Friday, April 4, 2014

Nibbled Half To Death By Geese

Snow Geese Flock

It's Always Like This

The geese took me down
then nibbled my edges off,
all of them on me
as if I was some rock
or pile of mud packing worms.

Off a ways, there's you
dancing without care
as if it's all the same thing
rain or shine, moon, sun
haloes of rainbows
and pots of wee folk spun gold.

Not a single strain
to separate us
this music of geese and dance
and twirling discord
but I've no more bread
for geese - and just words for you,
dancer in the day.

I'm far too smelly,
in need of a wash. Those geese
were not ready for
this no more bread shit.

‎April ‎1, ‎2014 2:55 PM

See Irene's Orange Is A Fruit


  1. Aaaaaah! Did you ever read my "Marja-Leena's Goslings" 24.5.2013? Geese are lovely.

    1. The actual experience that sort of informs this poem was a happy time but my fingers got fairly slimy from goose spit.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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