creativity

For the Birds

The birds sing to me each day,

Goading me to, “Come, make hay!”

Coaxing me toward a shift

Reminding me, ’tis all a gift

Now, where is that Dolly Moon?

She’s to pass by my bedroom

And cast a silvery, calming glow

As pure as white and cool as snow

You, You

Always you

My storied prince

My mortal muse

Autonomy,

The very word bears energy,

Yet squandered on another’s dreams:

We must reclaim our destinies

Serendipity

The very word, born of whimsy

Appears most preternaturally

Arrives before Time is ready

The moon told me where you come from

A searing cosmic explosion

The seed of creativity

And, by God, you were meant to be