Birdsong's Law Blog

Birdsong’s daughter Krystal passed away in September 2008.  In sorting through her personal effects Birdsong found some of ther “poems”  she wrote while in high school.  Birdsong has been sharing them with a wider world.  Here are two more short ones.  I wonder what was on this child’s mind?

“MUST  STOP”

Birdsong has found some of his daughter Krystal’s poetry written while she was in high school.  Krystal was a wonderful child and I wish that she was still with us.  I found these poems in a “composition book” she kept while sorting through her effects.  I do not know whether Krystal ever shared these poems with any one else…and I sure do not understand what they mean… but I thought I would share them with a wider world.  She wrote so well….enjoy.

“THAT  THING”

Throbbing. Bumping. Jiggling of the trees in the wind.  Your true love, your only hate.  Once again your love.  Then some flowers  Beautiful, flowing, singing flowers.  That handwriting you’re oh-so-used to.  A warm kiss, some giggles, perhaps a rose.  A dying seal, a robbed house.   A fatal accident.  And once more….  Throbbing.  Bumping.  Jiggling of the tree in the wind.  You know what I mean.

Krystal Birdsong  12/97

“WINGS  OF  A  BIRD”

And a silver petal floats through the sky.  These words.  Words.  Random words as my penmanship goes beyond. 

As many of you know Birdsong’s youngest daughter passed away in September of this year.  She was twenty five and had just completed college and had begun graduate school. It  has been a tragic loss for our family.  Now, at the end of the year we have been going through Krystal’s personal effects.  Krystal was always a good writer.  She tried her hand at poetry, song writing and short stories.  I have been going through one of her “composition books,” as she called them, and would like to share a few of her pieces with all of you.  They are interesting pieces but I do not know what they mean.  Do you?  Here goes:

                                                               ” LOOK”

Two years to live.  In some cases one. By reading your palm one could easily tell.  Look what I do for you — I write, I love, I teach, I pray.  The green, brown, and black in your eyes tell your tale — every day.  I never used to do it this way, you never used to.   It was simple joys back then (when I knew you better).  Not happy trees and fuzzy floors.  It was simple joys back then (when I knew you better).  Not colors, suiggles and flying.  I’m sure Pablo Neruda and Mozart and security guards at the “Y” had something to say about it.  Perhaps you will listen to them, since you won’t look at what I do for you.

– Krystal Birdsong 12/2/97

“Happy Valentines Day”

I am tired, not for sleep, for something more — something eternal.  Red lights, a beautiful picture I wish I could capture witha pink and blue fly — I mean camera.  Insane, crazy fear!  Okay, the price is too high for death.  Believe me, I am what I say. What a beautiful Crystal Dream!  Happy Valentine’s Day. 

Shapes, colors, gravy, more! more! more!  I need more dreams (fish or pizza, make up your mind, damnit).  Too much exclamation, not enough punctuation! get it?  Shall this be one long serenade — oh well, no more philosophy.  Foxy