by Alan Gann
Terns do not twist and dive
to unheard ballets—
sense of self-worth does not hinge
on daily review of their performance.
does not pose to aid my meditation,
do not flash their brilliance
for the pleasure of being photographed.
But in woodland dawns,
when trilling chorus pings from tree to tree,
we each sing our first morning song
to remind the world
I’m still here and no matter
what happens before the night descends
all contribute humble notes
to the eternal golden song divergent.
Alan’s friends are surprised he is still at large and allowed to teach creative writing workshops and 8th grade sex education. He is on the board of the Dallas Poets Community, and a poetry editor for their literary journal, Illya’s Honey. In 2011, he had poems nominated for a Best of the Net award by Red Fez and a Pushcart Prize by Red River Review.