In the Panhandle
In another two moon cycles,
you’ll flutter twice by the bay
window and wink with those
come hither eyes and I’ll
swoon once again for you,
with your morning time
melody, without mention of
who, where and why you flew
south from me, on that late
night September, though I’m
surely aware, they were charmed
in the Panhandle,
as you sang to their sycamores,
those cold month, Decembers
while up here I shivered when
you needed to silence me.
.
Diversion of sparrows
I’ll just watch the sparrows, instead.
With their talent and artistry, there’s
always a chance of enchantment.
This one is feeding some seeds to
a possible mate, he’s been courting.
He’s doing a dance for her, his fan
tail spread wide, as this three other
buddies join in, in accompaniment.
Next, he will bring her a bug, yellow
beak picked to perfection.
As I digress to the sparrows, in their
annual ritual, to bury these thoughts
of you, in their lure to remind.
© Emalisa Rose
When not writing poetry, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting with macrame and doll making. She volunteers in animal rescue, and helps tend to a cat colony in the neighborhood. She lives by a beach, which provides much of the inspiration for her art. Some of her poems have appeared in Writing in a Woman’s Voice, Spillwords and other fine places. Her latest collection is “On the whims of the crosscurrents,” published by Red Wolf Editions.
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