02-19-2014, 05:39 AM
Edit one. (PM for original version)
Perfume of the forest; the fruit trees, blooming, are happily humming.
This is a haven for birds, a place of sanctuary, so unlike what any zoo has to offer:
Forest depths untouched by man, so far remote.
What great and stupid folly was it?
Maybe the eggs were close, and the bird felt the same pressure as a human.
But it still remains: a sparrow's nest far closer to the ground, in a date tree.
How about that one vulnerable date-tree nest... where a young chick may feel at rest?
Indeed, I'd imagine that sparrow feels quite at peace. Why even leave?
Beyond; cold and hunger—and darkness!--there descried.
The sparrow smugly grins to himself in warm spring-daylight
While his siblings try to fly—and fall instead.
Or get sick and die.
No, daytime is not safety...
When night falls, the worried sparrow thinks himself safe.
A gust rustles the branches, so peacefully SWOOP!
The sparrow's brother disappears in the dark, eaten by a hawk.
Then comes morning and the mourning of a lark.
The sparrow is petrified, rooted to his place,
For though he can fly, he fears the empty space
Where unknown values assail and assault
But no place is safe of branch nor of vault!*
So young and yet so sad, since all hopes and dreams of peace have failed.
The sparrow feels a degree of sadness beyond all anthropomorphism.
It is so easy to sympathize with the sparrow, who pities himself
So afraid of the world around him, and all the hazards it contains.
Depression descends like the black storm clouds on a placid updraft glide,
As the sparrow becomes so withdrawn that it shortens this stanza
And the sparrow spirals to the brink of despair,
That clichéd cliff of bottomless airs,
Doubting his ability to even find peace there,
Falling aimlessly, beyond all snares.
The sunrise glitters over the streams and dewy leaves, and though his mood is still foul,
The fowl manages to find some joy and comfort in the sweet avian chorus of the forest.
Then that sweaty, rank smell of absolute fear enters his nostrils;
A hunter, wandering further than most, has rested by the tree.
The man, clearly at peace way out here, notices the cease in song.
He looks up, and blandly states, “Well, I guess I can't always stay downwind.”
The sparrow, fearful and irritated, hisses, “What do you want from me? You want my hide, don't you?”
The man nods, idly drawing a line in the dirt,
Tearful at the words and how they so hurt.
He speaks,
He continues explaining how, to fill this need,
he must hunt, though he chooses to hunt stealthily.
Using a bow or traps most often, rarely his gun,
To become a part of the forest,
And not the mortal terror of it.
The sparrow, without thought, steps out into thin air,
Oh, how all seems bleak as he starts to fall!
Catch yourself! Spread your wings out there!
And he does; gliding through the canopied halls.
Like a castle with emerald rafters and intricate architecture,
The manifold acres of rain forest unfold before the sparrow.
The bowers overhead glow green with vernal energy,
Wind flows by with the feeling of a perch on the prow of a boat,
Time loses all meaning and the world is a patchwork quilt
Woven entirely out of patches of marvel and beauty.
A rogue updraft sets the right wing off kilter;
Throwing your weight, you spiral around in a graceful roll.
Diving and gliding back to the date tree,
You swoop and swop through the branches,
Until you find the hunter's shoulder
and flap hard as the ground is eager to meet you.
The sparrow pauses to catch his breath; then sings:
Sparrow's Flight
Luke 12:6-7
Sunrise revealing
Luke 12:6-7
Sunrise revealing
Perfume of the forest; the fruit trees, blooming, are happily humming.
This is a haven for birds, a place of sanctuary, so unlike what any zoo has to offer:
Forest depths untouched by man, so far remote.
Venerable redwood trees guard this place, patiently watching the world change around them.
What great and stupid folly was it?
Maybe the eggs were close, and the bird felt the same pressure as a human.
But it still remains: a sparrow's nest far closer to the ground, in a date tree.
It's pretty funny, actually, to think that someone would even try to imagine how a sparrow feels.
How about that one vulnerable date-tree nest... where a young chick may feel at rest?
Indeed, I'd imagine that sparrow feels quite at peace. Why even leave?
Home; food and warmth is here supplied.
Beyond; cold and hunger—and darkness!--there descried.
The sparrow smugly grins to himself in warm spring-daylight
While his siblings try to fly—and fall instead.
Or get sick and die.
No, daytime is not safety...
When night falls, the worried sparrow thinks himself safe.
A gust rustles the branches, so peacefully SWOOP!
The sparrow's brother disappears in the dark, eaten by a hawk.
Then comes morning and the mourning of a lark.
The sparrow is petrified, rooted to his place,
For though he can fly, he fears the empty space
Where unknown values assail and assault
But no place is safe of branch nor of vault!*
Despair
So young and yet so sad, since all hopes and dreams of peace have failed.
The sparrow feels a degree of sadness beyond all anthropomorphism.
It is so easy to sympathize with the sparrow, who pities himself
So afraid of the world around him, and all the hazards it contains.
