They do not know or understand my secret of the quill. |
SLAM Katya’s Prompt 2/19/04: Secret life/free verse. Write a poem in which you tell, or keep, a secret, or reveal a secret life, or explore the phrase “secret life.”. Bird Days and Nights I teach twenty baby birds, wrapping them tenderly in lessons, feeding them number operations and assorted worms of language. To them I am just "Teacher". I fly the sky, soaring on breeze, cawing with the other birds as we hold "V" formations in currents that lift and drop. To them I am just "Friend". But nights, I leave my roost. Their eyes are shut and cannot see when I drift the clouds and sail the winds. Then faster than a falcon dives, I plummet into my secret. Twenty spins and seven twirls guide me into the night where secrets fly across the reach of what no others see. Twenty spins and seven twirls I ride my magic quill, and when I reach the edge of dawn my brain knows things they don’t. I teach twenty baby birds wrapping them in verbs and nouns, feeding them with geography lessons and assorted worms of graphs. To them I am just "Teacher". I fly with the flock, circling seasons, flapping air streams for others. And as we migrate toward fairer climes, to them I am just "Friend". But nights, I leave the nested tree when their eyes are blind to my flight, and I drift the clouds and sail the winds. Then faster than a falcon dives, I plummet into my secret. * |