Sky-Scrapings

                                        Brenda Bryant

SKYSCRAPINGS!

If you scrape the sky in Sydney

You end up with a mass of blue,

With one or two little white bits

Gently passing through.

*

'Hurry up!' my friends all told me,

'We really cannot wait

For you to take a photograph!

Already we're quite late!

What's so special, anyway?

Just a great glassy sheet!

No need for you to stop and click

In the middle of the street!'

And so the others surged away

In a great big friendly bunch,

Off to a favourite restaurant

To have a bite of lunch.

While I stood taking photographs

With 'reflections' on my mind.

And then I had to rush like mad

For I had been left behind!

*

If you scrape the sky in Sydney

You end up with a mass of blue,

With one or two little white bits

Gently passing through

*

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 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS.


So you see a bird!
I aways knew we were incompatible!
How dull you are;
Seeing what you think you have to see.
Doing as you're told!
Your horizon limited by what you think you should see.
A mere human in a world of angels!
So bland, so conventional, so boring!
I'll give you the horizon;
That I also see.
But a bird?
Don't be absurd!
I see a grey, blotched wall
And an oddly-shaped window.
The top swoops down like a twister;
The left-hand side bears a startling resemblance
To a chimp begging for a kiss;
And, on the right, there's a hill
With an interesting cave.
I long to squeeze through that jagged window
And hover in that blue sky,
Like a bird.
But my own bird, not yours.
I'll pack my bags in the morning.
*