Unfit like dodos

Unfit like dodos, hope
are eggs we count
before we crush them
with our weight.

It’s like the parchment
promise signed
with borrowed blood,
the blindfold driving,
speeding into bleeding.

It’s like the careful
counting of deficiencies
that never can add up.

It’s burning midnight oil
writing poetry.
But unfit like dodos,
we must cope.

The singing birds in egg count by Twins Seven Seven

The singing birds in egg count © by Twins Seven Seven

Today it’s flash 55, with Kerry’s addition of using the art work by Nigerian Artist Twins Seven Seven at toads. The dodo was a bird of Mauritius without wings, and the artwork made me think of the dodo, and maybe a little of ourselves, humanity being dodos too. I will also link up to Poetry Pantry tomorrow.

33 responses to “Unfit like dodos

  1. Ah, burning midnight oil writing poetry….I can identify with that! Our deficiencies may never add up, or we may choose not to recognize them. And, yes, we must cope. Somehow we must!

  2. One of my favourite writers on here, I’m always impressed with your penmanship on a subject.

    Unfit like dodos, hope
    are eggs we count
    before we crush them
    with our weight.

    It’s like the parchment
    promise signed
    with borrowed blood, – exceptional writing.

  3. If we take to much time noting how we aren’t perfect, we will crush all the things that might hatch into something better. Best to keep the good eggs warm, and not worry too much about the cracked ones.

  4. You take such a strong stand in this poem, Bjorn. Each line is resonant. I love the comparisons and the emblematic dodo says it all.

  5. Really an excellent twist for this picture, and a mirror of birth that produces a changeling of power; fortunately or not, we can’t seem to live without hope. I especially like “the blindfold driving,
    speeding into bleeding…” and fine use of rhyme, especially the echo at the end.

  6. Oh! I’ve never met a dodo, so a poet hatching and crushing eggs is going to have to stand in for one. Love the alliteration that keeps me bungling my way toward the end. I feel the same way.

  7. It’s like the careful
    counting of deficiencies
    that never can add up……..wow, how this can be translated to aspects of humantiy. I enjoyed this read very much.

  8. Futility, futility, all it futility. Nice, Bjorn, I’m glad there was no answer for these tribulations. My favorite one, the one I relate to, is
    …the careful counting of deficiencies that never can add up.” Mrs. Jim was treasurer for a fundraising charity that had lunches for its members and guests. The books never would add up to a multiple of the plate costs. The other officers would be unhappy that her books didn’t balance. But the trouble was that the people taking in the money didn’t account for the “Keep the change” jar. Nor the forgiving of a dollar or two when the person might be a little short.
    ..

  9. That is a great first stanza, so apt for the image and its title. I was so tempted to choose that image myself – glad I didn’t as your poem is superb!

  10. is that how the dodo gone extinct, crushing their own eggs with their weight when they sat on them, and not at the hands of man?
    certainly thought provoking, in a way. 🙂

  11. We must continue the process to write, i agree, getting too puffed up along the way will only destroy our art and our selves, best be humble and striving. Nice one Bjorn
    Thanks for dropping in at my Sunday Lime this week

    much love…

  12. Pingback: Suggestion Saturday: September 10, 2016 | On The Other Hand·

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