#blackbirds
The annual avian
stormtroopers and
Luftwaffe have attacked
allied fortresses
of our smaller
fine
feathered friends --
Chickadees
Finches
&
Wrens --
and have taken
many of their strongholds
this spring here in the
Far North pillaging
needed and perhaps
unneeded sustenance
from our allies
storehouses leaving
nothing in their wake
but an avian version
of empty nest syndrome.
These black-clad
Heckle & Jeckle
Grackle Gestapo
with their click click
machine gun
sputtering sounds
think we don't notice their
clever tricks as they
nonchalantly hop
downward from branch
to branch and shuffle
side-ways on our fence
whistling as they move
one way but their
manipulating gaze at
food supplies plans
another.
But our smaller brave
fine feathered friends
hold their ground to
fight the good fight of
faith propagating
their species as the
human species also
struggles with and
against the odds of
blind and partially
blind instinct.
May 27, 2025
May 27, 2025 at 9:03 AM UTC
I've got a pair.
I keep 'em in my underwear:
Two eggs in a nest of hair.
Sep 25, 2024
Sep 25, 2024 at 7:01 PM UTC
A blackbird sings
Along with the sunset
Clouds whispered sweetly.
Jun 24, 2021
Jun 24, 2021 at 4:54 PM UTC
What deathly horrors attracts these thousands upon thousands of crows,
When they came there was something in the air that froze.
They veil the sky, drown out all noise, cutting through the vacancy of empty leafless trees,
Never do they fail to arrive, or come quietly one by one,
They come out of nowhere, but to tell the whole city there is no sun.
As they cross under clouds, the ****** increases, seemingly never ending like the dark skies that precede them.
All of Bothell seems to joke with its ever dark skies and black bird cries.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC
As the ocean breaks
And palm trees sway,
In the peaceful morning
Of a new day,
I sit and listen to the black birds’ songs
Of joy and life
That do not long
For the freedom they already have.
The birds back home sing a different tune,
They chatter and screech to fill the gloom
And damp dark chill of a winter’s noon,
(at least to me that is)
But as I sit here by the beach,
Feeling the calmness and the peace
Of this wondrous, quiet space,
I can’t help but to grin,
For to be where the people are kind,
And orchids smell sweet,
Where the air is hot,
(but a good kind of heat),
Was simply,
Truly,
Wonderful.
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 10:15 PM UTC
Early morning
It was in the early morning, blackbird song and
long wet grass, shuffling through making trails in dew
In the early mornings of my life.
Something of magic in the sun slanting
through wet dripping branches,
pearls of water drops in spidery webs enchaining
blade to blade in the long wet grass.
It was in the early morning rising from warm sheets
when hearing that cuckoo summons from
far distant woods, calling , welcoming me forth
into the dewy day, doors unbolted, stepping from within
dark walls, shadowed kitchens, cold and stony floor.
Stepping forth and catching at my heart.
They were.
Sun’s rays, dewy grass, pearls of water drops.
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 6:48 AM UTC
In my back yard are growing things
and tubs of this and that.
I lean out of the window
and watch the sun go down
on my back yard.
The bats come flying from the pines.
In circles, round and round,
they skirt the trees
and make their squeaky sound,
the bats in my back yard.
Just listen to that last, sweet chirp
of blackbirds fluting song,
as sleepy birds now roost
in my backyard.
I listen for a long, long time
And watch the sun go down,
peaceful and tranquil
in my back yard.
Loretta Proctor
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 7:01 AM UTC
I am the blackbird sitting
on the branch . . . watching you
Peering into every aspect you do
Kaw . . . Kaw
and you . . ,
Late at night if I ever get out of here
I swear I will turn into a thunderstorm
And hurl my bolts of light at you
And pound you with my thunder
I am the blackbird . . . and I am still
watching you
Can you feel the unease of my stare
Kaw . . . Kaw . . .
now you are aware
He held a grudge forever more
Never could he release the hate and pain
Nothing nice again , just rain
He could never get out again
The blackbird and me . . . .
as the feathers flutter to the ground
Went both of us . . . around and around
Dagers drawn , guns blazing
Like I said it is late of night
Cursing and swearing my heart pounds
Mark on my bolts , holding thunder
I notch another line on the barrel of life
Blackbird ! Blackbird ! Blackbird be !
I am the blackbird sitting in your tree
Peering into the aspects that you might be
Kaw . . . Kaw . . .
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC