bird eyes

the eyes that don’t sparkle
remind me of the flat
grey screens of old broken
television sets tossed out into junkyards
birds nest in them,
their young, when ready, fly free –
the eyes that don’t sparkle
never seem ready to fly free

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written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: sparkle

courage like the feathered

birds do not require
adrenaline to walk
tight ropes above our heads
or to fly into the sun
and yet we need
that and more, just to
shut the door
when we know
but refuse to accept
what’s done is done
we always sink lower
when we could let go
and fly higher

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written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: moxie

my sparrow

arrows, hatchets
bullets, lead –
you aimed
your anger
at the sparrows
in my head –
my thoughts
always took
flight over
you, but i guess
the same just
isn’t true
for you

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written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: bury

gulls, and the mosaics of dreams

i broke pencils with too hard a grip
as i tried to write my thoughts as if
i were chiseling them into my skull
it’s no wonder i often feel the pull
of a headache coming on, i slip
over the words, feeling a bit foolish
i imagine myself at times like a gull
making up for gloomy days
by stripping dull coastlines of
shiny litter – trying to make
the most of imperfections,
finding value in the gold
that doesn’t always glitter –
before it stashes itself away into
waves walking with the sun
before it sets and burns away
the things i forgot to write in my head
which will fade into a strange
mosaic dream, outlined
in ocean blue and sunset red
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backdated Post a Day poem for April 6th, 2017

where my words are sometimes found

sometimes i find them
falling in the rain
other times i see them perching on
clouds’ silver linings
they rarely run red lights but
enjoy the occasional reckless flights
high above canyons or deep into
wishing wells at night, sometimes i find them
twirling their fingers, adding a little
enchantment to magic spells –
i often catch them in the corners
of my eyes, shining on the backs
of rivers or flowers crowded
along sidewalks, sometimes i
even find them during the quiet,
between the moments
you choose to pause or choose
to talk; occasionally
i chisel them
from rocks and stones –
often, and quite emotionally
i’ll extract them
from my heart and bones,
sometimes i even find them
stamped in a cat’s paw prints
in pollen on car hoods in the spring
or even in the last breath of a snake
curled up in a hawk’s claws
or a child’s cry from an unfortunate
bee sting –
mostly, i find
them out in the sun where they tend
to catch my heart on fire – other times
i feel them in the moonlight
where they run a little too cold,
pressing blue frostbitten hands
hard against my soul
and sometimes i find them softening,
warm for the world, in the eyes of
fawns and foals

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backdated Post a Day poem for April 4th, 2017