Sundown With Brown NoddyWe both found our seat for the falling of our star.
Mine, new
His, same old
A front porch step shared
On our island in the middle of the blue---
What creatures have done for ages
Sun. Down.
My eyes grew wider
His, closing
I enjoying the fire palette of the evening horizon
He, getting sleepy.
We have met every day since my arrival.
Perhaps since his?
Now we may congregate each evening,
to down our Sun
There are very few moments in this world that matter.
This is one.
No Name
Albatross.
They surf the waves
if a human on a surfboard
rides the incredible swell
just touching the water
Albatross rides
just not touching
needing no board
The Ocean's elders
They were not made for the open ocean.
the open ocean was made for them.
how can it not be so?
one only need witness the glide
and only once
everything else out here is a bird
a respectful occupation
Albatross, though,
Albatross is at an even higher level
one only need witness the glide
and only once
a mediator?to whom from whom
a messenger?
to whom from whom
It may be none, any, or all these things
may be more
It's basic..
It is a bearer
of one thesis
a reminder
a teacher
what ever It may be,
it is clear
it says with no words at all...
YOU ARE NOT ALONE
YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE
one only need witness the glide
and only once
call me what you will
Albatross.
-©M. W. York 10.28.07
Atoll at Night
I am writing by very poor candlelight.
I cannot make out my scribbles on the paper
Nevertheless…
A definitive calm comes over me at night, here in this place.
Out the window I hear what is meant to be heard.
Not mechanical, techno phony
It is life, It is death.
It is give, It is take.
Waves, pound away at the shore
Taking a little back
A newly hatched sea turtle was released.
Giving back.
The night sky is staggering, humbling
I will now, extinguish the only light.
This, not so good, candle.
-©M.W.York 09.05.07
wait until
I.
I am a Sooty Tern.
This spring and summer there were
Over sixty-thousand of us on the island.
It’s like that every year, the elders tell us.
So many adults flying like a tern should;
Fast, free, you should see us!
You should see us when we are able to fly!
I can’t wait when I grow up and can fly.
Fly like a Sooty Tern!
I, with all my adult and young tern friends
took up every space of this island.
They even named the island after us.
Tern Island.
For Sooty Terns, that’s what I am.
I can’t wait until I can fly!
When summer grew late, lots of my terns began to leave.
That’s okay. I’m told that’s when some of us
begin to leave.
Lots of the young have left the nest and can fly
so they begin to go out to sea.
Lots of young have left the nest like I have.
I can’t wait until I can fly.
Some young terns are later to hatch than others.
We are still attended by our adults.
They fly out and back, bringing us food.
Fish and squid.
I can’t wait until I can fly.
There are many of us Sooties around,
even into late summer.
I remember being so excited when my close friend learned to fly.
He urged me to come with him.
It wasn’t my time. I’m still on the ground.
I can’t wait until I can fly.
It’s October now.
All my friends are gone.
I told them I would meet them when I could.
I can’t wait until I can fly.
I hear an adult once in awhile.
What am I supposed to do?
Nobody hears me.
All my adults have been gone for awhile.
I can’t wait until I can fly.
I don’t hear many chirp-chirp-chirp’s
from young Sooties anymore.
I don’t chirp because I can’t anymore.
My adults, and my voice, have left me.
I can’t wait until I can fly.
I really came up looking good.
All my chick down is gone.
All my feathers have grown in,
even though juvenile colors and pattern.
I should be able to fly pretty soon.
I can’t wait until I can fly.
When I was just a downy chick
I was told of my good fortune.
Other creatures jealously thought
how lucky to have been born a bird.
Other birds spoke of our good luck.
I can’t wait until I can fly.
I can still only stand and walk.
Wobbly now, the former.
Barely, on some days, the latter.
I am so lonely.
So hungry.
I can’t wait until I can fly.
II.
Cruel.
Cruel to be born of this world, see its potential
and not be able to live it.
Even worse than cruel, to have been born a bird.
Not just a bird, a tern, a tern of the open ocean.
I can’t even move anymore.
Certainly not off this patch of dirt.
Cruel.
III.
Why then?
Why?!!!
Would have rather been born a moth.
A moth only lives a couple of weeks.
BUT he flies, and lives a full moth life on this earth.
I am so hungry I’ve forgotten.
So tired I’ve forgotten.
So lonely I’ve forgotten.
The only wonder I now have is if I’ll finish out the week, oh, and what happens next.
I hope it’s something. This time was too cruel and unfair.
IV.
Why am I here!!?
Could it be for the one who
is currently writing about me?
V.
I can’t wait…
until…
I …
can…
fly
-©M. W. York, 10.07.07
Chance
I lay here, listening to the ocean that surrounds me.
Earlier, I stood there looking at the ocean that surrounds me.
Wondering.
Wondering, this time, how in the hell that hatchling sea turtle will make it.
Smaller than my palm.
It is his world we released him to, after all.
His chance was zero had we not met.
Now his chance is zero, if one were to round down.
Miniscule.
A chance, though, was given.
It was also eagerly taken.
I was happy.
Life is chance.
Maybe.
-©M.W.York 09.05.07
____________________
Well.
A portion of my writing while I was on that 37 acre atoll in the remote of the remote.
Good morning.
peace,
mwyork
7 comments:
Wow, Matt. Thanks for sharing that. I felt like I knew the little sooty. Hurt for him, too. Beautiful writing.
Matt,
I remember the poems and their intial impact. But, all in a row...wow. Very moving full of life and the awareness of life.
Has the current island whispered any poems yet?
peace,
bd
Mel: I knew the bird. I knew the bird for a few months. Many weeks longer than I thought I would.
bd: The current island has brought about a scant few. I'm not sure "whispered" is the word for one poem the island told me that I posted. Perhaps others are waiting. Some with "sharp elbows", to use a basketball phrase. A call for patience. It's a different dynamic on this rock with a poetic pace not yet defined.
Matt. I have no words after reading yours. Thank you for sharing of yourself and your world. JLY
JL: Thank you for your continued reading. I realize things have slowed down since we were 20 miles north of the Tropic of Cancer for 4 months. I, and thus we, never know when things will pick back up around here. Could be soon. Could be in rapid-fire bursts. I never know. Perhaps I am a bit of a channeler in that regard. As its kind of up to the place to tell me things. Only then, is it up to me to put it down in a language that others understand. In the meantime, thanks for checking in. The days here have become bright and crispy. Good work, but certainly tiring often times. The muse has been made aware that there are those that want to hear from it. It and I are just going to need to determine how to, in this new environment.
Thanks again.
Matt, "wait until" moves me.
Thank you for the musings, very deeply rooted words in their context. Oh, a certain wet nose sends a bark... or just needs to be let out. Regards nonetheless ;-)
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