The Bird That Was Not

On being a free spirit and having one's wings clipped

 

Surveying the towers of painted ceramic ware;

I wonder when; did I agree to this?

What took me from here to there?

Yellowed yolk glued to pottery;

Scrape it off;

Scrape,

Scour,

Scratch,

Bird that will never be.

Washed into bubbly froth of lavender mint scent;

Is this what happened to me?

Is this where I went?

 

Taken from the nest;

Told of all I could be;

As I rode with the rest;

On my boxed journey.

 

Be careful of delicate shell;

Be respectful;

Be humble;

Decorate it well.

 

For in you a glorious creature resides;

A bird,

A bird,

Where beauty and freedom flies.

 

Your day will dawn they said.

Paint your shell;

Fill your head.

 

Study on your journey;

Learn in your space.

When sun meets wing;

You will go every place.

 

 

Was I ever this?

Did I fly free;

Only to have wings clipped.

So long;

Long,

As the Whippoorwill song;

Wing beat flutter memories.

 

Jagged cuticle nails;

Chipped,

Torn,

Flimsy and frail;

Sure as feathers shorn.

 

Void of colour now;

What is there to decorate?

The chapped hands of a slave girl;

Has this become my fate?

 

Swirling bubbles in sunlight;

Refracts rainbows,

Down.

And I see;

Yolk draining away with it.

Is this what happened to me?

Author's Note

I find it a sad thing that women, most especially stay at home mothers are still treated as second class citizens by their husbands in this day and age. I know of no girl who grew up stating she dreamed of being at the beck and call to any person's every need only to have hers shelved. Whats worse is this behaviour is learned by the children. There's my rant; short version.

Reviews

[R J Askew]

Firstly, a confession. When I was a boy I used to collect birds' eggs...blackbirds, thrushes, magpies, lapwings, redshanks, oyster catchers, skylarks... It is illegal now and I would not dream of doing it. But years ago... I loved nature and birds, still do. So I read the poem from the perspective of a guilty naturalist. I read it literally and thought back to my hand stretching into various thorny hedges to reach a linnets nest. Ach, happy memories. Like I say it was not illegal then.

I then got into the real message in the poem... chapped hands, swirling bubbles, draining away. Tis painfully poignant. Tis sad to feel so. BUT... millions of women will nod and know exactly the feelings you nail down with sustained feeling here. Great job.

[Gary H]

This is a very powerful thought provoking poem and very well thought out. I'm impressed by the subtle use of language - the idea of a bird analogy really works. As far as punctuation goes, there's a few parts that could use commas rather than the chosen punctuation and a question mark definately needs to go in the second line. But, this is from my view and to be honest, this is pretty much a perfect piece.
Well done.

[Susan S.]

Your rant holds true to the poem, but my situation does too. I never bowed to the yoke of a man. For 40 years I have lived alone; done my own thing; chose my own path. How then did I get here? What happened? Your poem says it better than I ever could. My chipped nails are figurative, but my dream is gone too.

I don't think I've ever done this, but the one thing that I'd change about the poem I'm not even going to mention. It's SO not like me! ...But you get my first 100% rating ever. I'm a hard cuss to please and I've been here more than a year. Take it and run!!

Susan