Tuesday, April 28, 2015


For 2015's National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo), Troy's Work Table is writing thirty poems in thirty days.


I don't even know what I'm trying to say in this poem any longer, although I think I did at one time. I need to let it go and let it roost for a bit and see if it's plumage changes.


All truth be told, I'm a bit worn out by all of this NaPoWriMo writing. I need some time to read and recharge. (I know that it's coming in a couple of days!)



There is a silence
that can only be soothed
by the song of small birds—

Oregon juncos
jump about through
the protective leaves of salal

and azalea as they
search for castaway seeds
from the cockatiel’s cage—

a long-lost cousin
who watches them from
the kitchen window

commenting upon
their foraging and play—
longing to do likewise

but in the safety and security
of his cage.

His song does not sooth.

He does not hop.

He shuffles over wire bars
and newsprint


his pleasure at


and gaining the attention

of both outdoor birds

and his person.


Copyright © 2015 by Troy's Work Table.

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