Reserved and Not, the Skylark

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Arpeggios of colors?  No not one

At all.  Some spots and stripes, slight brown, dark brown

Off-white…you get the vibe.  More like a nun

He dresses, unlike peacock dresses down.

His nest is in a farmer’s field among

The barley, nothing fancy, garden-like

With roses.  He reserves his life for lung

And singing, Pavarotti, notes to strike

A heart with love.  He is like a monk.

He frees himself from all the other things

That trouble humans, free from clunk, clunk, clunk

Of ordinary life and mounts on wings.

  He mounts on saintly wings.  He sings.  His song

    Transposes earthly boredom, worldly wrong.