Who Could Kill A Mockingbird?

[ampoule]

Who Could Kill A Mockingbird?
Happy birthday sweet Nelle

Who could do this terrible thing,
slay this innocent feathered recorder,
and why?
Was it self-defense for a sleepless night,
exhausted from listening to the constant repetitions,
or taking it upon himself to avenge its thievery?
Perhaps it was an accident, the bird swooping
from the hedgerows to protect its speckled ova.

Oh, the night,
its mateless nocturnal tunes,
perched ready beneath a silver moonlit leaf,
or a white crocheted coverlet,
I will be glad to sing another's tune
if it will make you look my way.

ampoule, April TwentyEighth, TwoThousandEight
.

[firefangled]

Oh, the night,
its mateless nocturnal tunes,
perched ready beneath a silver moonlit leaf,
or a white crocheted coverlet,
I will be glad to sing another's tune
if it will make you look my way.





Wonderful, Amp! This is so many things: sad, haunting, rueful, repentant. Lovely the subtle way you personalized this.

I couldn't help but think of some last lines from Paul Simon's Song for the Asking:

Thinking it over, I've been sad
Thinking it over, I'd be more than glad
To change my ways for the asking

[kelby_lake]

My total trashing of it- turned into a poem! (The book, not your very good poem xx)


A mockingbird, a mockingbird
The worst metaphor that I ever heard
And moral lessons that are quite grating
A narrator's tone I find irritating
Some false emotions from a bland book
290 pages at which to look
But look at what? The dull brick scene
with character descriptions thrown in between
Descritption is vital as characters blur
So to identify I flick back and refer
to the pages I already endured
and by random words obscured
No matter- I'll focus on the case
An unfair charge for a matter of race
So here it is, the second half
might give me some tears, I hope not a laugh
A court case quite short and the verdict unfair
But it's 200 pages in and I really don't care.

So here we are, the final page
Of a book which wound me into a rage
Maybe here she's pulled the big guns
But no. What a waste of my time.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Who Could Kill A Mockingbird?
Happy birthday sweet Nelle

Who could do this terrible thing,
slay this innocent feathered recorder,
and why?
Was it self-defense for a sleepless night,
exhausted from listening to the constant repetitions,
or taking it upon himself to avenge its thievery?
Perhaps it was an accident, the bird swooping
from the hedgerows to protect its speckled ova.

Oh, the night,
its mateless nocturnal tunes,
perched ready beneath a silver moonlit leaf,
or a white crocheted coverlet,
I will be glad to sing another's tune
if it will make you look my way.

ampoule, April TwentyEighth, TwoThousandEight
.

Apart from the sweet tenderness of the thoughts here, I felt as if I'd never before experienced such open vowels!

[ampoule]

Apart from the sweet tenderness of the thoughts here, I felt as if I'd never before experienced such open vowels!

As a singer, that is a huge compliment. I hope the same holds true for writing poetry. :) Thank you very very much Prince.

Thank you too Fire. I like those words from Paul Simon.

Kelby....???....I'm not real sure....lol....Sorry the book was a waste of your time though.

[symphony]

Been a while since i last read anything by u, amp. The last two lines here are fantastic. :thumbs_up
Oh and i was also wondering lately about your colors thread. Looking forward to seeing you revive that. :)

[ampoule]

Thank you dear symphony. Hmmm...I will have to find my colors thread and see what I have left. Thank you for mentioning it.

[blazeofglory]

Who Could Kill A Mockingbird?
Happy birthday sweet Nelle

Who could do this terrible thing,
slay this innocent feathered recorder,
and why?
Was it self-defense for a sleepless night,
exhausted from listening to the constant repetitions,
or taking it upon himself to avenge its thievery?
Perhaps it was an accident, the bird swooping
from the hedgerows to protect its speckled ova.

Oh, the night,
its mateless nocturnal tunes,
perched ready beneath a silver moonlit leaf,
or a white crocheted coverlet,
I will be glad to sing another's tune
if it will make you look my way.

ampoule, April TwentyEighth, TwoThousandEight
.

I am thrilled to read your poem, for it is a wonderful imagination. How sadly people become heartless these days. This is symbolic.

[ampoule]

Yes, very symbolic. Thank you, Blaze.