Best Blackbird Poems | Poetry
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The Best Blackbird Poems
chirruping the sweetest songs
morning has broken
Poem inspired by this wonderful Beatles song sung in Scottish Gaelic by Julie Fowlis
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017
That godless sound
His head explodes at 6:01am
Same as every day
He falls out of bed
Steps on the cat
Slides into his slippers
Shuffles to the kitchen
Puts the coffee on
Bumps his head on the cupboard door
Sits down and looks out the window
A blackbird is flying near
Leaves it’s mark on his sill
He gets up
Pours his coffee-
Black with a shot of Irish whiskey
Sits back down
The sky is raining icicles now
He drifts off into a dream…
Head keeps spinning, spinning ‘round
From afar a pleasant sound
Laughing, laughing in the dark
Midnight walking in the park
Yellow dress and tiny feet
Ponytails and sugar sweet
Will you, will you marry me
Kiss me darling ‘neath our tree
All the good things life can bring
All the lovesick songs we'll sing
Catch me, catch me if you can
Love this tender, soulful man
Let me show you everything
Please accept this golden ring
Future’s here and future’s now
Come let's share a solemn vow
You’re the one I want for life
You’re the one to be my wife
Living, living wild and free
Me and her and her and me
Cremates hair on his hand
Yet, he feels no pain
Running water cools
But a scar surfaces
He stares, wondering if it’s a tattoo
Illustrating his hidden pain
Walking past the mirror
He hardly recognises what
appears before him
Dark bags droop
Under blood shot eyes
Has invaded his face
To destroy this image
He lashes out with eyes shut
Blood drips from his hands
Upon stained glass shards
Mirror is smashed-
But he still can’t hide the truth…
'Fore too long a blazing fire
Knew this thing was simply wrong
Tried his best to stay so strong
Started with a honey kiss
Ended in a twilight bliss
Missing all that's gone and lost
Sinful lust comes at a cost
Memr'ys of his little one
Make him smile but now she's gone
How he yearns for those brown eyes
That danced and flit like butterflies
Due to his illicit choice
He'll ne'er again hear that sweet voice
'I love you daddy' - nevermore
Like salt rubbed in an open sore
He broke her mummy's precious heart
Now they all live miles apart
In anguish all he does is cry-
No one's there to ask him why
Another day ends
Time for bed
The pistol sits on the nightstand
He grabs hold
Cold metal in a sweaty palm
He spins the barrel
Gun rises toward the right temple
Tomorrow he'll rise again
Face another lonely day
His cat used to sleep at his feet
Even dreams provide no relief
He doesn't remember her name
Still, she taunts him
Haunts his days and nights
He downs a double and a sleeping pill-
Reluctantly continuing an insignificant life.
Silent One and The Seeker collaboration
31 July 2017
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017
It's quiet now, they all have gone
Leaving litter, and last light
softens what was too bright before
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
you ask if I need help, I nod
lend me for once your wings
The coloured quilt as sun does drown
a blanket against whining waves
I dive, depart. I flew so high
October 15, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
The wood smoke is rising,
there’s a chill in the air,
the valley’s in shadow,
with the pear tree still bare,
but I know by morning,
what the new day will bring...
It’s the last day of winter;
yes, here comes the spring.
I feel the warmth growing,
with winter veggies to share.
The sweet smell of jasmine,
now wafts through the air.
The call of a currawong,
does melodically ring,
I am so pleased to have,
my five senses in spring.
The last hawthorn berries,
have dropped to the ground,
a scavenging blackbird,
and they’re quickly found.
On cherry plum blossom,
I hear bees on the wing,
I am so pleased to have,
my five senses in spring.
I taste a warm cup of milk,
close to the milking machine.
See the grasses all flourish,
lush in their greenest of green.
I feel a thunderstorm coming,
and smell the rain it will bring,
with my five senses acute,
as days warm up in the spring.
Bird song is now rising,
‘long the course of the creek.
Twin lambs in the meadow,
and a new calf next week.
Hens are back on the lay,
the rooster is crowing.
I am so pleased to have,
my five senses in spring.
Scarlet red is a sunset,
now a day’s work is done.
As frogs chorus the air,
say goodbye to the sun.
Farm life is rewarding,
with the challenges faced.
Each day I test my senses...
Sight hearing smell touch and taste.
Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015
A silence all pervading, nothing moves,
the gentle hiss I hear is in my head
like record stylus placed into the groove.
Clouds form the upper circle overhead.
Orchestra tunes up in the nearby trees,
Blackbird and brace of Magpies, two for joy,
blue safety curtain draws back by degrees
a scarlet backdrop from the ground deploys.
The star takes to the stage with no applause
rising at the speed of summer flowers
white whispy fingers climb as ground frost thaws,
spotlights on cobwebs sparkle in the bower.
Nature murmurs quietly in the wings
new day, a new performance, Blackbird sings.
For 'Three choices...' contest, sponsor Sara Kendrick
Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2016
There she sits, a "Black Bird on a wire"
On wings repose "she sings of light"
"Broken People" gather beneath her
People who have seen the "Faces of Storm"
Accused, Yet "guilty of innocence"
I become an "Unaware Witness"
"Forever by your side" I will remain
Perhaps you can teach me "the art of understanding"
For you let the "Butterfly Rise" with grace
One of many "miraculous secrets"
After all these years "I am still waiting"
Searching for answers "behind cryptic doors"
I sit in the silence of "Solitude's Embrace"
Leaving me with more "Observations of ponder"
The dark was such a "Seductive Predator"
Why do I feel alone, is it a symptom of "my lacking"?
You my dear Blackbird- you are "Prettiness Defined"
"The Sowing" yours, it defines you.
"Yesterday you were my Garden"
Together we discussed many "painstaking views"
I remember taking a breath, "bewildered of all you emanate"
"Black Bird on a wire" tell me your secrets!
As I look into your eyes, our "hearts converse"
"I want to know" am I really here?
A"Midnight Butterfly" Beating my wings for you
"Make Love to Me"
Let us fly to the sky, "Discovering Forever"
On our way to "a reachable happiness".
It is done!
Thanks to those who contributed
Kim Patrice Nunez
Casarah Nance (special honor, part of title!)
Olive Eloisa Guillermo
Eileen sent a soup mail with her title "Make Love to Me".
Our Queen of Passion was trying to stump me.:0)
I think it adds a bit of ooh la la!
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015
My friend Quigley likes to sing
Really almost any thing.
Till once a high note
Caused a blackbird to float,
Down to earth less one wing.
Copyright © Richard Breese | Year Posted 2014
We bend low under over-hanging branches
lit by reflected river-light gently shifting.
Our boots suck the muddy bank.
We wade into clear water
the dappled up-light playing
on our serious faces.
Intent on our task
Cold-shocked I gasp.
You hold your jar steady.
I scoop mine.
Triumphant in a shower of icy prisms
we hold our prizes aloft,
laughing and shouting,
water streaming down our arms,
jars teeming with tadpoles.
Faces pressed close
to these underwater worlds,
we stand transfixed.
Each reflects a small disc
of sparkling sky.
April trees rake scudding clouds.
Far away farm dogs bark
at wind-snatched shouts
of bird-nesting boys.
Somewhere, a cuckoo calls.
In the back garden
a blackbird stakes out his territory.
Ignoring him the cat purrs,
yawning in the sun.
on the garden table
beside a upturned jar,
of flattened tadpoles
drying in the sun.
The bored cat
her tail held high
in the shape
of a question mark.
Copyright © Maggie Huscroft | Year Posted 2006
do we have "enough"
will silver flakes of winter's blade
cut us down
or build us up-
will our pasts behave like choir boys, stay in time
or re-emerge and scream and sting our eye
make us blind to hope and happiness.
Do we have "enough" to pluck the guts
from the chasms of experience
to fashion buds of love
from the fiery depths of ego's lust,
have we evolved "enough" to trust again
when our old gray world blitzes in
swinging concrete fists of what's the use and what ifs,
fill our starving souls with blackbird piss
Do we have "enough" to become an "us'.
Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2014
Spread, your wings and soar on high, stretch forth beyond the particle's in
the sky. Rest on a large branch, look down at the creature's of blacks and
white's. Blackbird ain't its enough to make you cry. Crime soaring high, WHY-
why Blackbird why? No one knows, no-one dare steps forth his best. NOoooo
Black bird they're to busy pointing finger's, they rather listen to the voice of
the confused "stranger". A voice that tells them, take prayers away from school's,
take away their happiness, now the grave yards are full of young one's, some
in jail, to never see success. Soar on Blackbird, fly high and don't dare sit to long.
