Author: Nick

Percy and George

Oh Percy and George, you don't know how much
I want to pet you beautiful creatures,
But both of you ducks are beyond my touch.
If those downy white breasts I should reach for,
I know you boys would avoid me, for such
Are wild animals; yet you are teachers:
It's when I calm myself, when I sit still,
You darlings are wont to join me and chill.

Replaceability

Peril? Let me tell you what's perilous:
The idea of replaceability;
At surface there's nothing to tell amiss,
But in its irrefutability
It necessitates culpability. 
In our societal lust for progress,
The strong force the responsibility
Down the line onto the many cogs less
Powerful or advanced than these august
Lords of capital. Then when they're displeased
They dispose of people as a process.
That's how they attained the power they've seized.
And sadly it's true, inevitably 
Someone comes to fill the voids that we leave.

The dew is layered upon my windshield

The dew is layered upon my windshield.
The city's blood starts to pump through its veins
Faster, awakening before its yield 
To deadlock before nine o'clock's slow pains;
But I am up early, I'm spared these banes.
I've smoked before the rising of the Sun,
And an abundance of daylight remains
To be enjoyed after my work is done.
Today can be a day to champion
Perseverance of personal designs,
Gratitude for a day that is still young.
So much light and warmth left to trace the lines
Of trouble and struggle toward ascent,
With luck an answer to why we've been bent.

Hypochondriac

I used to be a hypochondriac,
Terrified of every blemish or spot,
Until horror became insomniac
Episodes wherein mental illness fought
To drown me in its accreting onslaught.
Now you fret the appearance of a mark
On your hand, inconsolably distraught;
Compelled by anxiety to embark,
Downwardly spiralling into deep, dark
Ruminations on if it's cancerous,
Locked in deathful thoughts' inhibitive arc.
The dermatologist will answer this.
When they investigate all will be well,
We'll move on to the next paranoid hell.

Stork and Spoonbill

The stork and roseate spoonbill must be friends.
There's no way around the display we saw.
As the tall stork stooped to the rippling bends
In a three-point stance with its walking jaw,
The spoonbill came swooping; probing it draws
Like a metal detector its flat beak
Back and forth through the water as it trawls
Behind the wood stork's singular technique.
They carry along this way for a streak
Before they happen on the bank of sand.
Together they create a most unique
Sight: the spoonbill prancing while the stork stands.
Then they both settle, basking in the light, 
These two wading birds, one pink and one white.

Norm the Duck

Norman is such a friendly guy,
He seems so eager when we appear.
He'll stretch his neck like a giraffe,
Starting to chuckle with Cory and I,
His feathers wagging in the rear;
Cory says his spirit's half-
Puppy how he reacts when he hears
His name: his eyes squinching with glee,
Tipping his head (on our behalf?)
Our hearts swoon with affection when sweet
Norm laughs.

The Limpkin

The limpkin resembles a toppled vase, 
Dappled with white spots on its wings
And woody down; and flowing out
Like a rush of water, its neck,
Brilliantly flecked with flashing white,
Ends in its beautiful beak that curves
Very slightly, harpoonlike, probing
Through shallow waters, silt, and clay
For submerged mollusks to pick apart.
Its legs are fully half its height:
Walking sticks deliberate 
In planting their quadrupod toes.

The limpkin was endangered once,
Hunted for its plumage's art.
Capricious supply and demand,
The vilest trait of humankind,
Came close to etching its demise;
But thanks is due to providence
Whose power turns curses around.
When the invasive apple snail
Took Florida, the limpkin found
An ecosystem it could thrive 
In again, pulling prodigious
Amounts of shells from the freshwater
Marshes and creeks; if not for that,
I may have never had the chance
To see the little limpkin fly
Over the ripples of the pond,
Gliding down to the verdant banks
To trod with twiggy little legs
At the shoreline; where dragonflies,
Blue and pink, black and red,
Glimmering gold and shining jade,
Flit across the surface and mate,
Coupling in flight and performing
Their strange dance on the water's edge.

Supermoon

Let the world go
Crazy; the Moon is full
Of compassion for us fools.

The Moon is closer
Tonight, like a lover;
Closer, beaming to be embraced.

Lunacy
Is common even without a spot-
Light to spur our dramatic sense.

The Autumn Sun's descent
Sneaks up on we who are building-
Dwellers, but twilight tonight is brighter.

Before our time and
After, it has been; perhaps
This is why it shines on us softly. 

It's been the collision of Heaven and Earth,
Mingled with our molten womb,
And knows it will never have to again.

Muscovy Ducks

Muscovy ducks
Can be big and imposing,
But truly they're gentle birds. 

Their big carbuncular
Faces belie
Their golden eyes that sweetly gaze.

Splintering off in several groups,
Two or three buddies swim,
Doing their thing, then recongregate.

Huffing and hissing,
Waggling their tails,
They're actually happy to see friends.

Sometimes they tussle
In tiny disputes for dominance,
But I've never seen it get bloody.

At night they gather together, sleeping
In bushes, trees, or each other's
Warmth—all entirely precious.