Aria da Capo

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

None but the lark so shrill and clear;

Now at heaven’s gate she claps her wings,

The morn not waking till she sings.

     ~ John Lyly, “Spring’s Welcom”

The evening does not come till bats have flown.

The flying of the bats brings evening on.

The nightingale sings light from lunar stone

And early larks in song bring bright sky dawn.

The common nighthawk calls in dusk and brings

The nighttime out.  In April’s dwindling spring

The song thrush sends it flute-like notes on wings.

The autumn birds create the fairy ring.

At Carlsbad the cavern sends out storms

Of bats deep black against the black cave’s sky.

Their fleshy, furred up flight in death’s own forms

Kills tons of insects using aural eye.

  The skylark leaps to sing in waiting dome

    Of blue.  The daybreak’s melodies come home.

© Phillip Whidden