Walt Reminds Me...

Sitting quietly, watching

the hummingbird highway
in our backyard sky,
speed freak avians
zipping and diving,
narrowly avoiding collision,
not so much rivals,
more contestants in the 
labor to survive.

They feed or die, those
tiny-hearted birds, 
twenty beats per second.
Pomegranate blooms 
become their arena,
long beaks dueling for
one flower, until they
spy our four-hole feeder, 
competitors no more.

Sitting quietly, reading
my laptop screen
at a backyard table,
variable speed poets
warping and weaving,
neatly creating their art.
Not so much competitors,
more partners in the
need to express.

They write or fade, those
big-hearted bards, one hundred
April images per hour.
Poetic Asides
becomes their stage,
longing for what’s due
their flowing thoughts, yet
loving each other’s works,
competitors no more.