Shadowland

By Bob McAfee

Last night I heard the mockingbird,
silver bird beneath a silver moon.
Black and white have a way of turning to gray.
The shadows grow longer and deeper in June.

🩷🩷🩷

There in the dark at the edge of the park,
sad songs echoing the midnight bell.
Sad bird reminiscing
wonders why his lady’s missing
and the shadows remind me of Dantean Hell.

🩷🩷🩷

Do bird girls do their bird men wrong
and is this song
a way of hoping, coping with a life alone?
Do we have this thing in common,
oh songbird shaman:
shadows are longings that cut to the bone.

🩷🩷🩷

Silver moon turns to gold
as early morning bells are tolled.
Gold bird languishes beneath a golden ball.
Last night I heard the mockingbird.
This morning the shadows mean nothing at all.

🩷🩷🩷

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Bob McAfee is a retired software consultant who lives with his wife near Boston. He has written nine books of poetry, mostly on Love, Aging, and the Natural World. For the last several years he has hosted a Wednesday night Zoom poetry workshop. Since 2019, he has had 101 poems selected by 41 different publications. His website, www.bobmcafee.com, contains links to all his published poetry including ten poems in Micromance.