An Orchestra Of Crying Plumes

A jay, in cobalt and sapphire
Perched aloft a leafless birch
Pouring water in a harried mire
And in her fluid songs I search
The buoy bequeathed for my mass
Yet there was not a single notch
Of reward, otherwise there was
A flawless, gaudy, vindictive mirror
Revealing the serrated patches

A lark, in the shadows of the fire
Ablaze behind the valiant sun
Sets autumn in times of dire
Thirst for a light, still, it waned
Into the very kiss of winter
Inside my prattling bones
Siphoning the ice the sun pilfered
And everything froze like a stone

A swallow, chirping mediocre tunes
Come along! Adhere and croon
To fester the slumbering runes
Where not a soul sings to swoon
Yet, in vain, the wind shall not
Cradle this monotonous wail
Dispensing the elegiac trot
Of despondence in the lilt's flail

A finch, singing the myriad of her palette
Connoisseur in painting the lifeless ages
With a subtle whimsy pirouette
Peppering the vacant pages
But how taut was the rivulet
That streamed across this land?
Washing away the prism
Of the lavish strands
That sew the gray schism.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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