Saturday, April 16, 2011


I hear the squeaks
of baby birds
in the cedar tree
outside my living room

window. I climb
on the couch
to investigate
and kneel there

camera ready.
I see the blue sky
change into various
shapes as the wind

stirs the branches.
I see sunshine
resting on green
lounge chairs.

But I cannot see
a nest. I still
hear birds, though.
demanding breakfast.

I watch. I wait.
My finger
poised on the shutter
button. Then I see

some branches
stroking the glass
and making the squealing
sound. I put

my camera away,
open my computer,
and use imaginary birds
to write a real poem.


Mr. Walker said...

This is well told - you did write "a real poem". I love the ending.

Andy said...

I'm in agreement with Mr.Walker. A "real" & lovely poem indeed. Thanks for sharing.

Linda's Poems