"starling" poems
You said you would **** it this morning.
Do not **** it. It startles me still,
The jut of that odd, dark head, pacing
Through the uncut grass on the elm's hill.
It is something to own a pheasant,
Or just to be visited at all.
I am not mystical: it isn't
As if I thought it had a spirit.
It is simply in its element.
That gives it a kingliness, a right.
The print of its big foot last winter,
The trail-track, on the snow in our court
The wonder of it, in that pallor,
Through crosshatch of sparrow and starling.
Is it its rareness, then? It is rare.
But a dozen would be worth having,
A hundred, on that hill-green and red,
Crossing and recrossing: a fine thing!
It is such a good shape, so vivid.
It's a little cornucopia.
It unclaps, brown as a leaf, and loud,
Settles in the elm, and is easy.
It was sunning in the narcissi.
I trespass stupidly. Let be, let be.
11.5k
12 in the dark, I sit awake by the window,
Across from Hyde Park, and the feel of the wind oh,
Sparking a bark, Nana's remarking from below,
Canine matriarch against the boy with no shadow,
Time's flickering by and I begin to rust,
Consumed, I'm high with lust just for pixie dust,
But to fly you must be robust and adjust,
And I can't, though I try, I just look with disgust,
Sitting on the sill, I think of him mournfully,
Hard as I try, I can't think of him scornfully,
Despite the fact that he talks so informally,
He says my name and I know I was born to be,
Part of the family, I think of them nightly,
Tootles, the twins, Curly, Nibs and Slightly,
Second star to the right, it shines so brightly,
Hope he might come back if I ask politely,
He doesn't apologize, he's immature and he's cold,
Lives in a land without rules so he can't be controlled,
But as soon as I saw him I knew I'd struck green-gold,
Peter Pan is a joke that just never gets old,
Don't smile at crocodiles down in Neverland,
And if you hear a ticking clock, hope the ships are manned,
Because there's a high demand for the taste of pirate band,
And if you're not hooked by now then Hook'll tell you first hand,
I flew here like a bird in a night-dress, frilly,
Scared, trying to fight stress, skin like Chantilly,
Found Peter and I confess that the boy's my Achilles,
Now I'm a lost girl treading on Tiger Lillies,
Acorns and thimbles are my idea of 'bases',
And sword fights with pirates are my ***** chasers,
Watching the boys as they fly and admiring Peter Pan,
But he's the boy who can't love here in Neverland,
I wanted devotion, to marry men who were charming,
So I repressed, left my emotion, I left Peter Pan snarling,
My own species no longer, just a common starling,
Caged by age at my window, I'm Wendy Darling.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
On the face of it, there isn't much about this bird
To stop me in my tracks.
Brown, oblivious, busy with the ground
It totters along on stilted legs
Probing among the frozen fields.
It's the name that's the trouble.
Childhood hours spent copying pictures
From the Readers' Digest Book of Birds
Call to mind the name, 'Curlew'.
In my house, though, birds had Scots names
and my dad, a linguistic David Bellamy
Urged us to conserve these rare words
or lose them forever.
Goldfinch? Gowdspink!
Starling? Stuckie!
Blue *** Umm...
But the undistinguished gentleman before me
was definitely a whaup.
Curlew or whaup?
Which is it to me?
The English of books
or the fading Scots, maybe closer
to the bird's wild home?
Textbook reality
or romantic poetry?
Or both - can the creature sit
in two states at once?
"Schrodinger's Curlew", I think with a smile.
("Schrodinger's Whaup!" bellows the bit of my dad
that lodges in my head.)
Here, under a cloud of my own breath
In the low winter light,
Neither seems quite adequate.
And then, untouched by my musings
The bird spreads its wings and lifts,
Naming itself, with a long, pure note
And my heart, in two states,
Leaps
and breaks.
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 12:03 AM UTC
I introduced the birds to the flock
the dove was awkward, the sparrow, excited
but the falcon towered
and the partridge left
and the starling was left to cry
with the eagle just standing by
and who, you ask, who, who am I?
I am the flamingo.
Do I belong?
Not I.
