Best Blackbirds Poems
blackbirds in the rain
walking among the fallen leaves
under the old mango tree
with dripping leaves
bathing the grass below
blackbirds diligently lifting
the rain soaked fallen leaves
peering underneath for insects
and worms
flushed out
by the drizzling rain
pausing to gulp one down
then scooting off again
searching for more
sitting under the shed
with raindrops playing their music
on the galvanised sheet roof
with a beat
that resonates
within my inner being
putting me in a trance
connecting me to the rain
and the puddles on the ground
with the raindrops
gently tapping the water's surface
creating rings that collide
with one another
disrupting their individual shapes
creating a dynamic new pattern
reflecting their unity
and bubbling with energy
in the drizzling rain
O what a deep feeling
of peacefulness and serenity
with the rain
the dripping leaves
and the puddles
serenading my spirit
with the eternal song of Nature
and merging it into the
Unity Of All Things
It was raining today. There was a constant drizzle for hours. I sat in a shed attached to the house, watching the blackbirds in action in the rain, searching for their food. The constant rhythmic sound of the rain on the galvanised sheet roof of the shed and the gentle drama playing out in the backyard with the blackbirds was a spiritual experience for me connecting me with Nature and the unity of all things as mentioned in the last verse.
.
I stared intently at blackbirds on a wire
they were lined in a row
as though someone had painted them there
fascinated, I continued to gaze
hoping to identify which one would fly away first
knowing if one flew
the coop so to speak
the rest would follow because of some unknown
inner requirement
determined was I to single out the leader
of the flock
(do you call a group blackbirds a flock?
even if they are not flocking
but sitting?)
I dared not blink
but I knew that at some point in time I would have to
but I refused
the world stood still
there was no noise about
although I knew cars were passing by
concentration
intense concentration on that damn line of blackbirds
"Hey!"
startled I inadvertently turned to the sound
a woman
unknown to me
said
"When I fall in love and marry
I want to be studied with that
same intense consideration
hearing the sound of fluttering wings
I turned too late
the blackbirds were in the air
©June 29, 2017 / Jerry Pat Bolton
I remember when wind chimes nestled in the heart,
Then, rainbows soothed the tainted cay of innocents.
A golden candle tempering the fang of dark
I prayed that good spirits would always reign.
I remember the day when blackbirds came.
Within their fiery beaks was an icy rain.
Smashing every bluebird into bits of clay.
Silence and green-eyed things dominated the days.
Three decades of moths, chewing the good dream away.
Until I prayed no more.
The epiphanies then came in waves:
That wind chimes only spoke when the wind opened their cage.
Nobody paid attention to the candle until dusk awakened to swallow the day.
The bluebird isn't really acknowledged until his omega refrain is taken away.
Though the hands are now bent, the days are often spent
sifting amidst broken pieces of bluebird clay.
Nighttime arrives with chilling cries.
The teary-eyed mime tries in vain to knead the blackbirds into flying flame.
They flew in bunches so big
it’s impossible to describe the enormity
of the clouds they formed in otherwise clear sky.
They would dance and bounce in unison
as they moved from one feeding area to the next.
And as they did, you could see the light change
in the cloud as they would suddenly shift directions.
It was like a wave moving across the group
from the lead to the last in flight.
How could they change like that, so quickly,
all together, and without a single bird loosing its place?
Their wings made a whishing sound
as they pushed their way through the air
and you could hear them chirping as they
rhythmically loped and paddled their wings,
preserving their position in the multitude.
Behind, left in dust, of the old gravel road
is a faint trace of Marlboro and a soft summer wind
Skies burn orange and amber, and a blazing red sun,
that is filtered by a windshield, that's never been groomed
A radio station, has more static than tunes
and the song of the work day are tires, worn thin
The sun's going down, where the road never ends
There's a bend near the hill, where a windmill spins slow
and where dozens of blackbirds create ebb and flow
They dapple the rain clouds, like bats out of hell
then will perch pole to pole, plucking heartstrings, as well
Headin' home there are doves, that will bend every limb,
sittin' high in the cottonwoods, while cocking their heads...
Where a hawk circles low over fields, leveled plain
waiting for thunder to bring home the rain
She waits by the door, beneath light from the porch
It halos her hair, like a torch that she's carried
from the day they were married, in a little white church
that has baptized a newborn, asleep in the crib
He drives an old pickup, with a paycheck so slim
He has sweat on his brow, and grit on his chin
He is bringing home flowers, his heart and his grin
There is smoke in the horizon, from a fire within...
