Yellow moon, yellow moon, why you keep peeping in my window? Do you know something I don't know? etc.
Now if I had such a soulful bird warbling Neville Brothers' tunes through my bedroom window each morning, I'd be quite a satisfied man. (I wouldn't rely on it for racing tips though.)
So much depends on the precise apprehension of intended meaning. Maybe birds are incapable of negative utterance, or maybe their "don'ts" are too subtly aspirated. Maybe they were trying to tell you something else:
"...how many close calls our lives are made of, did
the palm reader say You will have a long life
or the wrong wife, suppose god has bad handwriting
or a lisp, and we've mis- understood the messages: In the begonia was the worm... we mistook gardening advice
for the story of our lives— god made lime, and separated
the lime from the bark, planted seeds, they were fruitful and
vegetable, he looked at what he had made and saw that it was food"
6 comments:
No, no, no. The bird was saying pample mousse, pample mousse.
It wanted you to have grapefruit for breakfast.
A cereal offender...
(I wonder why it told me to go for the box trifecta breakfast?)
I would have thought a parlay would have been the bet for bloggers.
Still, a 'parlay formula' sounds like a breakfast for kids being taught to speak.
... or ...
Yellow moon, yellow moon,
why you keep peeping in my window?
Do you know something I don't know? etc.
Now if I had such a soulful bird warbling Neville Brothers' tunes through my bedroom window each morning, I'd be quite a satisfied man. (I wouldn't rely on it for racing tips though.)
So much depends on the precise apprehension of intended meaning. Maybe birds are incapable of negative utterance, or maybe their "don'ts" are too subtly aspirated. Maybe they were trying to tell you something else:
"...how many close calls our
lives are made of, did
the palm reader say
You will have a long life
or the wrong wife, suppose
god has bad handwriting
or a lisp, and we've mis-
understood the messages:
In the begonia was the worm...
we mistook gardening advice
for the story of our lives—
god made lime, and separated
the lime from the bark, planted
seeds, they were fruitful and
vegetable, he looked at what he had
made and saw that it was food"
Sharon Bryan
today at Poetry Daily
No, je ne parlay pas.
But perhaps the bird was saying
Mystery Bet, Mystery Bet
Lunar brogue yeller?
What a great poem, Juke, love it.
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