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
Who knows what stops the heart of a song
I take note
of tiny thud—
robin in the wheel well of my car
the limp head
of a cat’s prey
sigh of wings
defrocked by power lines
baby starling’s fledgling flight
falling short of a pond’s edge
The slate morsel unearthed
by the tines of my rake
…and the world is vacant for a moment
Grief ***** a womb of air
but how it lives— I cannot say
Upended creature of us
Stops the throbs that herald life
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
Even though it isn't Mother's Day,
I hope this poem is perfect in everyway,
I always love you so;
As the days come then quickly go.
I wish I could do something grand for you,
To show you that my love for you is true,
And I am not ashamed to say;
Happy Belated Mother's Day!
Your delicious cooking fills the air,
Made by your gentle hands with love and care,
Those beautiful hands lovingly kneading bread;
Or pointing me to bed.
Or lovingly stroking those furry darlings,
But you are my brown-eyed starling,
Sweeter then them, lovelier than them all;
You succeed and do not fall!
Loving hands dancing across piano keys,
It's tinkling melody floating on the breeze,
Holding a journal on your lap;
Listening to the rain on the roof tap.
Pretty brown eyes and light brown hair,
A long face of gentle care,
O, mother dear you are better than them all;
You succeed and never fall!
Happy Belated Mother's Day, Mom!
~Marian~
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
The starling is in need of help.
It believes its wings are dull and colorless,
It believes the other birds look down at it,
It believes it has no place.
It needs to learn,
learn that it does in fact have a position,
to be right next to the flamingo.
The flamingo can help it,
make it forget all of its insecurities.
Then the flamingo will finally be happy,
and the starling's mind will be at peace once more.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC
nothing's instantaneous
temperance a requirement
change forever targeted
til self becomes fragmented
heart an aqueous soluble
erstwhile deliquescent
puddled into pulp
taken out like trash
fitting for an adversary
malicious and malevolent
destructive to the starling
plucked and plunged to sea
so drown to suffocation
laudable attempts at termination
inundate your consciousness
using barrages of indifference
convinced affection's unattainable
death deserted and companionless
auspicious in my loneliness
asphyxiate to expiration
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
watch the starlings
synchronizing
their collective dance..
each bird deciding for the all
each on the edge of
chaos and fall..
local decisions on moving
coupling a mysterious
non-local intuition..
all spurring our wonder
our disbelief
are we forced to consider
our analogous place
each one of us poised
on a delicate line..
each needing to master
a courage to reach
transform near fear
take that one step our own
trust knowing all steps..
holographic truth at last
each differing step
stimulating
new wholeness and light
watch the starlings
once more..
locate where you now stand
my edge in my time
absorb the starling's miracle
murmuring our own
murmuration
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 11:50 PM UTC
Just as the horizon was at it's brightest yellow
Before the light began to really fade
I stood and watched the daily starling show
Staged it seemed just for me
How privileged I felt to see
Our very own murmuration
Circle, tightly in a group
Morph into a jet fighter
Then a fragile bi-plane
Direction changing overhead
I heard their wings a lovely sound
As they circled round
What perfect choreography
To soar and dive, flip and twist
And as they passed a clump of firs
Some filtered down
Dropping as if poured
Each new pass some more
The last few, five or six
Carried on just as fast
Until they too went down
The show was over for another day
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 7:02 AM UTC
All my life
I was allowed to appreciate the world around me
But lacked the means to express how
I could speak of the fluttering of a starling’s wings
Lifting into the majesty of the sky
By stirring the air
But you would not understand
The loneliness they stir in me
I could describe the stature of the far-off mountain
The snow-ridden summit stark white
Vehement in its unyielding presence
But you would not see
The spark of vehemence I feel in its wake
I could illustrate the way the sun sinks behind the hills
Staining the clouds orange and pink
Causing a blanket of soft light to awaken the earth
But you would not recognize
The nostalgia it awakens in my tired soul
I could narrate your mannerisms with clarity
The gentle smiles and nervous fidgeting
Shyly nodding in mild acquiescence
But you would not notice
The utter joy that holds me under its sway
As you lull my heart with your words
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
It was in wander
for not lost was she.
It was in wonder
for without sin
she walked towards
the tree bearing
sweet fruit
enticing her forward
lust sent a lumber puncture
through her spine
upwards it shot to the
brain; cerebral forms
into a beating heart.