Not far, there is heaven where all reason begins
______________________________________________
"Sing Me A Country Song" Contest:
Resubmitted for Skat's Contest: Premiere Contest: #9
Written : 10/12/13
____________________________________________________________
4 and 20 Pies – No Blackbirds
Oh, spare me the plethora of pies
the thumbs-up plumbs,
the pie in the sky dreams
of the pie lovers,
the onerous moooo
of the piebald cow
being milked
by the pie-eyed farmer
as his pied piper wife
lures the chickens
into a pot pie.
Pie charts to measure
children against nourishment,
who cuts, who chooses,
statistically
who wins, who loses,
“pies the type”
of apples on the floor.
It ain’t that simple, Simon
say the “pietist”
who fear
that if Pi can’t be squared
pies end is drawing near.
John G. Lawless
10/9/2014
submitted to – Sheri Fresonke Harper
Plentitude of Pies – Poetry Contest
Inconsiderate
Hearts will lack in elation
Throwing the first stone
Pain revisited
The quiet desperation
Soothes my aching bones
a flock of blackbirds
take flight
surprised
a giggling toddler delights
in her own power
12/20/2021
On Halloween morning they came,
cawing and screeching in the trees.
A thousand or more noisy blackbirds
flew in a group of one hundred four or more
from yard to yard they raid as a clustered flight.
The sky grew thick and black with wings
and undulating shrillness dark as night.
A sudden snap or some foreign, unkown noise
forced them high up into the sky
and into the trees with their shrieking sounds.
The familiar little birds, the wrens, sparrows, doves
all hide in low bushes hidden from up above.
As quiet comes, the blackbirds return again
at first high in the oak they flock
dancing on the branches, shaking all the leaves.
Then it appears so obvious, they set the acorns free
a nut of every size and every tree that once could be.
They return down to the ground
with boisterous flapping wings and that cawing sound
flocking down as one before the mid day sun.
From the sun's glowing rays upon their neck
reflects an irridiscent light of blue as they peck.
Then in a flash they rise, up and away to the skies
as quiet begins to return again
and the little ones are at last set free in serach of seed.
Blackbird sits on a branch
Just outside my window.
He looks at me and swears
In a raucous voice
With no punctuation...
I know it's something supremely dirty --
Blackbirds have no manners..
And they always know
By the light behind my eyes
I'm mad for cats...
It's a good thing they can fly....
A dead blackbird here
A dead blackbird there
Six more dead blackbirds
Over there and there and there.
New Year’s Eve 2011.
I counted five, six, twelve, maybe twenty-seven.
Wait! Four more. We are up to thirty plus eleven.
Dead blackbirds on roofs. Dead blackbirds on walks.
Dead blackbirds in trees. None have their squawks.
Only in Arkansas, right? Someone said.
A year later in Kansas, a dead blackbird fell on my head.
Maybe but I do not know, I quickly replied.
Then I saw another, so I ran off to hide.
A bright blue sky and the air freshly cool
as bouncy blackbirds smartly fly about the
garden from tree to lawn and back again
as though it be a mad March morn.
Watching Blackbirds
Again, I find myself watching the blackbirds
They come as a cloud that sits upon the ground
Each respecting his wingman’s space
As they pass overhead, they sound like a sudden spring shower
That comes, then goes, finding a place in the field
They move like water running across the way
Pulled by gravity to a lower venue
As they glean the area of worms, bugs and seeds
The rear faction takes to the air
Gliding to the lead for better feeding
This becomes a ritual that is repeated several times
Until the plate is empty, or the craw is filled
They rise in waves that join to make a twisted rope
Smoke from a generous campfire
Rolling, Roiling, tumbling and loping
They politely pass, waving goodbye
With each movement of their wings
And softly I can hear them sing
Blackbirds Circling To Eye The Dark Festive Feast
Feast or famine, orbs in heart of a crow
love 's bright spirit and all it may bestow
Winging shadows fleeing fast every scene
bitter bile erupting from opened spleen
Flying in dark storms, hoping for a strike
dead soldiers, each head vaulted on a spike
Wonders within cleverly hidden clouds
priests in deep caves wearing unholy shrouds
Future life and great hopes it may reveal
when nothing matters, nothing there to steal
Blackbirds circling to eye dark festive feast
not even love soothes the raging black beast
Love and Fate doing battle worlds away
which is the greater fighter hard to say
Robert J. Lindley, 11-05-2016
i shiver and shake through warm and cold
im alone on my own
the pain shakes through my bone
its so vast and shown
its harder starting over
then never to have changed
with blackbirds following me
im throwing my life away
they close in stalking me
the fear is here to stay
im getting back what i gave
i sweat through the skin as daylight fades
as i waste away
the soldiers the come and make their raids
im taken away
the blackbirds follow me
as i make my escape
the skylights calling to me
todays the day i fade
im letting go of my way
*this is a song by linkin park just i changed most the lyrics so it souldnt be conciderd
copywrite*