Sunday, 21 October 2012

Tanagers by Zachary Fishel

They call them scarlet but from the
sounds of their voice
it’s fire,
burning leaves crackling in
the fresh buds.
The glowing orange of morning light
as you pull covers up with the sunrise,
after coffee it’s fine though.
That’s how they sing.

The birds,
now hard to find anywhere
still flit around up here
in the mountains of oak trees.
They make you glimpse,
often,
to see if the tree’s are ablaze
or if nature has combusted like man
has
on itself time and again.
Fall approaches already even as the new buds shoot
out
looking like traffic lights with the tanagers
calling for love,
to last a season and go away.
On itself time and again.


Zachary Fishel

2 comments:

Crafty Green Poet said...

Zach Fishel is a recent Pushcart Nominee and currently an editor at Jumping Blue Gods. When he isn't working on graduate school, he is writing. Some of it has appeared in A Few Lines Magazine, Gloom Cupboard, Horrorsleazeandtrash, Magic Cat Press, The Montucky Review, Mad Swirl, Earth Speak, The Legendary, Yes Poetry,and many others. His biggest goal is to just wake up in the morning, so many people are still asleep.

Poetry24 said...

Lovely imagery. I particularly like, "burning leaves crackling in
the fresh buds."