BRiaN S. KeNDiG

Here's where I'll put some of my attempts at creative writing.

FOX SAGA

Unfinished as yet. More chapters when I feel the muse move me. If you have any thoughts on it, please drop me an email and let me know what you think.

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THE MOCKINGBIRD

Throughout springtime 2004 my home has been plagued by the shrill squeaking calls of baby mockingbirds calling their parents to feed them. The noise is piercing; even thick walls seem not to muffle it at all. It has driven me to poetry. (Or at least doggerel.)

Once upon a daytime hot, while I worked on putting thought
Into yet another lengthy journal entry of my life,
From outside there came a squeaking - like a water faucet leaking -
Or a rusty wheel creaking, squeaking outside my front door.
"'Tis a bicycle," I muttered, "squeaking outside my front door.
Only this, and nothing more."

But the noise, it didn't stop. Still it squeaked, and never dropped
In volume or in frequency, still persistent, still it came;
Finally it drove me crazy - like a film by M. Scorsese -
Rousing me from being lazy, lazy as I'd been all day.
"You who make this noise, I beg you, stop it now, I do implore!
Stop it now, and nothing more!"

Through the window I peeked out and saw what it was all about -
That which caused the endless shrill that made my head begin to ache -
Every little squeak and creak came uttered through the vexing beak
Of a baby mockingbird, less dignified than birds of yore,
Perched upon the bust of Wozniak outside of my front door.
Seeing me, it squeaked some more.

"Must you sing incessant shrieking? Couldn't you, please, just try tweaking
Melody or harmony or even just another pitch?
Obliged am I to give critique," I said, "that you have got me piqued
By singing your one single note, wrote higher than a flute could play!
I don't know what cause you have to perch on Woz by light of day!
Won't you please just go away?"

Still the mockingbird is mocking - still is squeaking, STILL is mocking
All my tries to quiet it or chase it to a distant shore.
Possibly the noise has meaning, but more likely I am dreaming.
I may never learn to cope but someday maybe I'll ignore.
Then I think the bird has silenced while I lay upon the floor -
Suddenly it squeaks some more!