#blackbird-poetry

[lubileaf]

RAHHHHH HIII

I’m looking for some inspo soooo

what’s your favorite song??

im gonna write a poem based on what you say sooooo

have fun!!! 💛💛💛

ooh gosh I love these :D

Uhh I have so many favorites, but let's do I Feel Fanatastic by Riovaz

Have fun!!! 🧡🧡🧡

[thesorcererpoet]

Two coins bouncing down a hall,

caught in the eye of a blackbird,

desaturated, misshapen.

The bird tilts his head up,

staring at a wooden staff,

stretches his wings

and hops towards a doorway.

The blackbird takes flight

and I awaken

in a cold sweat.

[wordsandmorewords]

red-winged blackbird

red-winged blackbird those bands of bright scarlet flashing confidently in a matador's ring

red-winged blackbird with the other males you flock as if some great gang headed off to another world war

red-winged blackbird upon the bullrushes you hang a throat casting the spells of seething crickets

red-winged blackbird you are so much, and so much more black ink on a watercolor canvas, a flourishing wisp of smoke

[azukilynn]

no need

-

the church of long shadows

of trees upon trees

no need to fall to one's knees

here, no need

-

the muse is a crow

perched near me, in the pines

not a warning at all

but a blessing

all mine

-

no god but my own breath

as wide as the sky

my footfalls

my heartbeat

the light in my eyes

-

azuki lynn

[definegodliness]

Awaiting the melodies

The puffed up blackbird, Silent in a barren tree, Still muses, though as of yet Only In his sleep.

And in his brain, arranging Dreams, Some words already spring Sans music:

"Be praised! — elongated days…"

He jolts awake, Still silenced By the cold and dark of January, Yet by the dream, he finds he might Just prematurely wonder; Secretly, and with a smile On his beak:

"What notes will all too soon come to me?"

--- 14-1-2024, M.A. Tempels ©

[lifeinpoetry]

Linear Process

— Gwen Nell Westerman, from Follow the Blackbirds

[the-hearth-and-the-wild]

I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling Or just after.

Wallace Stevens, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” (excerpt)

[mydaroga]

Blackbird Singing: Poems and Lyrics, 1965–1999, Paul McCartney

This is literally the funniest thing he's ever done.

[mariemariemaria]

"The Blackbird of Belfast Lough" is a 9th century Irish poem written in the complex metre know as snám súad, literally ‘the swimming of the sages’, or ‘poetic floating’.

It has been translated into English many times, here by Seamus Heaney and Ciaran Carson. Which translation do you prefer?

[meaningfall]

Vision in Which the Final Blackbird Disappears by Phillip B. Williams in Poetry Magazine February 2016

[johnnyyumaisarebel]

now my love you stretched your day

in service to your multitudes

there is little you won't do

seeming nothing you can't do

to amplify your loved ones

or broken birds who come your way

what i must and need to say

as the stars take light from you

i revel in the certitude

each day our love expands anew

i celebrate your constance

another broken bird you've saved

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"I do not know which to prefer, / The beauty of inflections / Or the beauty of innuendoes..."

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

[thesorcererpoet]

Red point peeps

and rises; yellow.

A bird bright pin

spike. Cut the air

and call. Poking

at the wind.

Rattle off a laugh

and squeak. Code;

unbroken code.

Tap and rise in red:

m o d u l a t e

inflections encrypted call;

a whistle, a rise, a fall.

Speak, shout out!

No man can know

your native call.

A secret! Tell me

your secrets, bird!

You want to be heard.

Obtusely declining the metaphor

and hiding lyrics in plain sight.

[arwendeluhtiene]

'Int én bec/ ro.léic feit/ do rind guip/ glanbuidi/ fo.ceird faíd/ ós Loch Laíg/ lon do chraíb/ charnbuidi.' "The little bird / has whistled/ from point of beak/ bright yellow;/ throws out a cry/ over Loch Laoi,/ a blackbird from branch/ heaped with yellow (blossom)". Watercolour illustration of the titular blackbird of this 9th Century Medieval Old Irish poem (October 2022) 🍀🍃🐤✨ This watercolour appeared in my published article translating this Old Irish poem into Quenya in Estel 99 (Summer 2023 edition of the official magazine of the Spanish Tolkien Society).

✨ArtStation: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Nyk54N ✨Blogger: http://aeternalswirlingfight.blogspot.com/2023/10/quenya-translation-aiwe-int-en-bec.html

[azukilynn]

[manwalksintobar]

Trying not to fall // Bryce Milligan

    for Joy Harjo

    There is a woman with a saxophone     blowing the blues out of time     raising tones like thunderheads     and tones like lightning,     tones like the gray mist     rising on an Oklahoma river.

    There is a woman with a saxophone,     golden horn handed down     one prophet to another     one shaman to the next     beginning as a scrannel flute     golden reed from the Chattahoochee     drawn at dawn and cured inside     a medicine bundle somewhere     in America, somewhere     in time     flint carved its first song,     the song of awakening     after long sleep, after death.

    There is a woman with a saxophone     breathing in the same air     drawn through the sacred stem     when no white hand had laid claim     or shed blood anywhere     in America.     There is a woman with a saxophone,     woman of wind and water     blowing the blues out of time     woman with hair like the raven     that hangs in the sky calling the future     as he sees it, hair blue     blue as blackbird wings in sunshine     with eyes like black holes     in time, ends and beginnings     quick as grace notes.

    There is a woman with a saxophone     on the banks of the Muscogee     rising into the cloud of her music     rising like sacred smoke     rising like stomp dance bonfire flames     rising like warriors bound     for the long paths of the milky way.     There is a woman with a saxophone     trying     not to fall.