Poet Rummager

The Bird & Mons Agnes

Photo by –FlyTrapMan–

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The bird in the tree

Is speaking to me.

I can somehow comprehend.

She talks of feeling small

in such a grand earth.

The impossible dreams

she would scheme

trembling inside her –

wanting to flood out

yet somehow suppressed.

Don’t let those dreams falter,

she continues advising.

Her tiny beak opening and closing.

They’ll crack and tear

at your soul –

hemorrhaging.

Listen to the whispering.

Only then will you

hear the wind calling.

Only then will you

find your wings

and soar to Mons Agnes –

where you’ll see how small

the world really is.

 

* Mons Agnes is a mountain on the
Moon, in Lacus Felicitatis (“Lake of Happiness”).  Wikipedia

 

Photograph by FlyTrapMan (Click here to visit and follow his blog). ❤

27 comments

  5. A Lunarian titmouse! It’s been speculated that they went extinct during the Late Heavy Bombardment.

    Mons Agnes…I don’t recognize that particular name. I’m going to look it up and see if I can observe that lunar feature with my telescope, and then I’ll try to take an image of it (or movie) — assuming my telescope is able to resolve the mountain.

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  9. My favourite bit is:
    They’ll crack and tear
    at your soul –
    hemorrhaging.
    Just because something is tiny doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel profound torment and loss. Excellent.

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  10. I like the shifts in mood, from Dr Suess [1st 2 lines] to fretful impotence to an ecstatic take on the old adage that “It’s all small stuff!”

    Thanks for explicating the songs of titmice. I had only deciphered the songs of several much less visible birds: “Nyah! Nyah! U can’t see me!”

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