I wish I were an Eagle
Soaring high in God’s blue sky.
Effortlessly flapping its wings
Taking it ever high.

Surveying the earth beneath
Sharp eyes taking all in
Searching a likely prey
A tasty meal for him.

Swooping swift as a bullet
Feathers fluttering in the wind
A hare, a fish, a bird
His talons soon will win.

Back to the aerie
Three hungry chicks to feed
With mouths wide open
Ingesting nourishment they need.

His daily chore completed.
His family will survive.
Then back to Gods vast range
To swoop, and soar, and dive.

Oh, for the life of an Eagle
What freedom that must be?
Oh, for the life of an Eagle
Knowing you are free.

Tom Fenning
7/22/2005

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Soaring High.

My saliva swirling is a celestial blue.

My favorite color is dark green.

But you my friend will always remain a swift, sweet, majestic combiation of the black and white beat of good and bad, you are everything, you are my grey and I love you.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Grey.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Eagle.

The sea of flux
Progress
Raging past the swift
Process

Even the earth
Erode
Never wanting to
Corrode

The verdict then
Is clear
The cycle we should
Hold dear

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Cycle.

I wish I were an Eagle

Soaring high in God’s blue sky.

Effortlessly flapping its wings

Taking it ever high.

Surveying the earth beneath 

Sharp eyes taking all in

Searching a likely prey

A tasty meal for him.

Swooping swift as a bullet

Feathers fluttering in the wind

A hare, a fish, a bird

His talons soon will win.

Back to the aerie

Three hungry chicks to feed

With mouths wide open

Ingesting nourishment they need.

His daily chore completed.

His family will survive.

Then back to Gods vast range

To swoop, and soar, and dive.

Oh, for the life of an Eagle

What freedom that must be?

Oh, for the life of an Eagle

Knowing you are free.

Tom Fenning

7/22/2005

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Flying high.

it’s been more than a year now,, since father left us,, mother, and i alone.. things have not been easy,, but we are making our way,, in this strange world,, into which we’ve both been thrown…

with father gone, and little in the coffer,, after his illness and burial and such,, our one saving grace,, has always been, the ivory keys on fathers old piano,, under mothers gentle touch..

every eve, after we’ve sup’ed,, in the dim light before we go off to bed,,, mother sits down, and speaks thru those keys.. they are her words… words left unsaid….

she speaks sometimes of her love for him,, and the music is soft and sweet,, it is playful and ticklish and smiling,, sometimes i have noticed her blush,, with a thought,, perhaps indiscreet….

and others she will wail,, and bang down hard,, on the surface of black and white keys.. reliving her days of frustration,, whilst fighting that horrible disease..

the wasting sickness that swept up father,, like a pile of old spent leaves,, and carried him away to the dustbin of life,, like a swift cold unforgiving breeze…

sometimes she will play,, and i am sure that it is,, hope i hear springing to glorious life,, and as she continues i pray that it wont spiral down yet again,, filling her heart with strife…

it has been for us both,, a blessing and a curse,, our nights spent around that piano,,, catharsis, and hope,, anger and joy,, she’s accompanied us,,, mother and i,, where ever we go..

and tomorrow when they come,, and haul her away,, to her new home in a place far from here,,, we will look on with sadness,, as if we are losing a friend, one we have both held most dear..

i cant help but wonder how we will fill our nights,, with both her and father reposed,, just mother and i in the still of the eve,, after supper,, when the drapes are all closed..

will we sit every night in the darkness,, speechless, thinking solely,, never saying a word?? or will it draw us closer,, on this road full of losses, which together she and i,, have incurred..

it is my solemn prayer,, that one night very soon,, mother will draw me to her bosom and say,, “tho’ it hasn’t been easy i’m richer by far,, having you,, daughter,, here with me each day…

by: paisley

photo:
At the Piano by James Whistler

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at at the piano.