membership

Ship is chilling while her sailors
hit the shoreline houses that breathe
odors from animal passions

and so sunken have they fallen
drums can’t allow penetration
of her waves through the walls, that say,

Now this raining of sands that has
come so sudden to this harbor
upsetting a calm horizon

may mean extension of shore leave.
Legendary are charms native
chicks here exude. Might as well sink.

Proof

making double sure the vessel
will not embark on the lengthy
journey where water bodies may
really become not just choppy
but currents enjoy seducing
lovesick sailors into the rocks,
well to certify lack of cracks,
if it means an inspector will
forfeit that stripe plus extra pay,
is simply sensible sailing.

extra credit

Pay is not the most intimate concept
this poet has had the pleasure to touch.
Since the world seems to be caught in the arms
of craziness possessing monstrous lust,
maybe a practical idea would be

to see about how to earn a bundle
that will keep the cookie jar from too much
hunger come winter; that’s no way to sleep.
but that jazz of pizzazz in bookish lands
legendary for whimsicality

that lit with a channel-wide happy beam
the snug-set mountain laboratory,
has drifted into the distance these days.
Really a creator’s environment
should be given credit as co-author.

This Poet’s Universal Freedom Act

if it must mean a face will take
fated aim while scoping the vastness
of nothing, what more may a fretting mind
try to do except to just go with it?

We will be keeping the floor plans
plenty busy enough when spending dreams
under starry nights considering words
like Omnipresence, as in, how

a given something (or especially
a most special Someone) can be
Omnipresent, as in how a Where
can really know no border. Our

neighbors who do sometimes ask if
production is taking a hiatus
will certainly wonder no more
as we buzz in space, making walls vibrate

temptation moment

cruller valleys ring the twin columns
though a bend for napkin retrieval
exposes her cotton triangle
crinkled in the middle and tightly
bunched but not so much that an idea
cannot help but be inspired by
that human wetness patch glaring dark,
and it won’t help to beseech powers
unseen (possibly fictions themselves),
as a plot twist just gave senses a nudge.

a sample piece of literature purely for research purposes

Word has recently reached these tale-spinning offices that the swallow who appeared in a previous piece prefers anonymity over even an alias and so is quite okay with going by a capitalized Swallow. The same Swallow has also requested it be made clear about his history with bird bombs; that such a history did not really exist, as the couple of bird bombs he had in his possession at the time he felt the inclination to use them were given as gifts from swallows a good society might say are seedy – if not in appearance then certainly in character.

Perhaps it was the time and place our Swallow hatched into that acted as a preeminent brush in coloring the outlook Swallow carried and was true to until this moment of using his couple of bird bombs. When but a juvenile in basic swallow flight training, traveling busybody birds (generally sponsored by the grouse-founded and led Good Feathers Upright Behavior Society) put on a show warning about the dangers of bird bomb addiction, or that playing with bird bombs all but guaranteed bird bomb addiction. Something about the dopamine rush to the brain of the bird who would try but one little bird bomb. If these intermittent visits did not sear bird bomb fears deep enough into Swallow’s conscience, it seemed everywhere he flew he could count on the ubiquitous presence of one of those big bird-boards emblazoned with bold red lettering that said: GOOD BIRDS DON’T PLAY WITH BIRD BOMBS. And Swallow did abide by this life path until that weak moment a pair of seedy swallows put a couple small bird bombs in Swallow’s claws. Even so, even though, Swallow did not cast the bird bombs away, he swore and swore and swore, to never use these bird bombs or any bird bombs to harass humans.

Anyway, as Swallow chilled on his launchpad branch, his wounded pride had almost healed; wounded because of the humans not noticing his bombing run that shattered to smithereens a squad of spies working for doers of evil. Swallow decided to not let the ignorant humans get him down. Swallow had also decided he wanted a couple more bird bombs. Not big bird bombs. The small bird bombs Swallow experimented with were fine. And Swallow said repeatedly to himself, “I will not use bird bombs to harass humans, but just targets harmless and fun.”

