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so well choreographed the performance
spectacular shapes they perfectly make
soaring up then dipping down this sky dance
synchronized on a collective feather's take

outstanding describes every single formation
orchestrated with an amazing flight's wing
over the countryside you'll see the murmuration
on staying together it repels a falcon's ping

utilizing the waving motion's code of sway
unbalancing any hungry prey by such skill
utmost this inventive pattern's display
undulations devised in an expert drill

the ballet on high is ever so terrific
trooped starlings cleverly will bluff
they'll outsmart predators prolific
trancing them with adept birdie stuff
Tommy Randell Jan 2018
I feel my madness as a joy today
Thoughts born to bounce and multiply
Like ripples in a barrel or a brain pan
Patterning into poetry like a murmuration
Like an exegesis from the random static.

My words are starlings fetched to fly
From out the cave well of my mind
As the guiding hand makes shadows
On the white page of the sky
And I glory in it... That I can write!

That I make these black shapes swarm
In an animated passion foaming laughter
Into and throughout the silence
To become a screeching poetic oneness
Raised up in an exultation of chatter.

That I can craft and forge an art of words
From inner fires and constituent parts
Not known before I put them in the world
Not voiced before I sang them to be heard
My songs, my poetry, my colour chart.
The snow,
And turns;
Shapes in the air.
A floating, flowing, fluidity;
Such substance in something
   So diaphanous.
           A performance,
          Just as magical as
     The starlings
They had watched
At dusk
By the pier.

         And gliding
     The birds
  Danced in the darkening sky.
  That erratic black cloud;
  Morphing, flowing, conjuring...
        Forming new dimensions
          While the glowing sun
               Balances precariously,
                   Poised on the edge of the world
                                                              And then
                                                                         Into the sea,
                                                                        Leaving pink
                                                                     Goodbye kisses
                                                                       On the clouds.
Two figures are
Stood by the window,
Looking out and
  The crystal dust drift
   Within the flow of the wind.
      A giant ghost's display of ballet;
         Spinning, twisting, turning...
                                  Leaning on each other
                                In silence,
                                In the darkness,
                               The skies' cold ashes
                             In the night,
                       Under the rays of the artificial
                    Street light

Soon the train will leave the station,
Get further and further away...
Settling in the west for longer than a day.
Swallowed by the horizon.
Physics in the way.
                                                          She will freeze her face
                                                          And wave,
                                                          Borrowing a stoic's smile,
                                                          Safely held together,
                                                           Until within the veil
                                                           Of the warm taxi home,
                                                            Her eyes
Started early 2013 - mid 2014 ish

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