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This Poem was Submitted By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2004-05-26 12:22:42 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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For Whom The Young Bird Sings

I am standing here amongst leaves Watching your work slow to a stop I pause between notes, wond’ring If I could have performed this song; The collective memory cries out; I am but a messenger - sent to you – What I see there - essential, integral, O author of floral poetry – we, The feathered, embrace as well. This madrigal, intoned with heart, Is the voice of god speaking to those Who would drop glove and listen.

Additional Notes:
When it rains...

This Poem was Critiqued By: Jennifer j Hill On Date: 2004-06-04 09:17:24
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.91667
T, Yes, exactly! Great tribute to Joanne's poetry. Oh little bird with your talent, sense of humor and knowledge I'll drop glove to listen to you any ole time. jj

This Poem was Critiqued By: Regis L Chapman On Date: 2004-06-03 13:40:38
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.77778
I have a place like this I used to go to for this sort of retreat into nature. I would feel surrounded and encompassed, surpassed even by these natural things. It's too bad that's such a change for us. I remember when I was riding across America I felt much more at home with it, at one with it. My place was a large stand of enormous oak trees near a river by where I used to live. There were also lots of squirrels there, and I would meditate there. Once a huge hawk came and walked around right in front of me for about 10 minutes during this quiet time- not eating, just staring and sharing it with me, as you have shared this work with me. Great stuff. Thanks, REEG!

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Andrew Hislop On Date: 2004-05-27 18:41:53
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.45000
Of course, with my glove on the ground as I stand in rapt attention, I can never stop myself wondering... ...why on earth can't this wretched god speak English? I think he just likes playing games. Monk.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-05-26 19:40:34
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.94737
Tom: What a sly, clever-guy display! But you must soon fly away from my tree; you see it's really quite dark and the dogs will bark, and what will the neighbors say? See ya, Jo

This Poem was Critiqued By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-05-26 19:25:31
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.41667
This is such a creatively peaceful piece, I was actually soothed from reading it. Thomas, you've caught the magic of this event magically. Wonderful images and the alliterations are exactly right, not over done. Nicely formed tercets, and the closing line really makes the poem with its switch to the day-to-day image of dropping gloves to listen to something really of importance to happiness and peace in the heart of all of us. [IMO] Thanks for this one. wrl [BTW: No suggestions] :>)

This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2004-05-26 16:10:44
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.86207
Oh happy man whose muse is singing and beconing him to good fields For Whom The Young Bird Sings Ask for whom the young bird sings....and it is Don[n]e Yes and I would drop gloves and listen and watch [Him/Her] attending sparrows and such - but I have been listening stupidly o CNN and Ashcroft instead and fear that soon there will be microphones in our asters and tape recorders in our philodendrum. Lovely, lovely bucolic poem though to remind us that the bell will toll for us all anyway and we might as well stop and smell the sparrows. I am standing here amongst leaves Watching your work slow to a stop I pause between notes, wond’ring If I could have performed this song; The collective memory cries out; I am but a messenger - sent to you – What I see there - essential, integral, O author of floral poetry – we, The feathered, embrace as well. This madrigal, intoned with heart, Is the voice of god speaking to those Who would drop glove and listen.

This Poem was Critiqued By: G. Donald Cribbs On Date: 2004-05-26 14:19:27
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.84375
TEW, I'm surprised by the heighted level of sophisticated language here, but enjoyed the poem. This works very well from yardwork to the ending, the voice of god to whomever would listen... I like the "drop glove and listen." A nice allusion to the story of Martha and Mary, who had Jesus as a guest, and Martha was busy with work to prepare the meal and all the things, and Mary sat at his feet. Jesus said Mary was blessed, while Martha worried too much. Perhaps she should have "dropped glove and listened?" This is a nice way to bring that idea forward and make it fresh again. Well done, my friend. So, why are you doing yardwork? Not enough neighborhood kids wanting to earn a few bucks? Or, do you like yardwork? I guess you must have that genetic makeup. I hear it's hereditary... Warm regards, Don

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