Depression descends like the black storm clouds on a placid updraft glide,
As the sparrow becomes so withdrawn that it shortens this stanza
And the sparrow spirals to the brink of despair,
That clichéd cliff of bottomless airs,
Doubting his ability to even find peace there,
Falling aimlessly, beyond all snares.
The Reek of Human
The sunrise glitters over the streams and dewy leaves, and though his mood is still foul,
The fowl manages to find some joy and comfort in the sweet avian chorus of the forest.
Then that sweaty, rank smell of absolute fear enters his nostrils;
A hunter, wandering further than most, has rested by the tree.
The man, clearly at peace way out here, notices the cease in song.
He looks up, and blandly states, “Well, I guess I can't always stay downwind.”
The sparrow, fearful and irritated, hisses, “What do you want from me? You want my hide, don't you?”
“No, of course not! I come here every day for your song
And I promise you sparrow, I don't mean any wrong.”
And I promise you sparrow, I don't mean any wrong.”
“You eat other birds—why should I be some exception?
Why shouldn't I be afraid of your arrow, or that,
That booming thing of fear?”
Why shouldn't I be afraid of your arrow, or that,
That booming thing of fear?”
The man nods, idly drawing a line in the dirt,
Tearful at the words and how they so hurt.
He speaks,
“You must understand, sparrow,
I need meat to survive, as do all men—
and predators—
But for the sake of balance,
it's honestly the only way!”
I need meat to survive, as do all men—
and predators—
But for the sake of balance,
it's honestly the only way!”
He continues explaining how, to fill this need,
he must hunt, though he chooses to hunt stealthily.
Using a bow or traps most often, rarely his gun,
To become a part of the forest,
And not the mortal terror of it.
I hunt for meat, and you aren't made of that;
No, your song is so beautiful,
it's why I come here every day,
Though you only now noticed.
Think on the days past when you were unaware of me.”
No, your song is so beautiful,
it's why I come here every day,
Though you only now noticed.
Think on the days past when you were unaware of me.”
The sparrow, without thought, steps out into thin air,
Oh, how all seems bleak as he starts to fall!
Catch yourself! Spread your wings out there!
And he does; gliding through the canopied halls.
Delight
Like a castle with emerald rafters and intricate architecture,
The manifold acres of rain forest unfold before the sparrow.
The bowers overhead glow green with vernal energy,
Wind flows by with the feeling of a perch on the prow of a boat,
Time loses all meaning and the world is a patchwork quilt
Woven entirely out of patches of marvel and beauty.
A rogue updraft sets the right wing off kilter;
Throwing your weight, you spiral around in a graceful roll.
Diving and gliding back to the date tree,
You swoop and swop through the branches,
Until you find the hunter's shoulder
and flap hard as the ground is eager to meet you.
The sparrow pauses to catch his breath; then sings:
“I could have lived in fear for all of my life
and stayed so reclusive at home
But you showed that there is a better way
Then to let life flow by you like a stone.
Yes, like the river stone in Courting Creek,
Worn smooth by constant worry,
I just crept through life, hardly daring to speak,
Worn out by constant worry.
You inspired me to jump out in faith,
And though at first I fell
I found my wings and flew with grace
Then I knew, all was well.
No longer reserved and afraid of life
I so happily embraced it
No longer held back by cares and strife
I decided, life is not to be wasted!
To the Hawk with pointless fear!
I may falter, but now I know I can fly.
Why would I ever choose to remain grounded?
No limits, my home is the sky.
I refuse to condemn others
For a choice to stay here below
After all, look at my poor brothers
Look at the carcasses of crows.
It just seems strange, is all,
That I, or anyone, would want to stay down here.
Shadows jump and snap and crawl.
My heart beats with deathly fear.
Maybe for swans, an attraction
For others, greed for berries.
I'm sure roadrunners enjoy the ground,
And chickens seem so leery.”
and stayed so reclusive at home
But you showed that there is a better way
Then to let life flow by you like a stone.
Yes, like the river stone in Courting Creek,
Worn smooth by constant worry,
I just crept through life, hardly daring to speak,
Worn out by constant worry.
You inspired me to jump out in faith,
And though at first I fell
I found my wings and flew with grace
Then I knew, all was well.
No longer reserved and afraid of life
I so happily embraced it
No longer held back by cares and strife
I decided, life is not to be wasted!
To the Hawk with pointless fear!
I may falter, but now I know I can fly.
Why would I ever choose to remain grounded?
No limits, my home is the sky.
I refuse to condemn others
For a choice to stay here below
After all, look at my poor brothers
Look at the carcasses of crows.
It just seems strange, is all,
That I, or anyone, would want to stay down here.
Shadows jump and snap and crawl.
My heart beats with deathly fear.
Maybe for swans, an attraction
For others, greed for berries.
I'm sure roadrunners enjoy the ground,
And chickens seem so leery.”
*Warning: blatant tomfoolery above this line