You see blackbird, the black's doesn't know the song and the whites want's to be
Spread your wings-my fowls of the air we all must share, as you fly blackbird, as
you are trying to accept the lost and the found, spread your wings Blackbird, we're
not all bad people's. Its just that we're too busy trying to tare each other down.
Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2009
Bursts of sun
Crisp apple autumn day
Leaves twirl upwards with a flourish
Spurning twigs that yearn to cling
Lovers pass by, their laughter lingers
Dark clouds obscure the sun
Colors change to shadows blurred
Gone is the beauty in the rust and gold
Longing is found in the chill as the sky surrenders
One drop of rain falls and a lonely blackbird takes wing
Windblown and cold
I breathe in your sweater's scent
Will you reach out to intercept
A falling leaf
Collaboration between Sharon Weimer and Carrie Richards
for Debbie Guzzi's "Twining" contest
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
revealing a frosty dawn:
Copyright © Michael Moran | Year Posted 2016
like the raven
who taps taps upon
your chamber door
do not fret my Virginia
for it's my shadow
moving across the floor
this is what I'm telling you my darlin
and nothing more
I still call your name
come to me virginia
come hear the tap tap
upon your chamber door
for only you my love
I surrender and never more
wind howls in blanket snows
here I stand so all alone
broken hearted and misconstrued
my Virginia who lies under stars and moon
just a tap tap upon your chambers door
tis I and nothing more
tales of hidas truth
blackbird sings harps cords
just like the tap tap upon your chambers door
my sweet Virgina whom I adore
for there'll be love waiting and nothing more
as I lay right next to you in this tomb
I counted only seven who have even knew
the times of this raven who
tapped tapped upon your chambers door
twas only I and will be never more
Tribute To Edgar Allen Poe
And His Young Bride Virginia
Also To His Poem The Raven
Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2009
Let me have patience, let me be hopeful
With eager anticipation, I slow my steps
And walk into the promised land of spring
Through the gate in the privit hedge
Down a flight of stone steps
Into the little orchard of apple and pear trees
Where grass is rough and long
And drifts of snowdrops and blue scillas lay
Gnarled around the trunks of trees
And first shoots of daffodils and lilies
Push their way, like green swords, through rich earth.
It is clear, that before long, all will become
A riot of springime, yellow and white
Above on a bare branch, a blackbird perches,
Singing out his tiny heart, across the orchard
Calling out his song of hope
The promised land of spring is on the horizon
Let me be hopeful, let me have patience..
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
My father was a musician, with a beautiful tenor voice. As we seven siblings witnessed his coffin being lowered into that cold earth, a blackbird sang his heart out on the church steeple.
his pure spirit rose
on the softest summer breeze
blackbird into thee
We all then sang When The Saints Go Marching In, a favourite of his, as our last farewell. Doing so filled us with the same joy so obvious in the birdsong above us.
notes so crystal clear
were carried sweetly over
the freshly dug grave
Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2017
Anxiously the trees were awaiting their morning breeze,
Birds nestled amongst the high towering branches,
Caressing in couples as they watched over their nests,
Delicately leaves were falling due to Autumn's plight.
Embarking in flight, two crows left their pine behind,
Flying into the East and straight for the now rising sun,
Gently they soared until only silhouettes could be seen,
Harmoniously at this point, a slight gust did prevail,
Indulging itself as it blew softly through the falling leaves.
Jasmines were basking in the warmth of the new sun rays,
Kookaburra could now be heard laughing at the new dawn,
Literally as loud as one could imagine a songbird to be.
Morning was breaking swiftly as a young blackbird sung,
Numerous other creatures were now stirring by the songs,
Others including magpies, butcher birds, and various parrots,
Parrots being among some of the most beautifully coloured birds.
Quantities of them were now flying across the lush meadows,
Randomly making their way to a great forest of pines,
Shaded under the great pines grew poisonous mushrooms,
Tremendous Oaks across the field near the pines stood.
Under them lives a family of giant red kangaroos,
With newborn joeys playing on the dewy ground,
Xanthic daisies were glistening in the morning sun,
Year after year I sit here and absorb it all through my senses,
Zealously anticipating every morn after a good night's sleep.
Copyright © White Wolf | Year Posted 2017
In the marsh the cattails sway,
Brave brown brushes standing tall.
Feet firmly planted in their muddy bed..
