Blackbirds: A Poem

All your birdseed is going to the blackbirds, he said,
They’re birds too, I replied.

The crowd of grackles
perched upon the wrought iron
weaved and hopped.

Fluffing up their feathers,
like black balloons,
until they deflate with
a metallic screech.

Their stony yellow eyes,
unblinking,
watch for traffic
or passersby,
skittish,
they fly as anything draws near.

Can’t he see the glimmer of day
upon their feathered frames?
It shines blue and green,
a metallic sheen,
it glows with life and peacock teal,
Or are they only blackbirds still?

All my birdseed is going to the blackbirds.
And the blue blackbirds.
And the green blackbirds.
And all the colors that blackbirds can be, with them I share my seeds.
And their cries, their screeching cries,
are like the songs of gemstones to my ears.

Thanks for stopping by, feel free to let me know what you think of this one.  I’d love to hear from you!

Robert JV Christensen

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2 thoughts on “Blackbirds: A Poem

  1. Someone told me on a poem once not to use “ing.” I pass it along for you to consider also. The person was a poet and a librarian, we’ll read and versed.

    For example you say weaves and hooped and then your next stanza says fluffing. She would have said fluffed.

    I like the poem. Not that it matters really? Such is poetry? I don’t know. 🙂

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    • Thanks for the insight. I was looking over the poem in light of your comment and I noticed that since I don’t say “They were” before I say “fluffing up their feathers” I didn’t actually put it specifically in past tense context.

      That’s why it switches from past tense into present tense between the second and third stanzas. I think I still like it this way though. I mean, after all, there are sentence fragments sticking out all over the place like a bird’s nest of bad grammar. As you say, such is poetry.

      Like

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