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Open Poetry #46
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The Blackbird's Serenade
| Open Poetry #46 |
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The Blackbird's Serenade |
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LindsayP Member Elite
since 2007-07-28
Posts 3410Australia, Victoria 
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The Blackbird's Serenade Quickly came the Autumn tones to the rolling hills this year, Those hot Summer days were soon much in decline, And after Easter when the clouds will shed a tear, The leaves will slowly vanish from the vine. Then came some days when the sun was soft and warm, Days that are enjoyed alike by both men and women, While in the orchard like a lull before the storm Crept the crafty currawong to claim the ripe persimmon. Through the warmth of sun and earlier soaking rain, To the garden like a magnet, I was slowly drawn, Then beside me on a fence post, where I glanced again, The presence of a blackbird start to dawn. Then as I dug the ground in the corner vegie patch The blackbird landed on the fresh turned earth, quite unafraid, Where the elusive cricket for the blackbird was no match, Then gobbled down the worms almost beneath the spade. As he quickly took all unearthed grubs and worms, He grew much bolder and more careless of my being, Then seduced me into accepting him on his terms, I realized a new picture of the blackbird I was seeing. The willingness of this foreign interloper and feral pest, To let me get so close, was quite flattering to the senses, As I gazed in admiration at his orange bill and jet black vest, I felt I must forgive him for his so many past offences. The garden path, so many times I’ve swept it clean, Then stood slowly back and admired a job well done, Then behind my back, the blackbird, in all intent unseen, Would scatter rotting twigs and leaves as though in fun. The steady warmth of sunlight and the rhythmic digging sound Soon lulled me into a pleasant unthinking doze, Then suddenly a brilliant song, from high above the ground, A symphonic blend of melody, that immediately I froze. The intoxicating tumble of song notes beyond compare, That to me was the very essence of the spring, But the tree-tops all were vacant, and I surprised could only stare, Listening raptured to a repertoire that a song bird alone could sing. Returning once again to the job that was there at hand, When the alarm call of a blackbird did I hear, And taking marked attention to the bird there on remand, I realized it was from this bird, that the notes came loud and clear. His bill was slightly open and the feathers on his throat Was pulsing and fluttering like a bird that’s in a trance, And amazing was the clarity of each individual note, It burst upon the eardrums with the penetration of a lance. I stopped and watched and listened, transfixed there on the spot, He was like a lyre-bird in his full comprehensive vocal flight, His voice box was full extended, like sails on racing yacht, As he went through his entire repertoire, from bass to vivid height. Our own native songbirds, like the magpie and the lark, Are also known for their mimicry of vocal sound, But my admiration for that blackbird has forever made it’s mark, I’m glad to say that from today, a new feathered friend I’ve found. Lindsay |
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| © Copyright 2010 Lindsay P Wilson - All Rights Reserved | |||
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nakdthoughts Member Laureate
since 2000-10-29
Posts 19200Between the Lines |
"The garden path, so many times I’ve swept it clean, Then stood slowly back and admired a job well done, Then behind my back, the blackbird, in all intent unseen, Would scatter rotting twigs and leaves as though in fun." The same happens here... but the songs in the early morning are so soothing to hear one can excuse the messes made (and the weeds they leave behind in the gardens)  M |
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easy1 Senior Member
since 2010-05-22
Posts 1209Southeastern USA |
Very well-told, imho. A two-thumbs up production !^^! Smart animals can and do get symbiotic with humans they perceive as non-malicious. Although, I have noticed blackbirds can be seen as omens sometimes, but lulz 'round here their appearance and sound-offs mean the Nile virus hasn't gotten too bad yet... Eastern N.A. Mockingbirds are the star singers here, with some very good competition, I might add. |
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LindsayP Member Elite
since 2007-07-28
Posts 3410Australia, Victoria |
Thanks Maureen and Easy for popping in with a kind response. There were no blackbirds when we first came here but know that all the trees and shrubs have matured we have blackbirds laid on. God bless. Lindsay |
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Marchmadness Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 9271So. El Monte, California |
Lovely write, Lindsay, I have bird feeders in my yard and I love to watch the birds. They are endlessly fascinating. Ida |
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2islander2 Member Ascendant
since 2008-03-12
Posts 6825by the sea |
dear Lindsay, your words are excellent and the complicity between you and the blackbird enlightning, all details are just and enjoyable...Thanks for the wonderful poem. regards yann |
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LindsayP Member Elite
since 2007-07-28
Posts 3410Australia, Victoria |
LITTLE JOE I’d like to tell you a story About a young lad I used to know, We weren’t to sure where he came from But he was known to us all as Little Joe. Most folks thought him an orphan And when he walked you could see he was lame, But the smile on his face was always in place And no one ever heard him complain. He was always so bright and so cheerful Even though in rags he was dressed, On the corner each day, he sold papers for pay And if unhappy you would never have guessed. Many a time ,a blind man have I seen As he rapped with his stick, perhaps afraid, When he came to the lights, Joe new his plight And was always first to come to his aid. Now there were many an elderly lady Burdened down with the parcels they’d bought, When to the corner they came, they’d call out his name For it was always Little Joe’s help that they sought. So it was nearly a daily occurrence As his papers he sold at his stand, In the wind & the rain without thought of gain He was always first to offer a hand. One day a young mother pushing a pram Passed Joe’s stand where a paper she bought, For safety sake she put on the pram’s brake Or that was the plan ,so she thought. But the pram rolled out into the street Into the path of the traffic rushing past, As the young baby dreamed, the poor mother screamed For a big Kenworth was coming so fast. But then in a flash Joe heaved the pram From the path of the truck with it’s load, As the truck’s siren blew, all the onlookers knew That for Little Joe, it was the end of the road. It was up on the hill that they laid him to rest In a coffin, in a white linen shroud, When the preacher man said,” may God rest the dead,” There was not a dry eye in the crowd. He’ll long be remembered, with his quick flashing smile For his popularity was never in doubt, For those people I know, who knew Little Joe For us all, a light has gone out. Lindsay |
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LindsayP Member Elite
since 2007-07-28
Posts 3410Australia, Victoria |
Dear Ida and Yann, thank you kind friends for your always appreciated kind comments on my poetry. May God bless you both. I've just submitted a poem in the wrong place, sorry about that. Lindsay |
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