Giving shelter there to big and small.
Here the blackbird builds his nest,
A flash of red his sudden gift.
Amid the stalks the ducklings hide,
In tender down they gently drift.
Upon the bank the turtles bask,
From hibernation at last set free.
Like dinner plates of every size
Free to rest and grow.. and be
Here the otter plays among the reeds
Playful creatures, swift and sleek
Whiskers pointing east and west
Quiet shelter is what they seek.
On this earth a small habitat like this
Must be a sacred protected place.
For creatures that have no speaking voice..
We must stop the earth from loosing face.
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2009
Oh wise Raven of the clan,
Be the friend or foe of man?
Oh wise Serpent of the sand,
Who does hold the upper hand?
Oh gallant Eagle of the sky,
Can you teach me how to fly?
Oh white Wolf of the land,
Will you lend this man a hand?
Oh Blackbird who sings so sweet,
Would you trade your wings for feet?
Oh small Spider in your hole,
Spin your web to show your soul,
Oh black Bat in your cave,
The way you fly and behave,
Oh feared Dragon from the past,
Will man's memory of you last?
Copyright © White Wolf | Year Posted 2016
I've often wondered who dealt with
fairy tale complaints. There seems to
be a lot of them among the fairy tale
Here are just a few suggestions I myself
if could, would make and maybe fairy Tale
land would be peaceful for heaven's sake.
Old Mother Hubbard had no bones in
her cupboard and her dog has no bone.
We could offer her Pease pudding and even
if it is nine days old, I am sure the dog would
be happy with the old crone.
Peter Peter Pumpkin eater, put his wife
in a shell, there he kept her very well.
There's no time to plead and pine nor
no time to wheedle, if she would kiss him
quick, he would be gone, and pop would go
Seesaw Margery Daw, Johnny got a new master
johnny only earned a penny a day because he
could work no faster. He should take lessons from
Peter Piper who could pick a peck of pickles and at
it became a master.
There was an old woman who lived in a house
exceedingly small, a man open his mouth and
swallowed woman, house and all. Maybe he should
of had some of the King's Blackbird pie and he could
have filled his tummy instead with a pie full of caw.
Copyright © Sharon Gulley | Year Posted 2017
Shaft of sunlight crawls across the lawn,
it's amber wash sets apple trees aglow,
their shadows form, the spearheads of the dawn
now bully cowering bedding plants below.
Before the darkness on the ground recedes,
Blackbird darts out for food, with sudden stops
to monitor some movement in the weeds,
then heads for safety in the bramble tops.
A yawning cat emerges, looks about,
no sport, no competition to amuse,
its shift is over, time to now clock out
for breakfast, comfy cushion and a snooze.
Some folk like lying in, but then they miss
those peaceful, lazy sunrises like this.
Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2018
rock to rock
red winged blackbird takes
leaning towards the sun,
seed to seed
below the surface,
bar to bar
battered and bruised,
Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2009
Inspired by Jan Allison:
oft my morning call...
birds in the warmer months... sing...
my natural alarm...
your haiku on my shoulder...
your blackbird... softly chirps...
your poetic prowess...
many thank yous'...
orange beaked blackbird...
dawns equivalent nightingale
sing on Jenny wren
a haiku your talent paints
Jan a great poet
I thank you...
write on dear poet
Inspired by Robert Haige?
poets palette... winter hues...
frosted window panes
Inspired by Sarah Rosen
our closest star...
sol... it has a lifespan...
earth will die with it...
our planet's lifespan...
once under natures control...
pollution now rules...
earth will die with it...
sol will blow us all away...
climate change preempts...
Inspired by Robert Haigh
live love to find one...
who lives love too... together...
true love realised...
Copyright © Mick Talbot | Year Posted 2018
AT ONE WITH NATURE
The sun shines, brightly lights my day. My garden verdant many hues of green. Greater speedwell, resilient, blooms no matter the season. Late spring, early summer it explodes. Late Jack Frost, it copes beyond my imagination. A host to many invertebrates sadly made conspicuous by their absence. All misguided by a warming sun. The jet stream meanders too far south making for freezing nights. Most flora copes albeit momentarily set back, however,
most insects' don't survive. The daytime warmth encourages insect eggs', pupae, to hatch, doomed, instincts confounded.
