Long Blackbird Poems
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(alternately titled: impossible mission goes awry
probably mortal enemy cast spell binding jinx)
Both mental versus
physical tasks necessitate
laser sharp attentiveness
triggered within blinks
similarly on par when people toast
momentary instance utter silence
before more'n one
wine glass simultaneously clinks
cheering hurray, especially
if delicate circumstance
incorporates telecommunications downlinks
critical vital communique transmitted courtesy
think outlier (christened
Saint Matthew Scott Harris)
with acute instincts
held hostage between warp,
and woof fifth of dimension
far away beyond where
outer limits exhibits kinks
nsync with twilight zone
dwell alienated ratfinks
resembling authentic animated
Doctor Seuss characters
where one after another
third eye blind winks.
Lame excuse told cosmic speck (me)
sending yours truly on wild goose chase
an underhanded way to rub
inept feeble poetaster punster
out webbed wide world existence
purportedly great eats boasted
deep inside black hole sun pub
must make posthaste
to nearest galactic grubhub
mission control haint made no flub
boot deliberately thought
ineffectual doling out futile drub
cuz mister flibbertigibbet (me)
ostracized from highly selective club.
The aforementioned synopsis and
ultimate banishment cheered with big bang
decreed courtesy kangaroo court
constituting beastie boy gang
think star wars movie,
where farcical charges trumped
offering accused two choices,
either to hang
suspended (think piñata) and beat
to (fictional) pulp
torturers obviously ignoring pang
of utter emasculation, but rather sang
a song of sixpence*
while downing flasks of vintage tang
crafty entrepreneur William A. Mitchell in 1957
phallic drinking vessels
resembling Chewbacca's oversize wang.
---------------------------------------------------
*Lyrics
Sing a Song of Sixpence
BY MOTHER GOOSE
Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing—
Wasn't that a dainty dish
To set before the king?
The king was in the counting-house
Counting out his money,
The queen was in the parlor
Eating bread and honey,
The maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes.
Along came a blackbird
And snipped off her nose.
COOKING POT
I looked around me, everything was dark
as if my own eyes were completely shut,
that the would have come to an end,
my eyelids were very heavy,-
like I had a sleeping spell on me,
I was seeing things that were given me
very bad dreams,-
the stars are all on dim
they skip around the sky,
upon the sea, I have seen the reflections of he
standing over me,-
the colored moon beamed upon the land
upon everything my eyes could see;
I tried so hard to open my eyes
But I couldn't it was as if I was dead,
I dreamed many dreams in my head
I see things of an ancient time,
I felt I have been bond to my bed;
as if I was quite insane of true madness,
in my mind, I saw a different set of eye
looking back at me from another time,
I see slaves dancing around me,
crying out to a king that stands before me,
the sky was dark; the fair is hot;
I could see a big cooking pot,
words of their time weren't of mine,
you could feel the evil all around;
the anger browed in the pot,
words of truth weren't in their mouths,
lies and so much hate with not faith,
Witches are casting out their evil spells,
giving a queen life of a living hell,
their face turned to me
as I started to scream,
I have seen many things that come to me
like something of darkening dreams,
they were very old holding no youth,
I forget your name they would say
In a cloud of smoke;
frogs are being tossed in the old cooking pot,
a chicken tongue, blackbird eyes,
bugs of the desert land,
the thunder in the ancient sky roared while
the storm moved on by;
I see holly ones being persecuted;
the words of accurate knowledge
was told to never be promoted on the land
where the old witches stand
on blood, stained sand, that was a command,
words of truth are forbidden;
enemies casting names of thee into the pot of hell
while somewhere rings a bell;
bodyguards took the prison ones
out of the cage; those who have lost their way,
ravens are flying around to eat up on the dead
the ones who have lost their heads,
words of temptations of the flash
dancing around the cooking pot,
my body started feeling cold
I didn't have any more control
while lies where being told,
my eyelids were heavy as they could be
I was cast into a deep sleep.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2001
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
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.
~~~~~~~
a garden
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
~~~~~~~
gardens'
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.
~~~~~~~
one heart
a garden to cultivate
truelove
~
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
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I rise from the white-wine siesta,
letting go of the serpentine songs,
like a crimson-winged dragonfly
lost in the poppy prairies of Persephone,
untangling my prisoned heart
chained by the churning
deceit of Hades’s immortal chains,
savoring pomegranate promises,
pirouetting through petrichor nirvana,
as the sky smells like a saffron rose
above the castle of emperors
dressed in fallen flowers.
Yet the diamonds sometimes are
engraved with ominous omens
and remorseless remnants,
while I return to cinnamon seclusion,
dancing to the mood of my moon.
O divine dandelion,
in your eyes I see suppressed sighs
of a splintered sunrise,
flickering balmy zephyrs of paradise,
as my soul is tied to the softness
of your delicate dusk~
like a faithful disciple,
forever following your footprints~
while velvety roots of florals
face the glows of alchemy,
amidst the array of arrows,
left as ashes of gold gone cold,
and the gracious gusts of gloaming
devouring the unscrupulous wounds
of a fragranced dawn.
I am the aching pigment
in your palette of purples,
longing for butterfly blurs
to bring me back to a
kingdom of kindness,
where I’ll forever breathe tender lilies
rinsed with wind-swept wishes.
But amidst the clusters of jewels
and raining sakura,
tonight I choose to walk with
specters of scorching stars,
allowing curves of my scarred skin
to burn from the blazing breeze
that bleeds nefarious narratives
upon the bleached borders.
So watch me waltz into the
infernal waters of the deep, bruised bay.
There I’ll write an elegy,
for the sorrow that swallowed your spirit.
I will find an anchor to pull
you back to the land of paper lanterns
as I surrender to the
haunting hues of the horizon;
the sweet sacrifice of a beloved blackbird
singing farewell in silence
to save you from the devilish underworld.
As dandelion dreams
are designed in lucid lies,
carving my essence into wintry wires
of woes and verdicts
from the
growing vines of a
villainous valley.
I feel the blackbird weep, it’s everything
I see the blackbird quiver, it’s what you bring
dreary
d a n d e l i o n
It’s been a very reasonable day. Just a light shower or two
walking along these country lanes, round each corner, a different view.
But it’s getting late now and darkness will soon be here
there’s a haunting sound from the wood nearby, I hope it’s nothing to fear.
I know I should be thinking of making my way
back
and I really did think I was on the right track.
And yet, wherever I seem to look and wherever I seem to roam
I just can’t seem to find my way back home.
I’ve climbed to some higher ground now, such a wonderful view
I can smell the freshness in the air and in the distance, see my home now too.
But it’s getting cooler and there’s a strange stillness up here
I can almost feel the cold silence, which I hope is nothing to fear.
Now darkness has fallen but in the moon light I can see
a path that I think looks familiar to me.
It leads to a narrow stream, I can cross on a stepping stone
so I can try to find my way back home.
Having waited in the darkness, I can now see in the light dawn brings
I sense all of the beauty of nature around me and I listen as a blackbird sings.
But with the dawn a storm has gathered and above me dark clouds are near
and as the thunder cracks and lightning flashes, I hope there is nothing to fear.
Now I’m feeling lost, tired, wet and cold
and like someone who has suddenly grown old.
And I don’t want to be here in this place, any longer on my own
I just want to find my way back home.
There’s a shaft of light from an open curtain and it’s so bright in my eyes
and the noise from a radio alarm clock catches me by surprise.
As I wake up, the duvet feels warm and comforting against my skin
and there is someone beside me, still sleeping, so I don’t say anything.
I look around me and I know I am home
I’m not really somewhere lost and alone.
And of course I realise things are not really as bad as they seem
for I was lost, but only somewhere in a dream.
The Ings showed the scars of a dust blooded past
The heavy air clouds came in way too fast
A pool outcrop showed a shining light
The air grew thin on the Ings that night
Noises were heard, movement of men underground
Rumbles under feet, voices all around
We stopped and stared, in fright, in fear
These noises, these rumbles should not be here?
Train whistles over moving wheels on tracks
Smoke filling the air, the flaming tower out back
Bustle, rumble, roar as boots hit this track
Men underground returning home and being replaced with fresh new backs
Whistling tunes heard along the main footpath
You could smell the past, taste it in your mouth.
Scraping boots create dust all along the track
A boys voice is heard after beating feet ran past
'Dad, dad, dad....mum's not well, please come back'
Their movement felt as they walked right past
The pool of water glowed then sparkling lights sprung out
The lights moved around us and then went back
The air grew strong, we could breathe deep at last
The heavy air clouds disappeared in an instant flash
We watched the glowing lights sink in the outcrop pool
The train noises ceased, an eerie silence settled down
The smell in the air grew fresh with new surrounding gorse
The track dust settled, now Tarmac faced, of course!
The Ings now settled to the calls of meadow pipets and skylarks
The blackbird song stopped as he watched the canaries fly right past!
We held hands and found a seat to sit and see
The hills and valley fields around the old colliery sat so beautifully
As we sat in silence, as we sat in peace
We saw owls fly around the flaming tower now overgrown with weeds
We heard a whistling tune from a man and saw a figure at the end of the main footpath
His whistling stopped suddenly and then he turned to face us many metres back
He stood and stared in his boots, coat, blackened face, flat cap.
He raised his hand to acknowledge we were there on his ground, on his track.
We both waved right back not blinking as we stared
Then in an instant he was gone as he vanished into the cool, summer air.
solitude descending over mountains at tangerine dusk,
a mellifluous Nightingale perched among green foliage and tender twigs,
crooned nature's most graceful sonata of happiness and sorrow.
sprinkling amber passion, it sang a symphony of love,
pouring its heart, weaving the story of eternal lovers longing for each other.
mesmerizing the audience with lavender dreams and hopes,
a dazed forest stood still ...
Robin, and Oriole, and Red Breasted Blackbird joined
its perfect cadence with delightful rhapsody of their own,
tiniest Hummingbird chirped the sweetest song of the forest,
the landscape turned into a perfect rendezvous of songbirds,
captivating entranced creatures amongst tallest trees,
shrubs and bushes, emanating lemon scent,
misty breeze rippling from birds’ wings, smelt saffron fragrance,
a chartreuse waterfalls falling on coral rocks, and.
gentle strokes of raindrops created a magical stream of melody,
gossamer mauve sunset twilight turned the vista
into a haven for musician birds
to celebrate purity and harmonious blessings of nature.
May 8, 2021
SECOND PLACE
Original Title: Voice Of Nature
Inspired by " Nature" Premiere Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina Mcintosh
FIRST PLACE
For "N" Old Or New Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
For Strand 1050 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
flying over Gulf of Mexico, the boundless tranquil emerald water
not going to stop until I reach my destination ....
the vision of a beautiful country of my dream - where nature captivates with azure sky and serene lakes,
fascinating ~ where my dearest friends are waiting for me!
my friend, Robin, how sweetly she sings at dusk and dawn,
when there is solitude descending over the mountains ~
and Oriole busy weaving intricate hanging nests ...
before the colourful flowers blossom in all their splendour, butterflies passionately kiss ravishing roses ~
trees spread their branches to the sky in ecstasy, lush and green turn grasses ~
I must reach there.
I see a distinctive shape in the sky, which tells me...
my Geese friends are on their way, and also are the high-flier Ducks,
can’t miss the charming song white-throated Sparrow croons ~ My Sweet Canada, Canada, Canada.
Oh! I am so mesmerized the way Great Blue Heron glides in a slow motion,
she is the best in fishing, being the most patient.
Killdeer, Mallard Duck, Red-winged Blackbird -
all welcoming me to join a rendezvous of Spring-birds
Spring is almost here - nature’s joyful symphony will soon fill the air
me, the Ruby-throated Hummingbird - will soar across the ocean~
February 18, 2021
FIRST PLACE
Inspired by " Spring Birds" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
For Personification Poem 150 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
True Happiness.
.
True happiness
Doesn’t belong to the rich
Who are often blind
For true happiness
Is much more than just a feeling
But a state of well-being and a state of mind
That often can not be defined
.
The release from Burdon
With a clear road ahead of you
You’ve reached the finishing line
Moments to savor
A brake on the hands of time
.
A feeling of accomplishment
And transpired desires
Good news that sparks a fire
A feeling of elation
An emotion awakened
Fill of heartfelt joy
That only true happiness
Can deploy
.
It’s the freedom to fly through clear blue skies
The moment your first child is born
The look of love in your sweetheart's eyes
It’s seeing the beauty in the smallest things
As listening to a blackbird
As it sings
.
It’s the feeling of the warm sun again
After winter
And playing like a child
A feeling of contentment
Warm affection
An idle daydream
Cherished moments on reflection
Being at one and at peace with everything and the world
I love you uttered by someone you love
Be it a boy or a girl
.
A slow walk in a forest
Getting soaked in the pouring
Cooling summer rain
The warm embers still aglow after making love
Wrapped in each other's arms
Both left satisfied yet again
.
It’s a fragrant aroma
Your favorite music or song
You play all day long
.
It’s an attitude
A blissful mood
The pledge ‘’I do’’
On your wedding day
Dancing under the stars and milky way
Having good friends who care
And seeing their faces when you give
A mad passionate affair
.
An overwhelming feeling of excitement
A place deep inside of us
A twist of fate
And an open gate
.
What is happiness maybe objective
And often self selected
Positivity manifests positive vibes
Being grateful for the things you have
Discriminating to see the good things
In the bad
Godly devotion
For he created us and all
He is the safety net
There to catch us when we fall#
A taste of paradise.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
Ash Groves
“Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander
When twilight is fading I pensively rove,
Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander
Amid the dark shades of the lonely Ash Grove.
‘Tis there where the blackbird is cheerfully singing,
Each warbler enchants with his note from the tree,
Ah, then little I think of sorrow or sadness,
The Ash Grove enchanting spells beauty for me.”
Wales to me,
Though stranger to my step,
Like the Ash groves on rolling mountains
Blackbirds warble - long days of summer’s smile;
A pensive rover with my Welsh companions
Of Corgi’s, wily terriers
About my feet;
Honoring a Red Dragon, in this land of song
Where songs bequeathed to my heart -
Sung before my time - left for me sing;
In lyrics of canaries free of cages
Rising up from deep shafts of dark coal
Sing out their freedom;
Still heard in voyages ‘cross the Celtic Sea –
Pensive legends of home
‘Cross turbulent oceans;–
Finding rolling mountains to climb
Upon Liberty’s broad wings
To Ash groves of white and blue;
Ne’er forgetting Rock Rose or Snowden Lily
The Red Kite soaring
High up in Welsh hearts;
No more to pensively roam
Through new ash groves of freedom
In this new land of song -
New land of song.
“The ash grove, how graceful how plainly ‘tis speaking
The harp thro’ it playing has language for me…
The Ash Grove alone is my home.”
Based on the Welsh folk song “Ash Grove.”
Song form AABAABA
Part of my family came from Wales to Kentucky and Tennessee in the 1800’s. Their last name was Henderson.
7-2-20