A Little More Poetry

And I state again that it is more fun to write poetry when you're supposed to be doing something else. This is just a little one:

Image

I remember
Beating black wings in a building's corner,
Battering its self at glassed-in walls
The panic of that bird and I
For scooping and holding in hands, and fleeing

And I remember the softness
Of its feet on my fingers as
It stood there, briefly, and the shout
Of joy as it flew.

**

I also note that, even when I am indulging in the purest of Imagist free verse, I still alliterate. And pun (though only in the title). Okaaay ...