one word... paradise
once our world
The day moves on, observed bird life failing, softbills take seed to feed their young. They are faced with a catch twenty-two situation. Feed themselves or feed their young. Aphids on the day abundant, some well sheltered will, and do survive the relentless nights. False security for others, how many would it take to keep a blackbird alive
where one can cultivate
a love for nature
Sun still shining yet the wind chill felt. Summer, I think what
are you doing, but realisation sets in, it is not nature faulting it's us humans treating it as though it is a garbage bin. I know I do, and, maybe you do too. That is to help nature as we always have, sadly we are just a few. We try our best to draw attention to the devastation world pollution is creating. To much time spent by governments debating, if at all? Cos I reckon for centuries they have been faking. Take a good look at your garden where are all the pollinators, Thanks to winds, well at least for some, for no doubt there is flora that will succumb.
a garden to cultivate
My day in my garden nearly done. Koi carp fed, some photography done, Garden sorted, grass cut, hedge begging to be clipped. I look agreeing, but it will keep till the morrow, come what may. Check the feeders, all is fine. Time now for a cuppa, to sit with my beloved, make sure she's comfy and make her smile, for sadly she been poorly for some time.
at one with nature
how a garden should be
a passion nurtured
Copyright © Mick Talbot | Year Posted 2018
A Christmas walk in soft sun of winter
Across crisp fields of umber and green,
A sharp breeze blowing with freedom
On their faces, aglow with the hope
Of seeing one again – a bird; their bird,
Soaring and diving defiantly so.
The eagle. Powerful, swift and so
Free. Wings outstretched on currents of winter
Warmth, rising higher than any other bird.
It’s golden feathers shimmering over green
Hills and clear blue skies, in the hope
Of spying prey, running in a last bid for freedom.
They looked and walked and talked in freedom,
Enjoying the country lanes and paths in so
Carefree a manner; such a rich land of hope,
Bursting with creatures alive in the winter
Meadows: robins, rabbits, hares, a green
Woodpecker, and many a chattering bird.
They paused to rest and listen to bird
Song and breeze, relishing in the freedom
At the heart of nature, so fresh and green;
When suddenly, they saw a bush shaking so
Violently. They stopped and stared, the winter
Wind? Too strong. They watched in hope
Of seeing something curious, or in the hope
Of discovering if this at last was their bird,
Hunting untamed in the wilds of winter.
They approached, careful not to intrude on the freedom
Of the wild, but all they could see was a fluttering so
Urgent, flapping wings, a rubbed-raw leg, a thread of green.
A blackbird was trapped on a branch by green
String; frantic, desperate panic, yet hope
Shone in its eyes, pleadingly so.
They spoke softly, carefully untying the bird,
Which flew off to the wind in a cry of freedom.
They felt proud, liberated, in a wonderland of winter.
They ran home for dinner of green sprouts and festive roast bird;
Bred in darkness and stench, no hope of daylight or freedom.
Incarcerated, deformed, wounded so bad, in a long-hardened winter.
Spare a thought for your turkey this Christmas…
Copyright © Charlotte Kingsfield-Blake | Year Posted 2014
Trapped like a bird in this filthy cage
Where I am starved of compassion and understanding
Left to survive on meager crumbs
Of affection and tolerance
Held captive and unable to fly and be free
From the physical and emotional restrictions
Placed upon me by my keeper
Who’s only reason for my presence it seems
Is to stay its loneliness and insecurity
To feed its selfish need for control
Through its twisted concept
Of love and adoration
I am looked upon as a possession
Other than the living, breathing individual
That I long to be
So now I sit upon my proverbial perch
In my so called gilded cage
In the confines of my seemingly mundane existence
And walk though my mind confused and alone
Aimlessly wandering through the now empty spaces
That no longer hold the dreams or aspirations
Which I once thought gave my life purpose
Memories which were bright and alive
Full of promise and hope but have faded away
Into a past that is now grey and bleak
Devoid of anything worth remembering
My footfalls echo in the silence
Giving testament that these memories
Have been empty and forgotten long ago
My only hopes now are that my keeper
Will grow tired of my deliberate silence
And obvious disdain and release me
Whether through life or by death
At this point either would be welcome
How I long for the freedom
And comfort of the clear blue sky
The ability to soar like a bird
High above the reaches
Of those who only want to keep me
And fly towards the bright and colorful horizon
Where I know my future waits
And new memories and dreams can be made.
Copyright © Thomas King | Year Posted 2014