Reed Whispers
Robyn Cairns, Australia
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Yellowhammer
the shell gland inks the egg like wet paper—devil’s scrawl or poetry
madness runs a fine vein of moonlight through my mothers
I will not run down the street naked and singing I will not run down the street naked singing and I will naked and run down singing the street not I naked singing street will run not the down and and the street run naked will I singing not down
from yelambre from yelwe amore, which means a yellow kind of bird
a bird makes words out of its body that no one can read
a mouth full of pleasure and pain is a bird
the roots of bunting are unknown
-Jess Wright, UK
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Circadian
witching hour fight or flight the nighthawk booms
rise the frost ferns creeping a wren around my window
midmorning measures the sharp scarlet tang of tanager song
flock after moving day flock after moving wild geese
murmuration shadow ballet turning dancers into evening
another midnight discourse mockingbird
-m. shane pruett, USA
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Sleep Lessons From Birds
there are dates in the year when the nights are so bright owls become larks
remember the kindness of sleep is winged but claw-footed
sleep looks like an eagle-sized nightjar, poised to swoop down where it spots you
in a nest, on a tree branch, a rooftop, a trunk hole, mid-river, or down in the earth: choose wisely
dream of the sky, dream of other birds, dream of yourself as one stitch in a murmuration
close your grip, let the tendons in your talons tighten as you perch, and you won’t worry about falling
watch out for the moths, they steal tears while you sleep, don’t let them drink from your eyes
if you ask the swifts you should sleep on the wing, once you are high enough to glide
-Laura Theis, UK
