Blackbird Summer
Out on the pavement hand
in hand safe, Dad’s dry, course
a working man, Gently he
pulls me up in the lift
of an arm, and holds up
a finger pausing lips
We smile a breathless conspiracy
Almost invisible on
the brash torn road a young
blackbird: beak shining a
perfect yellow. Polished
inky feathers. Eyes bright
skipping the skinny oil puddles
The performer stops and
eagerly adjusts his coat
Fresh from a dust toilet
he shoots up flickering
high in the hot blue sky.
Celebrating with harsh
and scolding notes, wild he
circles our beached limbs
desperate for applause.
Heckling the curtain calls
he departs the pantomime
in hand safe, Dad’s dry, course
a working man, Gently he
pulls me up in the lift
of an arm, and holds up
a finger pausing lips
We smile a breathless conspiracy
Almost invisible on
the brash torn road a young
blackbird: beak shining a
perfect yellow. Polished
inky feathers. Eyes bright
skipping the skinny oil puddles
The performer stops and
eagerly adjusts his coat
Fresh from a dust toilet
he shoots up flickering
high in the hot blue sky.
Celebrating with harsh
and scolding notes, wild he
circles our beached limbs
desperate for applause.
Heckling the curtain calls
he departs the pantomime
posted by Sue hardy-Dawson at 10/06/2005 07:29:00 PM
13 Comments:
"We smile a breathless conspiracy"
This is a lovely moment in this poem.
I love the format of this poem.
I know that feeling when the poem or story runs away with itself... but I'd say, that's one of the best feelings in the world.
Khaya
"Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise"
:)
Hi Finn without doubt
Thanks A
Eating P and Wonder W a stolen moment from my childhood, stll very vivid
a poem full of fine lines but i love this one . . .
'wild he
circles our beached limbs'
it feels that way with birds doesn't it. sort of like we are stuck here and they have all the sky to touch.
Surely CJ, I always think the birds have the last laugh. First they teach us to throw food at them then they poo on our heads, birds definately have a sense of humor
It's a very nice poem. I don't know why, but it made me feel good. I'm not sure if that's how you'd like your reader to feel, it's just how I felt. Am I making any sense? :D
Free Spirit, I love that my poem made you happy, thank-you
I would just like to say to the person who left the rude comment, that I don't mind criticism, however could they bear in mind that children read my blog and moderate their language and at least offer something constructive
There is never less than a
breathless and excited moment
each time I step through the
looking glass of one
of your poems and enter
the magic and mystery
of the beautiful world
you have seen
once again, magic is to share moments like this.
Thank-you Russel, a poem is not a poem unless some one else has enjoyed it
Elkenarra, great to hear from you, you write so well and in a second language which always I find amazing
I found myself identifying too much with the shamelessly preening blackbird, and was rather happy when the hot blue sky swallowed him up.
Wonderful poem, Sue. A lot here.
Patry I see you now in your coal black feathers, who hasn't wanted to fly? Thank-you
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