A green finch…

A green finch takes a liking to our Callistemon |
already cozied up to sun & rain.
The finch | itches its beak | nibbles insects
& pollen dusts its feathers when it scoots
from branch to branch— from this distance the blooms
resemble lobster pincers | provide ample
cover & keep the famished tabby cats at bay
—there’s no Romanticism for that bird
only the rotary of struggle | it knows
no adjective to discuss the pleasures of flight |
its xylophonic vocals | good for an annual fuck
—the remainder of the year serves as beck
n’ call | alarm to warn his own of predators nearby.
& what we feed the air spins in his brain

the size of a walnut | the chaff filtered
with a diaphanous beat | the talent
of lungs no larger than a kidney bean.
The finch never reminisces that time
its brother got its head stuck in a Pepsi™ can
& suffocated high on processed sugar
—nor when its nest was ransacked
by magpies | who slurped the yolk
of its seed clean from the calcified womb.
There is no past for it to ponder |
no mind to give matter to a past | only successive now.
i’ll leave this fat worm clinched with a paper
clip to the 2nd brush on the left | that really red
one sharing the tip— an easy meal | a little rest.


To purchase Isacoustic volume 1 featuring poetry by me & a spectrum of other fine poets click here.

8 thoughts on “A green finch…

  1. yes yes, “rotary of struggle” but also “The finch | itches its beak | nibbles insects/& pollen dusts its feathers when it scoots….” there’s amazing music here friend, & the second stanza of humor with F-bomb included reminds me of Hughes’s Crow, where at first it’s serious & even a bit of nature poetry (a grand first stanza), but then humor & the modern world & just a sureness to bring everything into poetry (Pepsi trademarked) appears. Fantastic. Great to read it aloud in snow covered American suburbia

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