Overkill

Too many poems about birds
The editors complain
But when I go walking
It is the bird calls that I hear
A pleasant trilling in my ear
Preferable to growling engines
Car motors, lawn mowers
Pedestrians on cell phones
Bellowing out their conversation. 

Too many poems about flowers
Writer colleagues say
In search of daring innovation.
But it’s their blossoms
That scent the air and counteract
The fumes of gasoline and diesel
While I sit outside drinking coffee
On a warm morning
Seeking fresh air. 

Too many poems about trees
The wind, the soil, the sand
The nature of this earth
Where we reside
Or maybe not enough. 

Birds are dying, species failing
The hardships of this world
Polluted by humans
Make it difficult to survive.
But in this moment
Lost in the high notes
I fuse into the universe
Soaring with the birds
Up through the sky. 

At the Doctor’s Office

Television dialogue inhabiting my ears
Quiet is in short supply.
I asked them once to turn it off.
Their claim, television camouflages
Private conversations
behind the desk.
I hear everything. 

Fill out this form.
No, we cannot see you until February.
The back page as well.
Can you believe what she said?
Unpleasant people.
Please add your signature.
The doctor is busy. We’ll call you back. 

Two layers of sound.
The woman sitting beside me
Hails her neighbor
On the wall above.
Perry Mason on the television screen
Makes his closing argument. 

Inside a special room
The technician explains,
She will take a picture of my optic nerve.
Her machine emits a constant beep
The sound never stops.
Ever think of wearing earplugs?
It’s a good idea, I suggest.
She agrees. 

They say if one sense is failing
The other senses compensate
An eye appointment with a heavy dose
Of sound.
Everything looks good
I hear the doctor say.
No longer annoyed by extraneous chatter
A calm world greets me
On the other side of the door.

City Living

The screech of the garbage truck
Grind of engine shifting gears
Men shouting
Dogs barking
Baby crying
Bird calls are muffled
By the din of construction
A buzz saw cuts
Nails are stapled
Shrubs delivered
What happened to my quiet
Morning walk
Each step a meditation
I wait and hope
For a lull in activity
Perhaps when twilight
Falls upon my city
Urban upkeep will subside.

Author’s Biography

Nadja Maril’s prose and poetry has been published in literary magazines that include: Spry Literary Review, The Sunlight Press and Across the Margin . She is the author of Recipes from My Garden, a compendium of poems and short essays centered around herbs, a kitchen garden, and family memories published by Old Scratch Press. An award winning former journalist and editor, Nadja has an MFA from Stonecoast at the University of Southern Maine and lives in Annapolis Maryland, USA. To read more of her work visit Nadjamaril.com.