Platypus Phoenix

Breast-beating is what we’re good at,
fiddling while Rome burns,
shooting at shadows with the sun in our eyes,
screaming in foreign tongues
and any number of other platitudes.

Yet though our feet of clay are held fast in mud,
and honey is only for coating tongues (our own),
though I write of mist men and darkness,
the bitter blood we make over illusions
and storms that wreck, winds that moan

still the great bird will soar,
the sun rise, rose and gold,
in a sky a million millions of years old
like a new-fledged chick
from a dinosaur egg.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

26 thoughts on “Platypus Phoenix”

      1. Someone very dear to me, and getting on in years, once told me that everything was important, but not that important. I try to remember that!

  1. African to Indian
    Locusts Pandemic
    Spreading Globe
    Fires Bleeding
    Forest
    Breath
    Hurricanes
    Blowing
    Truth’s
    Destruction
    Out of Breath
    Into Dark
    Beyond
    All
    Destruction
    Soul of
    Country
    Falling
    Falling
    Black Abyss
    Responding Responding

      1. Yes.. Science Shows Humans Are Evolved to Survive And Thrive in
        Groups of 150 to 200
        Max Foraging Together
        Giving Sharing
        Free With
        Least Harm
        Additionally Capacity
        For Around 5 Intimate
        Close Friends Square
        Root One Problem
        Live Out of
        Balance
        Pay the
        Consequence
        Karma No Gaslighting
        Nature Do It Become
        Stink
        Trump iN
        Stank Stunk..:)

      2. Tree is Forest
        Ocean is Wave
        Blanket
        Comfort
        Those Seeing All🌊
        Some Poets Will Take
        This For
        Granted
        Poetry
        Of
        Souls
        Seeing All
        Just as is Enough
        Eternally Breathing Now
        Essence Existence Poetry
        Free
        Verse
        Wind
        BLoWinG
        NaTuRE Dancing
        Tree Leaves Singing
        FaLLinG
        RiSinG
        WinTeR Green
        SuMMeR Springs
        DeatH is LiFE DarK LiGHTS🌞Morning Eves🌚

  2. We’re living in an absurdist time, and the Oracle knows. Your poem is the laughing crying we’re all doing.
    We have lots of the same words, but different poems, although in a way not–yours is more about the world, and mine is more about individuals.

    1. I’ve just read yours and yes, we had a lot of the same images. There’s a greater sense of a particular place in yours. I like the way you fixed it with the illustration.

      1. Yes, you’re right.
        I actually changed the end of the second stanza after I found the illustration. It made so much more sense–the Oracle must have guided me there, too. 😀

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