Anyway, Kellie's sister Diane Keith responded to my request for poems about birds and said that she would like one about a cardinal. Most of the poems that I have written about birds have been about cardinals. They probably are my favorite birds, followed closely by the bluebirds that nest by my window, who, ironically, I have never finished a poem about though I have started several. While I work on Diane's request for new material, here is an oldy but goody from around 2004. Please keep the requests coming. Even if I can't fulfil them all, I can always find a poem similar to the request that is already written. Also, if this is the second of the "cardinal sins," there is a first one somewhere. Would anybody like to see that one if I can find it? Enjoy. That is what poetry is about.
The Second of the Cardinal Sins
His twittering teases early dawn dreams
To wake and forget that peculiar place
Where my soul rows on silver streams
And goddess’ lips caress my face.
His lusty cry, a morning bell,
Chimes to his mate, “Chirrip! Cheree!”
She is gone; Ah -- just as well,
Her lust was never real to me,
But, oh, a little pride did swell!
And for that pride, I ask one last embrace,
One touch, one kiss, one perfumed breath, one taste
Of sweet Dream’s honeyed lips,
But his piping pierces my will;
His unkissed beak recklessly snips
The tender threads of my morning vision,
And, bobbing on my window sill,
He feels the heat of my derision,
But mistakes it for his muse’s amour,
And he sings for her another score.
Where is she now, my little Don Juan,
This grey-garbed mistress of your heart
That razes my Muse’s art to ruin
And raises your lust to such an art?
High on some limb that I can’t see
Or nestled in some flowering bush?
What has she ever done for me,
But eat my seed and amorously push
Your song into my fanciful sleeping?
You and your incessant peeping!
She’s just a dream, the immaculate bird!
She’s heard your sweet pipes and my whispered word.
See! She flies to any that call her name!
She is not Love! What a shame
To woo her with our choicest song
Only to find that we were wrong
And our role is merely a cameo;
Our dream is a one scene part.
I know this mistress, my red-winged Romeo,
She wants no mate and she will share no heart.