GUEST POST // The North Wind Shall Blow… as Introduced by Christine Mallaband-Brown

The North Wind doth blow
and we shall have snow,
and what shall poor Robin do then?
Poor thing.
He’ll sit in a barn,
and keep himself warm,
and hide his head under his wing,
poor thing….


Public Domain Poetry

GUEST POST // Let’s Make Love By Nandita Manan

Yes, it’s the winter of your fall
But it will only hurt for an earthly time
Flipped through the seasons of your life
You’re a plunging bird in the zoetrope

Perchance ’tis the spring of my summer
For I’m delirious with maddening joy
The monsoon of my eyes will come too
But for now, let us be larks in love, boy!

I fair would ask you to take my hand
Yon rolling clouds let us take flight
Clear the air with a rush of wings, girl!
And banish forever that horrid night

With glee, I would hold your hand
As you lead me on a cloudless dream
The nights of yore left behind
Days flowing like love’s endless stream

Let us alight, it matters not where
Let us unite, souls entwined and bare
Pennons enfolding, our avian cocoon
And emboldening fingers to make you swoon

Pennons spread out, heralders of love
You be the word and I, the dove
Soar far and wide, souls in unison
Plant seeds everywhere, await germination

Let’s forever dip and rise in buoyant waters
Let’s make some love, love is all that matters!


© All rights reserved 2016


Cinerarium (Hope in Dust)


here I stand upwind
with a dead bird in my hands
in barren Eden
and look at the sore plucked backs
of my deserting brothers

I yell after them
“omens are a pile of crap!
who can blame people
if hosts of heaven act like
credulous aborigines?”

wind snatches my words
and mixes them up with sand
nobody believes
that cold grey ash in my hands
is an arising phoenix


© All rights reserved 2016

the Light-off-House keeper

Do you remember that guy?
Yes, who turned off the lighthouse.
At that time things were awry
and it ended up in the madhouse.

“Birds are better than people.
They can fly and sit on the steeple.”

Then two or three were shipwrecked.
It was in late November…
All appeals were rejected.
I was small, but I still remember.

“Birds are better than people.
They don’t weep. Don’t beg for a nipple.”

I saw his look through the bars.
I read his bloodless parched lips.
“…they fade in the light… like stars…
…lighthouse is evil… full eclipse…”

“Birds are better than people.
They never doubt to kill a cripple.”

James Bond was my cult hero.
(No, not the dolt from the film!)
His books were my ground zero.
Birds became lords in my little realm.

“Birds are better than people…”
I’m the most industrious pupil.

I defeated wicked light.
I secure happy birdlife.
I keep eternal twilight.

Somewhere somebody cries… it’s a sailor’s wife.

* * * * *

This poem definitely was inspired by the amazing poem ‘Le gardien du phare aime trop les oiseaux’ (The Lighthouse Keeper Loves Birds Too Much) by French poet and screenwriter Jacques Prevert and the short animation based on it ‘Farat’ (The Lighthouse) by Bulgarian director Velislava Gospodinova.

I don’t share videos too often, but it’s worth watching.
I hope you’ll enjoy this short masterpiece.

With love,
your Unbolt



‘Le gardien du phare aime trop les oiseaux’
de Jacques Prévert

Des oiseaux par milliers volent vers les feux
Par milliers ils tombent par milliers ils se cognent
Par milliers aveuglés par milliers assommés
Par milliers ils meurent.
Le gardien ne peut supporter des choses pareilles
Les oiseaux il les aime trop
Alors il dit tant pis je m’en fous
Et il éteint tout
Au loin un cargo fait naufrage
Un cargo venant des îles
Un cargo chargé d’oiseaux
Des milliers d’oiseaux des îles
Des milliers d’oiseaux noyés.


© All rights reserved 2015

a Circus, Part #1 (Fragment #006)

…I woke up on a big heap of rotten beetroot and zucchini. It had a terrible stink… No! It was more than that — a hellish stink! I coughed and tried to open my eyes.

I was in semi-darkness… though a few minutes later my eyes adjusted to it. But, I wasn’t too happy with the picture I saw. And the main reason for this was the goon who was sitting on the wooden box opposite me. He looked sore, and his feathers were shabby and mucky. “He doesn’t look kosher…” Why do such stupid thoughts come to mind at times like this? Is it a self-defense mechanism when confronting madness?

Fuck! Yesterday I had relished the sterling French accent of my Chilperic as he entreated me to be more prudent, to not have common affairs with this hillbilly Henry I didn’t listen to him, unfortunately… At that moment, the choice of my eyeliner’s color to pair with my evening dress had been more important to me… I was a fool! Stupid chicken! I tried to recall the previous evening. It was still a fog in my memory, just a gray and sticky fog… Suddenly, I recalled.

A howitzer!

It had begun with a conversation about the howitzer barrel aimed at the banquet! (to be continued)


© All rights reserved 2015

My special thanks to the one and only Cyan Ryan,
a great friend and an excellent editor,
for grammar corrections and improvements this essay!