It excited her there was
such freedom found
in such innocence.
Pulsating quivers she waited
Adam to her Eve
daisy chains falling from her neck
framing a prepubescent chest
hooks temperately fastening
white knotted cotton hand sewn dress
virginal white
no womanhood in sight
Annabelle’s life, a melody of
melancholic cacophonic raspers
from asylums, former patients
of Briarcliff Manor
residing in her; only misery
innocent running’s from
grave dangers of
stark raving madness.
For, today
she wasn’t embroiled
as Arden’s pet
instead she was the little girl
so born to be before the woman
was stolen, bound by
a physicians sick
nightmarish re-enactments.
For, today
she was free
a starling, passionate
darling.
© Sia Jane
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
*Lay down on your pillow
and turn the lights down low,
Close your eyes and enter dreams.
Let me take you to the garden
where passion flowers grow.*
**Let me kiss your mind
With splendor and passion
Ravage your thoughts with
Past, Present and Future actions.**
*Love will not break your heart
but, dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see
what you find there, with grace in your heart
and flowers in your hair...
Let me take you there.*
**In this garden you're the main attraction
I have the hose that waters your growth.
The ***** that digs to your soul.
As you envelope you roots in this garden of my affection.
We blossom from our enclosure
Spreading bliss
Like pesticides in this garden,
You're my obsession.**
*If we wait until we're
ready, we'll be waiting for
the rest of our lives.
I want to feel as free as the flowers.*
**Immerse yourself in fields of blooms
Cherry blossoms
Tulips and Patunias, too.
Passion flowers are our main attraction
Trapped in their periodic frame.
We savor the peace they bring.
Hours of bliss
Turn to notions of a moment's gist.
For passion flowers bloom in the twilit hours.**
*Touch the tender petals
of the flower as she grows
a tentative endeavour,
as your feelings overflow.*
**Touch your soul
In places it's never felt
Mending wounds
That never seem to shut
The Gardner to your soul
Here to nurse you back to perfect health.**
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
Mother Nature is swaying in the breeze, her branches strong.
Her life full and alive she sings with flowers and dances with the bees,
But her mind is boorish to the oncoming threat of November.
The startling entrance of Fall is like fire to her leaves,
New electricity attacks her arm’s protectors; prepared with strong green shields.
Yellow, orange, then deep red bleed into a burnt, crackled brown and black ash.
As her melodic hum of green vanishes, a starling yellow spark leaps,
Ablazed chaos now runs on her twisted, knotted, and wise branch-arms.
Eruptions of heat and confusion Mother Nature is seen screaming,
Raptured coldly, her green peace is painfully and hollowly attacked.
Her first shiver yesterday revealed her weakness,
Her shade flees, no longer able to stand the icy-sharp stabbings of winter.
Her annual sigh of defeat inevitably followed, thus beginning her hibernation,
Her tired arms creak and break, letting down their burnt sheaths,
Slowly spiraling down, down, down to the hungry ground.
Closing down to mourn Mother Nature is unclothed and shamed.
Her once green body now dried, bare, and cracked.
Withering winter brings blue death and ice to her brown skin.
Naked she shivers and freezes for three months to come.
But Spring will bring her a new strength and humility.
Mother Nature’s momentary fall will only chill, not ****
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 8:09 PM UTC
Autumn in New Zealand is a masterpiece on canvas
Patternings of goldens and bright rose hips in their beds,
Copses of coniferous in deep and darkly avenues
To the brilliance of a country lane awash with leafy reds.
Chimney fires are smoking in the rural country cottages
The warming glow of lanterns in the windows as I pass,
A tantalising whiff of hot buttered scones is wafting
And somewhere in the distance I can hear a red deer bark.
Strolling by the lakeside in the early morning stillness
My breathing fogs before me in the chillness of the air,
Rowan trees glow scarlet and the naked ***** willow
Has shed her golden carpet on the emerald hillock there.
Rushes rattle softly in the mistyness of lowlands
Treeeferns in their glory of silver filagree,
Sparrows ruffle feathers to insulate the coolness
As wheeling flocks of starling mass to migrate to be free.
Gossamer as fairy dust the thistledown is floating
A harbinger of autumn leaves and freezing frost to come,
Those Coriollis forces are determining the changeling
Where the snowy days approaching means the Autumn tones are done.
Marshalg
27 April 2013
In rural Pukekohe.
New Zealand
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
Please lay your heavy head upon my chest.
All I want is to hold you all night long.
It would make my day if you do say yes.
It has been you forever- all along.
I should not have let you go, my darling-
What mistake!- a poorly made decision.
I need to be taught the law of Starling
So my heart can know its own precision
But when you gave me all your affection,
My eyes were already for one cruel boy.
He was a mess and a wrong selection,
For his mode was only set to destroy.
I know I am too late to be your girl;
I just thought I would let these words unfurl.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
She had a sweet voice made for lullabies
Among the people who sang like sirens
She was but a whisper without an echo
Singing along voices that could cross oceans
A starling surrounded by suns
A subtle breeze against a hurricane
A dim version of what she could have been
A candlelight beside a fireplace
People tend to undermine her existence
Telling her she was never quite enough
Her quiet and subtle nature was forgettable
She only deserved an equivalent love
Even so, she stands with her small stature
Without wavering after the day has rest
Into the night she preserves her light
Guiding and accompanying those who feel any less
She was the lullaby that touched separated hearts
Reunited with the harmonized whispers of song
She was a knight of light who guards a single child
In her presence, the night can do no wrong
She didn’t have to be the action pack thriller
She was a bedtime story that lulled you to sleep
The narrative you asked to be read each night
Because it is a tale your heart wants to keep
Gentle and calm, soothing and soft
In a harsh world that demands sharp edges
Her hidden strength was how despite it all
She preserved her softness from all the wreckage
May 4, 2021
May 4, 2021 at 7:50 PM UTC
An ode to the raggedy starling
I watched you today;
I admired your strutting decadence
Unruly, dishevelled bird of jagged honesty
Ruffled, disrespectful feathers that shine
And reflect your begging, squawking call
You and four of your friends,
Dragged down a helpless potato I
Left out for you;
Pinioned it to the ground
With strutted abandon
Oh bird much maligned;
Bird of ungainly beauty
Hobo, derelict, winged, caller
When you murmur the
Shaking stirred skies
With your flocks,
The noise black swirled and reckless
Never fails to make us catch our breath
That such flock - formed beauty could come
From a ragged kingdom call
Makes my own wings;
Take Flight
Just written :-)
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
Why does this caged bird sing?
Because I'm Black,
In a country that says that doesn't mean a thing.
Because racism has taken many setbacks
And the **Klu Klux **** has applications
and we know where the police get their reps at.
So why can't we take a step back?
My life means less than yours,
But I find myself pursuing better things
So my daughter never wants for more.
Locked in cages,
I'm a Starling
So I yearn to fly.
See my brothers in them four walls
Like that's where they were born to die.
If our privilege was like yours
We would never hear those expensive collect calls.
So we use our knowledge for wrong,
You'd never appreciate that a felon could write this poem.
Trapped in environments that don't care for us,
We try to branch out
They take a few shots
And you no longer hear from us.
So why does the caged bird really sing?
Probably because I know where my opportunities really lie.
In a ball, a mic or some reality show.
I'm not against those options
But I live in reality though.
There's no hope for the rehabilitated,
You have to carve your own road,
And nowhere is that clearly stated.
And to add insult to injury,
I'm Muslim and if you knew
You wouldn't see a friend in me.
So why does the caged bird sing?
If you clearly can't hear us,
Why put on a badge in a neighborhood,
If you fear us?
You prop yourself on a pedestal
And look down.
You brought us here, left us in the field, in shacks
And now we're in the Slums of every town.
You diminished our importance
And showed us anything that wasn't white was wrong,
For all I know you helped me write this poem.
So why does this caged bird sing?
So my words can vibrate my shackle loose,
So my ideals can blow open the door
And my melody can inspire every bird too.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
daring nightmare treason dapple
creeping dark withering day chaff
starling; cast a frail song sharply
into redrimmed ears
telracs
dekcen
raor
!
sly mirroring the captivating decay
of this slain
day
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 2:26 PM UTC
Poet to my eyes, you are the sight of whitecaps
On the sea water, or the sudden turn of a bird
In flight and as the wave I roll and break,
With drowning wings that lift toward you, my sky.
Mistress to my soul, I am the nave of your holy
Cathedral. My head is but an occluded riff,
De-noting songs you make in aisling airs of light
Polyphony, my star over-sings the windy globe,
She swallows heaven, like swallows blacken the dusk.
Shearwater bird, strip my surface with your cutting
Wings. My waves peak to reach you starling girl.
The sloughing chill of winter dies quick in sighs
Waft asunder my little Indian summer, wake me
From sleep and I shall dream but once for your kiss.
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 9:53 PM UTC
The mighty men of valour
Hate to possess the
Answer to thy beauty,
For as long as
Nature obey laws,
There shall not be
Any beauty like
Unto my darling,
Ah, questioning the past
Has opened a new leaf
Of this unquestionable version,
For as long as
Thou shine thy true
Blackness upon my sinful nature,
These happy days of mine
Will be lost without thy gut,
The persistent shrilling
Of the magic cricket
At midnight and the rustling of
The palm leaves in the sea breeze,
Makes me feel
Ashamed and proud,
For as long as
Great men are
Ready to bite the
Lioness for thy sake,
Thy power of beauty
Shall be the soul
Of thy flamboyant womanhood,
Never hid them, oh
My only true lover,
For as long as
Thou art fairer in character
Than the master’s daughter,
She that has no
Respect for the humus,
The nations shall behold these firm
Twain towers upon
Thy juicy sedate chest,
Children of Africa,
Look up straight
Upon the holy mountains,
For as long as
This blazing sun
Remains the likeness
Of her sharp big eyes,
The eternal honey dripping
From her faithful lips
Will be traded for life
Ah, my only falling rain,
The mother of many nations,
For as long as
Thy beauty remains prosperous,
The starling shall not cease
To express my sincere
Whims to imprison thee
In my heavy heart,
I love thee Obaahemaa,
Thou art Cleopatra indeed.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
There once was a little starling
Who was born on the milky way
Surrounded by others just like her
In the constellations where they had played
One fateful night she fell out of orbit
Floating farther and further away
Surrounded by the darkest of galaxies
Wondering why she couldn’t have stayed
There were days she lost a little more stardust
Trailing behind her like a shooting star
Falling into the biggest black hole
She was scared of losing more of her parts
Surrounded by the empty darkness
She lit the darkest corner of the universe
Though she was unable to see her own light
Because too often she cared for others first
She came back to us as a 4 pointed star
Losing one of them on her journey home
Every night we formed a cluster of stars
To remind her that she was never alone
If only she knew she was a starseed
In the darkest moments is where she grows
For she became our brightest north star
Who always brought us home with hope
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 5:53 PM UTC
Dawn chorus be my lullaby
as morning paints the azure sky
and stars like embers slowly die
another day is born
Sweet starling sing me to my rest
and warm this heart beneath my breast
as day moves slow from east to west
and I for night now mourn
Sparrow and lark give melody
to dreams I seek nocturnally
as let thy song wash over me
from field and dew kissed lawn
Blackbird and rook give it thy base
as once more from the sky you chase
the waning moon with smiling face
and rend the night veil torn
Dawn chorus sing to me thy song
as I like night now move along
for in this moment I now long
to upon your wings be borne
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
The strangest melody came
'Cross the trees.
Into those dark woods,
Where the Raven hung in green.
Drifting on that tune,
The Raven found the blue
Of the sole Bluejay
Aloft and lonely too.
But not for long, really--
A violet Starling fell into.
And this began a harmony,
Unknown purity that grew and grew.
Beholden of the heavenly,
The black Raven watched afar,
Wishing for eternity, which dreams...seldom are.
Soon the Starling flew away,
And the Bluejay
Recited once again the next day,
Till quieted, and no more.
Sat back still, the Raven saw,
Then searched for the brightest purple feathers.
Plucked out its own to replicate;
It loved that color anyway.
But the Bluejay would never sing
The song it did with that Starling.
And the Raven could only caw,
While its black feathers wore away.
But to the Raven's canopy
Had come
The Bluejay.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 1:43 AM UTC