Airport Pecking

I was traveling to Italy recently and awaiting my connecting flight in Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris.  It was early morning and the various gates in terminal D were filled with sleep deprived passengers snoozing, reading or slurping their morning caffeine fix.  Having suffered the comforts of economy class on the trans-oceanic flight, I was void of humor, stiff and overly aware of the boredom all around me.  When suddenly a small bird, tiny little fellow, flew in from somewhere and landed at my feet.  His total lack of fear appealed to me as he flitted in, around and through the many shoes, bags and chair legs on his path.  Soon, his partner, another miniature winged friend, showed up to join him.  The two were scavenging, searching long and hard for some neglected morsel, some wasted bounty, some hidden treasure that would fill their tummies with delight.
 
These two were peckers – checking out every little wad of rubbish or ball of dust.  “Is this food? … Is that food? … Is THIS food?”  On and on they went, poking their beaks into anything and everything that might have the slightest hint of nutrition or savory satisfaction.  It reminded me of the dating scene.  How often do we go through life hunting, pecking, even digging for some little aspect of affection.  “Is this Love? …  Is that Love?  … Surely, THIS is love???”  Like my feathery friends in Paris, we single creatures bravely seek out the very essence of what we crave, despite language barriers, physical boundaries or inconsistent social creeds.  The many pairs of shoes we wear to walk the walk or dance the dance du jour.  I think sometimes I get so caught up in the hunting and pecking that I forget to really look and see what is before me.  The illusion of that which we seek brings inspiration and longing and the powerful pull of need, but no matter how charming the destination, isn’t it the journey that is supposed to count?

I often find myself manifesting amazing things through my words.  I have even conjured up a romance with some of my wishful thinking.  I wrote the poem “He” as an invocation to bring the man of my dreams to me.  When he shows up, I wonder if I will still be asking “is THIS love?” or will I fly away in search of my next or newest fantasy…

HE

When He speaks,

i'll listen
chewing every crumb of Truth
that slips from his tongue.
i'll savor
the rhythm of his laughter
as it rains on me,
rocks me in an aural storm
of Unity,
a Dance of sweet vibration,
the Voice that unhinges me.

When He steals the covers,

i'll tuck him in and snuggle,
tugging gently
to free a fold for me
as i wiggle into my sacred spot
beside him,
each breath
felt more deeply than before,
a coffee warmth
that lingers,
the taste of smiles
all over me.

… (and later) …

And when He gives,

i'll train the athlete inside me
to cultivate stillness

and believe

down to my toes

that i am somehow worthy

of the gift

He brings.

©2012 DOS

The excerpts of all of the poems presented in this blog are copyright protected, as each and every poem has been copyrighted.   For a complete copy of any poem, feel free to email your request to: duvallosteennyc@gmail.com.