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| Watercolor by Karen Gustafson of ManicDDaily |
Seasonal Blackbirds
I
Mid-heat of day, seven, and barefoot
I fly down gravel drive,
unfazed by sharp stones. Collect the mail,
scatter blackbirds skyward.
II
Grieve not alone as songbirds fly south,
hawk circles above pony and me,
chorus of crows less forceful
as chicks have long since left the nest.
III
Cherished carved pumpkins
succumb to December's bitter bite,
and trees, black-leaved, caw a warning
as I add to mother's compost pile.
IV
Etched against my retinas
reside ghostly images, wings outstretched.
Lesson learned; crack open piggybank
purchase first pair of sunglasses - raven black.
by Margaret Bednar, March 20, 2016
Video: documentary - Secret Life of Crows - http://youtu.be/89C5gsdaSXg
Linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toad - Sunday Mini-challenge - Under an Influence" My jump-off inspiration was "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" by Wallace Stevens.
8 comments:
This is lovely, Margaret--a wonderful pensive quality to each description. I especially like the first--the idea of your barefooted fly down the driveway and the lyricism with skyward--it's really lovely--but they all are. Thanks so much for participating in the prompt with this poem. k.
I love the way you have developed the story from first to last part. Cherished memories that come with blackbirds - lovely!
Such a unique perspective here and the way you've set the scene makes it palpable to the reader :-)
Probably etched against brain matter as well, Margaret. I wouldn't ever forget fallen birds all over the place. Probably fallen anything, got to get sunglasses for protection, hide ourselves from the bad news (whatever that might be).
..
Each one of these could stand alone...I see it as a walk through endings, black winged and embossed on the spirit. Great poetry!
Oh I do so remember when we did poetry based on Wallace Stevens.. loved your take on the crows, I have feeling they feast when other black wings go south... In the end though spring comes.
So vivid! And you chose my favorite of Karin's pieces.
From the first verse I knew that Thirteen Ways of Looking At A Blackbird was your imitatative poem. A nice translation exercise
Thanks for dropping in to read mine
Much love..
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