“Birds Made of Metal”

When Fall began to take the podium,

After Summer gave a scorching speech,

I would watch them,

Those airborne families

Seeking the beach.

With their beaks in one direction,

They came together like a nation.


I would wake in the morning

And listen to their chit chatter,

A calm for the factory mind,

And smile; I wondered what they discussed

In their childlike notes, Liberty’s harmonium.


But now,

When Winter refuses to

let Spring have a word,

I wake in the chilly dawn

And listen in terror.


Their soaring shakes the house,

Their speed hovers over the land,

Their shape a black bat blasphemy

Against the sun.


In North America,

Pitch dark creepers stick to sky scrapers,

Ready for the summons of war.

All the while

The tyrant flycatcher roosts in his silver base

Atop the White House.


In the cold of Canada,

In the active night,

The government’s owl

Burrows in the ground,

Yellow searchlights seeking

Those stubborn refugees,

Those followers of tradition,

In their hidden bunkers.


Tanned beauties in South America,

Random citizens,

Dreamily look to the blue sky,

Then fall in the garden with a thud,

All from the quick poison dart

Of a tiny iron hummingbird.


After the ravages of gun and virus,

In the deserts of Africa,

Propeller vultures drop bombs to

Bury the evidence of death,

Controlling the past

And the future.


In every house in Australia,

Radio parrots perch inside

the plaster of walls,

Repeating every sound

And any unwelcome, unpatriotic call.


On the shores of Asia,

In the bamboo jungles

And around the ancient wall,

Silent ebony hawks flock in a line

The emperors of a new dynasty,

One with no end,

And whose’s boot will always stamp the face.


There is no use to run, freedom fighter;

For though you skim a way past the icy Thames

Or through red Berlin or Green Paris,

The bean geese hibernate in the snow;

They’ll know something’s afoot

And will chuckle the alarm.


I’m afraid so.

No matter where you go

Or where you hide,

He is watching you,

His angels a metallic, soaring battalion.


When despair brings nightmares for the day,

And the tears drop,

I long for a time

When enough will be enough,

When we can all board a loud albatross

White wings open in love,

A beak in one direction,

Like a nation,

And fly together, past the mindless machine

Of over emphasis,

The lust for democontrol,

And from the puppet master’s circus.


And when we ride together in the seats

In our newfound, singular fleet,

We’ll think to tell the story to our children,

The heirs of our new peace,

A vital legend,

One for their hearts to store,

Of fear and freedom,

Of silence and chirping,

Of eagles crashing in New York.








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