then it sells us an image of coyotes pacing upon the desert’s floor where the prickly cactus is gurgling, and the snake bends to the earth while footsteps wind beyond rivers marking a line that is unremarkable – an arbitrary thing, useless to theContinue reading “Frio y caliente and all that is between”
the age of extinction
the fretting over every living thing begins with the clone of a clone of a clone the scent of ivory washing out souls that make us whole birds of paradise turn into fossils the gap of feathers reside in mud and sand from hill and cave they document lacunas that are only evident when tidesContinue reading “the age of extinction”
Emergency
The brown babies are threatening grownup men and please, the sorrow that hangs like tinsel upon a Christmas tree weaves into the branches never breaking free – no baby should ever threaten when dementia has taken hold and clings like a cocklebur upon my well-worn clothes. Sing Sweet Honey sing the songs of conscience –Continue reading “Emergency”
Dancing monarchs
This expanse of watery green will deceive by throwing off eagles and egrets at random. On these banks where a city is built upon common ground the wind can bring strangers in. This is where even an ivory gull can meet its fate. The oceans reek of plastic when Easter Island is foretold by theContinue reading “Dancing monarchs”
The obligatory spin (shadows every human sin)
You can spin until you’re dizzy, you can swing from tree to tree, a lie is still a lie, the truth is what I see, my mother would have scolded me, she would have scolded me.
In the age of melancholy
In the age of melancholy the quiet in our minds is banned, being dispirited is a felony, for men whose rank mendacity has stolen the best of land and turned it leaden – all life squeezed and sadly, this is common in the age where glee is reserved for the monster hiding beneath your bed.
Making mischief
There are reasons for doing this, Like a squirrel’s nest, raised high and leafy or a river otter bobbing in mirth, up and down, begging you to join. Or perhaps a cudgel will level spontaneity – ensuring stability or perhaps weariness. Friendship deemed good advice onto a timid brain – don’t let anyone steal yourContinue reading “Making mischief”
Valentine singing on an open sleeve
“Water, water, every where Nor any drop to drink” –Coleridge It is her touch I remember as soft and willowy as a drop of dew. The fingerprint that claims a part of my soul, her touch so soft is what she eats now slipping down without the choke. The vee of geese upon the wing,Continue reading “Valentine singing on an open sleeve”
The poet sang of concrete
The poet sang of concrete and paradise destroyed, the dollar stores are ringing up landfill fodder for the gulls. And when the bittern finds his habitat banned from our state, we know the ducklings roaming Lansing with their crutches have deemed to legislate away all the living – a person tries not to hate butContinue reading “The poet sang of concrete”
Anne's mediocre poetry 