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“I sit on a rock and watch children playing
in the park below
They don't see me
Or know my thoughts
Or that you haven't called
But I forgive them their indifference today
Above me a crow caws
Perhaps he smells the crumbs on my dress
Or my anger
But he flits away over the trees
Probably has a home
Probably has a wife
Probably knew to call
The children leave
The coffee in my can turns cold
The wind nips at me
Some street lights flicker on
But I won't move
Not yet
I will wait for the night to chase me
Back where I came from
Up the empty street
To a quiet house”
― Adelheid Manefeldt, Years: a book of tiny poetry

“The Sniper Bird by Stewart Stafford

"Look out!" the crowd shouted to me,
"There's a Sniper Bird in those trees!"
A whooshing sound shot past my ears,
Making me duck down to my knees.

He must have gone rogue, I reckoned,
Someone cheated him over birdseed,
Then he took a squirrel as his hostage,
Get a negotiator quickly up those trees.

He threw up his wings and surrendered,
They brought him down in a gilded cage,
Never again sniping at innocent people,
He studies elocution with a parrot sage.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford