The Little Sparrow
Elegy for Edith Piaf
The Little Sparrow
Height but 4 foot 8,
Voice reaching the roof of Moulin Rouge.
La crème de la crème of France
Vibrato, a ruler springing
On the end of a table.
Voix reached the heights
And the lows
A vocalizing of life – ta vie,
Streets filled with flipping bipeds,
You, ringing the air with bi-vocals.
Ange caroling for the neglected,
Left in the crib, at 17.
Lullaby’s lilting from across town,
Intercepted by the sparrows, piafs.
History woven into fabric, noir
Worn during birth.
Applause jumpstarting the heart,
It beats twice as fast,
The sound vibrated into vinyle.
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Ode to Disneyland
To all who come,
All are welcomed.
Lands of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy,
Happiness spelt with ten letters.
A daring venture
Eyes need turning,
For Mara’s always watching
Twisting
Vines and the river.
Passengers and antics board to
Peer at the great eighth
Wonder
At dusty facades and covered markets selling
Drums
A Tiki beat alongside old time tweets,
Who cannot fly
To neighboring arbor,
Residence of adoptive native.
Or sail with a new crew and
Stash the gold and really bad eggs,
Down the waterfall and up
Again
You may not return to the flooding mansion
Stretching, creaking, beating.
Three new hitchhikers
Trail
Down the ideal streets
Of the Small Easy.
Mint, sipped through a straw,
White sugar sticks to your fingers,
Tastes as sweet as the place.
Tired
On my lap the textbook lies, open,
My head droops to the side-miscast.
The words wait on the page, stolen,
From Anon who long since passed.
I sink at the end of each sentence,
Sandman’s sand funnels into my mind.
A haze, the book tries transmitting its essence,
But melatonin has irreversibly been assigned.
Due dates loom, despite closed eyes,
Approaching is a soft, yawing, loving doze.
Synapses calculate remaining homework size,
But to sleep, my energy does repose.
In one last attempt, serif tails try to hook my eyelids,
But the heavy-handed Hypnos finally comes and outbids.