Three Poems ~ Philip S. Bryant

Renee’s Song

It’s -8 degrees below
As I watch Renee’ trudge
Out in deep snow, to her
Birdfeeders she’ll go, with her
Big bucketful of birdseed
And fresh packets of suet,
The Chickadees see her coming,
Perched high up in the tree,
And commence to sing her
A song, perhaps in honor
Of her pouring this huge
Black mound of birdseed
Into her birdfeeders, that
Soon is overflowing all
Over the ground.

We want to thank you dear Renee’
For our blessed seeds, you bring today.

The Chickadee song they
Sing, seems to me to say,
But forgive my very rough
Translation to English,
From the original Chickadee,
As they’ll sing Renee’s song
Long after she’s gone,
And swoop down to
Partake of their great
Bucketful of plenty.

Mass in B Minor        

for Chad Winterfeldt

It’s a high
Church scaffold
No one ever built
And no one
Can ever climb
Or touch,
It’s Sound
Yet Music,
True Enough,
When heard
As perhaps
This small bird
Who sings
Just to bring
The sun up.

Jazz Bass

In early morning
Way before dawn
Even before the last
Specks of moon
And stars are gone,
Before the first breeze
Of the day begins to stir,
Before the first peep of
The early bird is even
Heard, a deep bass note
Is suddenly struck,
Like from some Jazz
Bass buried deep down in
The universe, that’s then
So softly plucked, and
Out of this one single
Strum, grows a constant
And steady hum,
Rising just above these
Trees, ever so slightly,
Until we can just see
The first few rays
Of the morning sun.