The Wren and The Airplane
Where sunshine replaced dull grey of the smoke
the blue of sky now covers my canvas
I lace my shoes to walk my daily mass
my feet this sunshine finally awoke.
While sauntering on sidewalk near warehouse
across from where I spotted a new trail
where feet will lift and fall without a fail
the disruption I bring scares lonely grouse.
An exercise in observation here
a chance to see the world I call my home
when notice by my side the same old Wren.
This songbird seems to follow without fear
I walk into the military zone
it sings you need to “change it up” again.
I stop to drink, the Wren flies up ahead
to branch of tree a few trees down the path
to sit and wait while I figure the math
behind the music and what lyrics said.
“You repeat the same old line” says the bird
as I walk closer to small airport
open entrance to military Fort
where only motors from small planes are heard.
“Some creative energy is needed,”
the wren still sings as its flies nearby
“you may of lost your spark my dearest friend.”
Solemnly walk to where the Wren seated
ignored the fact the Wren knows how to fly
“are you the Wren I talked to last weekend?”
“Now let us write a happy tale I’m tired
of smoke and mirrors I just need the truth,”
I tell the Wren as I show every tooth
a nearby motor recently is fired.
I think I see the Wren just shake its head
from side to side as if he’s listening
his song takes classical conditioning
I wish I knew the words his song had said.
“Your language, dull and broken, still and dead,”
it flies elongated route round the bend,
“for goodness sake take plunge to know your soul.”
“I wish I had a treat so you are fed,”
I feel this walk onto the base will mend
a little chance at joy is my end goal.
As we approach the top of hill a plane
flies overhead, so close I feel its touch,
it moves to sky as if its in a rush
to burn its fuel and feel the high octane.
After the sonic boom I notice then
the silence of an empty sky nearby
an emptiness that forces me to sigh
and hope the next long walk will bring the Wren.
Though swallowed whole by Romantic ideals
realize that my poems are just walks
not modern masterpieces for the time.
Remain clueless to what the Wren appeals
I never really listen to our talks
and spend more thought on every silly rhyme.
For more works like The Wren and The Airplane and other topics by this author visit
Jamie Lee Hamann Author Page
You can also find works by Jamie Lee Hamann on HubPages