a bird exists inside this five-foot box
made for beak and wing, miked for flying
acoustics to record. More music-box
than detention centre, oscine than vying
gulls pursuing some flung chip. Now trying
by bird-bloke translation a memo shows
that only this metaphor released knows
poetry’s mystery – why squeeze wild thought
into tiny containers? So nearly broken,
to high headland climbs our poet overwrought.
Leads unplugged, the top I slowly open
and peer inside this padded cell hopin’
for an answer. While wild waves crash hard below
imagined wings departed long ago.
Image – Oval-shaped fusee-driven movement by Jaquet-Droz & Leschot, ca. 1790. by Jafd88 (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons. Written for dverse, the poets’ pub where Frank has asked us to write a Chaucerian verse (this ain’t one).