(Poem) In the forest of birdsong by Donna Snyder

Past

The influence of the sirens’ song is long since past.

Women dressed in yellow petals,

bosoms like islands,

 

bare feet planted firmly in the red sky.

The air smells of sweat and green fronds fanning.

Women sing and ring bells,

the secret places wide open.

Where are the sailors weak from hunger?

They wish for beds hidden in the trees.

 

Present

There is a peacock goddess subsuming my present.

She strokes me with cobalt blue and magenta.

The deep red sex of woman screams with hunger.

 

A royal bird gives me the plumes of her mate.

She wraps me in a robe of eyes so that I may see

My here, my now, my forest for the trees.

 

Future

In the forest of birdsong one sings the colors of the world.

Fire on her head does not consume the jelly brain.

Some wear a mask and hint of warfare.

 

We are all comandantes here.

Our future listens to the language of birds,

hand held out in peace.  A battle lurks.

 

Dress me in every color and I will make war in the name of freedom.

Blood turns to ocean,

bones to trees.

Juno and Argus by Peter Paul Rubens. Wikimedia Commons
Juno and Argus by Peter Paul Rubens.
Wikimedia Commons

El Paso, Texas

May 16, 2009

Read Meet Mago Contributor Donna Snyder.

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