To compare this moment to another,
would be to rob this, or another
of the peace, and tranquility,
of the love, and joy that exists
solely for the moment, this moment
as it did and will exist in moments,
of the greed of our temporal world.
A world that kidnaps and sells
one’s freedom, and liberty,
in day auctions, and night markets,
seen and unseen, we buy a little
for that moment, saving some for future
for the claim, to own and possess
their moments in our moments,
believing they solely exist,
to bring us pleasure,
and make our lives easier.
So, at this moment when
I sit, nursing an African Grey parrot chick,
the soft down, molting with grey spikes,
the skin of its soft breast, pulsing
against my palm as I stroke, its head,
and feed it from a dropper,
this bird, stolen from its nest
and, sold in the zoo section
of a market, with budgies,
parakeets, monkeys, and bush meat,
in exchange for coins and, notes
that alter their future.
Someday, I will remember this moment,
when the parrot on its perch
imitates me, and asks for a cup of tea,
its food bowls full, and water plenty,
while lacking the freedom to fly,
where it may please,
and have a family.
I will question that moment,
when I look out of my patio,
and see a flock of weaver birds
occupying, the African Tulip tree
decorating it, with grass globes.
The tree, where once my parrot’s
ancestors drank, the nectar
from flowers of the African Tulip tree,
at that moment they were free,
that moment unblemished,
those raucous cries of freedom
untouched, by temporal greed.
Charlie Bottle's passion is poetry. He has lived on three continents, speaks five languages and loves different cultures, people, music and food. He believes that "Poetry uses the economy of words to express the essence of our humanity." It is this magical use of brevity to express the profound that drew him to poetry. While his professional and personal life has pulled him in different directions, He continues in his discipleship of the craft and writes whenever the muse moves him. While English is his second language it is the language in which he lives, breathes, thinks and writes poetry.