Well, Swallow did not want to start obsessing already when or how he would procure more bird bombs, so he tried to get back to his acrobat exercises. Knew he needed work on sideways arcs. Couldn’t hurt to work on those tight-space reflexes. It might’ve been just as well the humans did not observe him drop the bird bombs; confidence could’ve suffered at the sight of the swallow barely missing a bush root.

But it just so happened that thanks to a soft but insistent breeze, Swallow happened to catch pieces of dialogue authored by the humans hunched over the patio table on the earth.

“Wonder where our swallow went.”

“Who knows what goes on in those little heads?

“Most of our fellow humans do not give a lot of thought to whatever might go on in a bird’s little head. Their own heads are too busy nurturing more important affairs. Keeping watch over what other humans do. Yep, Humans, productive humans at least, are too busy looking for ways to better manage the less productive. It’s enough to just manage the natural world rather than idly wonder about it.”

“Neither do I burden my thought world with what might go on in their little heads. But when watching, really watching, a curious one does tend to wonder.”

“Curious ones who do not know their science texts. If said scientific texts can be trusted – and trust them I do, as any rational human should – very little is going on in those little heads. Survival, mating, gathering food, building nests. Programs. Pretty programs is the best way I can think of to sum them.”

“Singing?”

“Singing? Well singing would be part of their inborn instincts for mating, survival.”

“Flight is probably part of that survival package.”

“Yeah they sing. But they don’t compose. Yeah they fly. But they don’t engineer weaponry. May we talk about something else?”

Moments later….

Swallow had his sacks of nutty grains and did not speak an immediate reply when the cashier asked if that was all he wanted. The cashier happened to be a grizzled pigeon, who also happened to own the old nest that sold general goods, like seeds and twigs. And this grizzled pigeon was reputed to be a dealer in bird bombs.

Swallow almost chickened out. But he steadied his toes and said, “Uh, actually, I lately tried my first… some friends gave me a couple little bombs for my birthday. I wasn’t sure what to do with them. Then yesterday I tried…”

“So what are you insinuating? Are you suggesting that I am a dealer in… don’t make me say it.”

“B-b-bombs. Yes, I will spit it. Rumor has it that you are a bird bomb dealer.”

“Well I don’t know where you heard that nonsense. Bird bombs? Why would I do a crazy thing – jeopardize my profitable general goods nest store – dealing in bird bombs? Only the earth’s craziest pigeon would fly that stream. Did you not notice?” Grizzled Pigeon pointed out the banner. Read it aloud. “Good birds don’t play with bird bombs. You seem like a good bird or you want to be a good bird. Do I look like a bird who would knowingly contribute to avionic delinquency?”

“Hm, to be honest, being a good bird, I mean all the time being a good bird, greeting each dawn quoting from the Big Good Bird Book, well it can get boring. And to catch that dangling thought you spoke before showing me the banner, before it melts away, you know the one about flying a stream or the stream you say only crazy birds fly… well I don’t think it’s crazy – and many a bird I personally know find it incredibly fun to harass humans. Not all of them. Not all the humans I mean. Just the annoying ones. The kind that makes a bird like me want to do something to make them yank their hair out.”

The grizzled Pigeon gave Swallow a good optical once-over. Muttered about the earth’s high number of annoying humans. “Damn sure plenty of those to go around.” Added to that mutter another mutter about it being another bird’s turn and then hopped to the nest store’s front door and turned the sign around that said the store was temporarily closed, be back in a bit.

With a nod, the grizzled pigeon bade Swallow to come to the back room.

“This is probably the best all-purpose and I don’t see it losing it’s respectable status as most popular anytime soon. We call it the Barbecue Buster. Its only drawback is a lack of precision. It is popular because many fellow birds getting into the joy that is the happy hobby of harassing humans, and find a love of bombing, well, they don’t want to spend a lot of time learning detailed techniques. They just want to drop little explosive bits on their heads and in their drinks. No need to mention the affordability factor. I can cut you a real reasonable deal for a half dozen. Fit two at a time under the wings. Two of these babies can make humans cuss like the dickens. And a fast bird like you? They wouldn’t know where the harassment came from. Wish I could do that. Many a bird so wishes they could do that.”