Notes On Flying




The stray seagull flew low, five miles out at sea,

and he flew proud among a small flock of pigeons.

Looking up, I couldn’t tell if he was disoriented

or if he was comfortable not being on his own.

The birds’ insignificance and my own, engulfed my

mind there underneath a dazzling blue semi-sphere.

The ocean, beguiling in its tranquillity, beckoned

me to come stroll across its bridge of rippled glass.

As the ferry powered toward its island destination,

I wondered whether the seagull’s aerial adventure

Was a maiden voyage or part of normal routine

much like many of the passengers aboard this vessel.

The urge to go…where does that come from? Is it

An escape, or a homing in? A departure, or a return?

Does vertigo cause disorientation and influence the destination?

Or does disorientation merely cause the departure?

As I watched him, surrounded, I sensed our fellowship;

two souls gliding, carried, buoyed by other forces.

Aren’t all our journeys just part of a greater circle?

And we all still matter. Yet we all still don’t.

The seagull had not whispered any audible secrets,

But it had spoken to me just the same.

The island may isolate me but I would never be

alone as long as I looked upward and embraced life.


A Lone Seagull Comes Into View


A collaborative Twitter poem by:

@MyVogonPoetry @Permabloom @Vivchook @afcoory @Jdubqca @Troublegummer



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