Bob Kimmerling Poet Rhyme

Notes About The Poem

Blackbird

Blackbird sings shrill at night, before day's dawn, 
not now drowned by traffic's rumble sound, 
nor returning early morning flight from Costa's Benidorm 
to Heathrow's duller, grayer ground. 

Now all is empty beach, and quieter lock-down street. 
This strange unearthly morning still has only just begun, 
has only just begun its start, is nowhere near complete.
And blackbird sits on hedge row top, or higher branch, 
dark shadowed shape to rising glow. 

And does he notice those below no longer make their way to work,
or turn the key where car is parked beside suburban curb? 
Has he found this finer voice now humankind has lost its choice
to mask this far sublimer task of glory choral sound? 

So sweetly sung, so sweetly hung between each silent pause.    
It gains Creator's ear, soft ringing His applause, 
while many sit in fear, shut still behind closed doors, 
first hearing clear for many years this greater sound composed.
First hearing clear for many years: Creator's sound composed.

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Timothy Mcguire June 19, 2020 at 11:01 PM Great! well written and kept me interested until the end. Good job. Bob Kimmerling June 20, 2020 at 4:21 AM Thanks Timothy! We live below one of the the Heathrow flightpaths and before Covid a plane would come every 3 minutes. Now you can listen all day and not really notice any. This blackbird still rules with his singing from first light.