I've been trying to write some darkness
but there's a junco on my shoulder
so just when the shadows start to bend,
like snakes along a shaken earth
where howl of maddened fools
directed at the morbid moon
bloom forth from night's cocoon
--he cuts in
with his joyous tremolo
reminding me of daffodils
and chitter-chatter chickadees
chumming in the morning breeze
beneath a sky of bubbly blue;
of traveling letters
crawling through the mail
to carry smiles across long miles
between a mother and her son,
perfumed by purple hyacinth
in crispy tones of Spring.
I try to write of darkness,
and shake my fountain pen
up and down and down again
hoping for the flow of blackest ink;
for thunderclap from pouting clouds
lightning pounding hollow ground
but when the ballpoint rolls around
it's only sunshine spilling out,
with sounds of juncos thereabout.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem