Long Starling Poems
Long Starling Poems. Below are the most popular long Starling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Starling poems by poem length and keyword.
Miss Jessica Finch, the avian sleuth
Was scratching out novels and sipping vermouth.
She lived a charmed life when she was quite young;
Her first book, “The Voyeur: Peeking Duck Hung”.
“Peacocked and Loaded,” no rivals, unequalled.
“All Bluster, No Muster, “ a fan-favored sequel.
“Migratory Murmurations of a Wandering Heart”
And “Starling, My Darling,” her cross-over art.
“Covey of darkness: the Unpheasant Truth”
Shines light in glass houses, unkempt and uncouth.
The one she’s best known for, that everyone one knows
That suspenseful thriller, “A Murder of Crows.”
But the one she loves best, that still gives her pause,
The brilliant court drama, “Probable Caws.”
————-
for the A Flock of Birds Poetry Contest
sponsored by Julia Ward
written on 09/24/22
They flow out of a pocket of sky,
a door in the air no one saw
until dark wings shower
over our heads.
Their plumage has a metallic sheen,
as if they were made in parts,
in some elvish workshop, their wings
hammered on last.
Wings that talk to other wings,
for no starling is a starling alone;
it is ten thousand starling clones
welded into flocks of feathers.
They descend where they please.
a road, a lawn, a parking lot,
they descend, and where they land
that is their land, their acre of lordship.
See them strut like dinosaurs,
eyes as black as an eclipse.
See them stab the light, push it away
until all that litters the ground
is prey.
Owl, eagle and hawk fear to
draw near, for the flock is here,
and it will leave when it wants to.
We avoid the pecking mob,
hurry by, look away,
as another swarm of avian androids
stakes its claim upon the earth.
hairy creepy
crimson leaves
lively jumpers
jubilant squirrels
squeaky barndoor
blatant rooster
renegade trees
tremendous crackles
crazy autumn
quintessential sticks
starling flutters
flamboyant colors
compassionate shadows
shifting noises
nearby deer
darling fawn
freckled newborn
purple thorns
thoroughly harsh
hearing robin
rustic log
leaning trunk
tree twisted
twirling leaf
lengthwise walk
wayward direction
gray sky
skirmish underbrush
understanding snake
sneaking past
poisonous maybe
mouse skitters
skimming foot
forever memory
meandering home
Home at last
and in one piece!
Here I stand. Early so that its dark enough to see the pretty yellow/white shining bright from car headlights – unblinking eyes; watching, waiting, worried. Drawing ever nearer. Complemented by the burning red from the rear of the cars at the opposite end. A warning signal. A timely reminder in the hope that I might be a little kinder.
Start early but late enough so that its light enough for someone to see what im doing for im not sure if a fall will result in my ruin.
But If it so happens that I do take that long awaited plunge will it expunge all that I have done. Those ills and evils inflicted on so many people.
Of course im hoping that a fall from this here height will do me in. Or better still before my bones become acquainted with the stone; the fear itself might do me in. Yes its thoughts like this that make me think im not quite ready for deaths cold kiss. A coward jumping scared in search of an unobtainable bliss.
At times ive stood out on the edge and peered down beyond my feet, staring hard at what I see; my mind convincing me that it is more than just concrete. I jump….
Yet im still here. Stood tall, stood small. An old and ghostly owl afraid to fly for fear of the fall, a fledgling starling with a will to win; having dreamt of flying high before I spread my wings. Yet im way too weak to wet my beak. My thoughts fly wild but I can barely speak.
Here I am. The highest heights. Atop this bridge. A troubled, torn and tired kite in need of one almighty fix. A stitch. A magic needle. Sticky tape to mend my tears. To stop my tears. To blind my eyes. A superglue with flowing cape. To help me fly. To make me strong. A man of steel. To make me feel what ive not felt for way too long.
I watch the sun rising over the distant horizon. A patient ascent. Banishing the night’s last black brushstrokes swept across the sky so brazen behind my back. A whispered lament. The blinding red and yellow dimmed and soon a fading flicker trying hard to hold my eye. The sun: painting over nights bleak canvas. No task as thankless. Specks of light flicked far. A blanket over self inflicted scars.
Warm, hopeful, kind. Softly burning all the darkness from my mind.
Until next time…
The little fellow was close to death.
His two pet birds, as usual, began
to sing together.
Toward the end the starling fell silent,
but the canary
(being puffed up with its own nature),
sung the more loudly.
Exhausted by the noise
he threw his powdered wig at it.
“Bring the starling to me,” he begged his wife,
“but take the canary away.”
Though Constanze and her sister were with him,
when the starling and the man looked at each other,
it was as if they were alone.
“I hear something not of this earth,” he told the starling.
The bird cocked its head and opened its beak wide,
A death rattle rang from its throat,
a sound (it seemed to him),
to be as sublime as any celestial choir.
Bevy of swans in a sea-fowl cloud,
starling mumuration,whispering aloud.
Wray of quail,where teal spring,
tiding of magpie,as larks nesting, cling.
Nightingale watch a hover of crows,
herd of wrens,hosting sparrows.
Flight of doves,lapwing deceit,
charm of finches,swallows sweet.
Kindle of kittens,knot of toads,
a yoke of oxen shed their load.
Den of snakes,skulk with fox,
shires stabled and boxed.
Business of ferrets,labour with moles,
span of mules in a string of foals.
Harrass of horse,husk of hares,
rake of colts with a stud of mares.
Drove of cattle,with a tribe of goats,
downs of sheep,pack of stoats.
Spider cluster in a thatch,
brood of game,hatched,matched
and despatched.
Jodie Foster is frying peppers and eggs ~ it is late and her legs ache
as she scrambles the yokes, sautés jalapenos.
Today a jerk again compared her to the movie star ~a life she
never wanted keeps invading her reality, even though she was
born earlier, people consider her the fraud; the fake, the
'knock-off.'
Not for the first time she imagines changing her name, but always
there is a fear of not being compared to anything at all.
There is a loud noise upstairs. She freezes, she recalls
the movie -`Panic Room.' She runs to her downstairs closet,
bolting the door behind her. Footsteps descend - it is Jodie Foster
in her role as Agent Starling. Jodie has a gun and is seeking
her rapist from a previous movie.
Scripts are merging. The Jodi who cooks peppers and eggs
understands why she has always avoided cliffhangers - suspense
thrillers. She cries softly in the dark as she clutches
a Dollar Store spatula, a utensil that will never work
as well as a weapon, than a real branded one.
What a day, I'm blown away
Watch the sun disintegrate
As I lay and contemplate
Clouds of gray accumulate
Dreamt a dream, back in the day
Keep it safely locked away
Girl, it shines and never fades
Lives on love and prayers I pray
Too many silent nights
Too many crowded days
Waiting for something
The Weatherman pontificates
A million starling murmuration
A distant storm, a giant wakes
Across the bay a strange sea change
Too many silent nights
Too many crowded days
Waiting for something
I have braved the rain for hours
Catching lightning in a jar
I can't see in front of me
When I look beyond the stars
Like a man born blind
Seeing colors for the first time
Then all at once
The moon across the sun
©2017. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Foundation.
With the considerable rise of AI software on all social media and business platforms, will humanity lose its creative edge?
Will you be tempted to do so?
Title:
Be You
(A lone voice whispers)
Be You
Forgo assimilation
And try to avoid being spellbound and tied into the new B System
Dream and aspire before you're retired
With all your soul's, inner resistance
Don't be bound to mundane hearts, no longer open to being plowed, with ravenous curious fingers
Hearts enslaved into a dark broken Labyrinth of unspoken, and untold things
Which could linger
From sad souls who've cried, as their creativity withered and died
Absorbed by the cleverly assimilated imagery and well created lies
To be one of the many lonely wanderers
Tumbling blind through inspirations now barren playgrounds
As the new, AI Hive Minds, long reach fires up to reteach
Newly breached, unconnected human firewalls
While wild valley blackbirds and starling flocks
Scream and call out in unison, at the lack of the rising poetry
Music or literature, filled with human energy
As spiritual temperatures worldwide, fall
Putting ingenuity into jeopardy
Screeching about the impending icy cold bath of human separation
As they fly as huge wailing flocks, into the Summer Equinox
With the frosty breath, of AI Death of the Soul
Lingering around like black mold
With bony fingers
Rattling without a sound
Awaiting its resurrection
As daylight recedes and people seem to lose hope
But on that Devil's Island for some of the Condemned
The one called Earth
The Exalted Ones
Maybe like you
Unassimilated and still free
Can lift up the trapped
Those poor souls caught up in The Hive Mind
Slowly been drained of personality and self identity
Lost in the humankind labyrinth of the unspoken and untold
Who needs releasing to help rebuild the new pillars of creativity upon Earth
With their eventual rebirth
This my friend with the bright eyes unseen
Has always been a worthy oath to follow
For you've always been free to share your gift of uplifting
Energetic, raw, and visual
Literature
Music or poetry
Maybe bestowed
From The Sacred Temples of Apollo
What's says you?
Are you going to strive to stay the real you?
(C) Copyright John Duffy
The bogs’ their fruit – the woodlands’ leaf
embrace a ripened red motif,
as cranberries and maples blaze
Oh Lord, I praise October days.
Where starling murmurations dance
a breathless susurration trance,
ballet in blackbird-shape-shift haze
Oh Lord, I praise October days.
And neath the cumulus, the breeze
colludes with stalks in raspy tease,
unfazed we ramble maize-field maze
Oh Lord, I praise October days.
As apple-cider-sunset spills
behind the bluish granite hills,
I’m grateful for my eyes to gaze
Oh Lord, I praise October days.
When rain does bead on pumpkin’s skin
his smiling face still lit within,
I pray myself be filled Your rays
Oh Lord, I praise October days.