A Poetry Showcase from Chad Norman

from Pixabay


I, the man I am now, 
walks in the woods
with a welcome
set on the hair
I have left.

Almost all the birds
who know the human
I am,
who see
the steps
I send ahead first,
all the time
asking for entry,
knowing the paths,
knowing I
was comng to seek
how they would show
I could be among them.

So I be someone
looking up, without
a thought of any death,
looking to see
like each one of them,
belonging, maybe to clouds
or trees-tops, the darkness
between both, where permission
isn't words, where harmony chirps,
nothing better, and my smile.

All I gladly admit
I don't know, above me
dawn's welcome, tomorrow
coming like a child
asking those questions,
ready for promises today,


I have gained the trust of
a crow my past put on a branch.

I have gained the trust of
a bluejay waiting for a welcome.

I have gained the trust of
a starling being a parent this Spring.

I have gained the trust of
a mourning dove my crying owns.

I have gained the trust of
a grackle no hinged door sounds like.

I have gained the trust of
a chickadee singing pee & poo.

I have gained the trust of
a sparrow Matthew wrote about.

I have gained the trust of
a humming-bird found on the same twig.

I have gained the trust of
a woodpecker unlike any cartoon.

I have gained the trust of
a red-winged blackbird and her mate.

I have gained the trust of
a chipmunk without even one wing.

No voice, no singer, is heard
in among what the leaves sing,
not even a beak has broken a note.

A moment all alone, a glutted state,
money tries to find a way back to greed.

I have  even gained the trust of
my wife cheering for a line of lyrics
she forgot was forgotten,
she hums instead out on the cool deck.


What flight may mean
what I have left
to ask
even though
Summer has had 
all the answers.

Wings for those
who fly
provide other than voices,
but the needs of wind
become involved
for the most skilled
of the ears
at least one human values.

I hear
my footsteps
are known.


The pay-off...
one end-of-the-week morning,
a scene I seem to believe
has been given as a gift
making my drowsy mind
chant the saying,
"The early bird gets the worm."

And one really did:
the first of the new starlings
in the unmown grass of May
forgets to open its sowable beak,
forgets to stalk the foodful parent,
to feed itself, locating
each piece of cat food
but preferring the variety of seed
as the steam of vanishing dew
hides almost every nutritious discovery.


It happened there!

All the days before this one
when chipmunks finally returned,
gave the soul in me the visits                                                                 I have thanked them for
some other Springs.

Beauty came to what
I held in just two fingers--
peanut-loving creatures
willing to trust my hopes!

Something the sky has decided
comes down to stir the leaves
trees gave up last fall, now waking.

It is the wind I am thankful for
telling the man in me
rain may want the roots
visible beside the boots I use
to enter it, show the mates
a human being human
will not be what they fear.

Bio: Chad Norman lives and writes in Truro, Nova Scotia. In 1992 he was awarded the Gwendolyn MacEwen Memorial Award For Poetry, the judges were Margaret Atwood, Barry Callaghan, and Al Purdy. His poems appear in journals, magazines, anthologies around the world. A new book, A Matter Of Inclusion is out now.

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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