Fair Seemed the Songbird

I

Fair seemed the Songbird, on a bare bony branch, 

Who chattered away at a mate perched lonely. 

Snare did the sunlight that mere afternoon;

Shone clarity’s transparency through that devil’s rose tune 

Pompous and proud, were his notes on the wind, 

But subtly thin in the make of it’s rhythm. 

A boy’s breast leapt below hearing the din:

“Cheap cheep”, the cry, while the boy lay blind

To the pounce…the birds struck their sin.

Flesh be the reason on that gold Spring day, 

Which fluttered those notes toward the female’s bosom. 

Fresh pure and guiltless hummed the boy who swore 

That Songbird’s songs deemed them troubadours. 

Yet they both rustled feathers in perfect Spring weather,

And a nest they should set, yet, they only had sex.

So like the young boy who heard birdy songs light,

You’re flattered at heart in the face of façades.

Masked was the purpose of it's lewd tune,

Like the Sun behind leaves, vindication was nude. 

What can be done, to find the Sun, is to venture out upon the beach;

That silver one with air like rum that burns throats clean of the phrase “good deed”;

Selfless deeds, handsome deeds, how’d these words come into being?

Dare you speak to me of deeds, those deeds, indeed, who are non-bribery?

Surely not, for a chest lies buried

Upon the shores of our silver beach.

You’ll find it there with a spade in hand, under a red marked “x”; 

Doubloons for each!

II

Dew soused the grass beneath the quiet Sun’s eyes,

Like the man’s soul drunk on the silver beach rum.

Sway did he there over the pearl-haired pure boy,

He burped sighs in descent, for with the truth's weight he did toil.

Passion ensued, since the close of their tune;

Birds wrapped in thick leaves in their woodland bedroom.

Both man and child plucked out grass for a while ‘til

“Lift it”, he said, with pointed finger and smile

To a stone that could not beguile.

Truth be the reason for flipping that stone

Which scattered pill bugs from their moisture-rich home.

Couth strong and steady stood one bug that knew;

True dew of the morn would bare flowers full bloom.

So then he scurried up straight at an alarming rate,

Startling the boy, piercing his skin to cloy. 

And the young boy shrieked, fearing the bulge in his skin;

It darted, it raced, and then entered his face;

Even probed his heart by means of his veins,

Then stopped 

When it paused in his ear.

He raised his head, in fear of Death, but found that It did not float through,

While his breath was cold, no lungs formed mold, he was alive, and slightly grown.

Songs of greed, from birds indeed, were the ones that struck him first;

Those fluffy tunes of a soggy muse, proved base and vain for a touch or two.

Now the man whose eyes were sober and light, placed soft warm palms on the teenage face;

They both agreed in a wordless creed that all the world's beauty is forged in greed.

Still, laid the two under platinum wind hues

Which brushed back the boy’s hair behind his right ear.

The bulge was now gone, the fair bug had moved on,

But left quite a treat in sparkling currency.

The man pulled them both out, from deep the boy’s ear,

With one in each palm, he lay them so dear.

Gawk did they stare, then decided it fair, 

He proclaimed it there on bended knee,

“There’s enough for two, just me and you.

One doubloon for you and one doubloon for me.”

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

What we hear is often not what is reality. A beautiful song here covers up a vain songbird's advances on the lady bird. He just wants sex, she wants commitment to her and the nest.
We are forged in greed, greed for money, greed for sex, greed for material things....the prettiest mate, the most luxurious nest, and the boy is caught in the middle of two songbird parents...getting all kinds of material things from them, but no love.

Much like the song "she's leaving home" on the Sgt. Peppers album.
they gave her everything money could buy, but she wanted and needed love.
I feel many levels with this poem.
j.

[NFA]

Precisely, thank you for your thoughtful consistency, Jacob.

[M. J. Smith]

The veiled eroticism was startling. A bit of grim imagery, too. Made think of Brendan Fraiser in the mummy. Those scarebs burrowing under the flesh. In all, a strange poem.

[NFA]

Glad that popped out, but what did you get from the overall message?

[M. J. Smith]

Me? Well... My first blush reaction is of greed as a parasite burrowing through flesh to devour the soul. Beyond that, let's just say I'm one very confused hillbilly. No offense intended. It's really just me.

[NFA]

I would say you've clearly read the point. Thanks for always participating on my posts.