Separated by glass,my friend waits patiently.A well stocked cupboardhas forged our bond.I fear each day I may lose him.I leave the comfort of my chair,place meaty morsels on the lawn.My friend cannot close his gape.Rummaging my offerings he scoops,swallows what he can.Media churn out news ofa viral world. I am not an islandbut for now, in body, I must be.The phone scoops and swallows my conversations.My blackbird is absent today.House clean,garden in shape.A bird forages in a newly hoed border.I am halfway out of my chair but….no… it’s the robin.New novel, not engaging,concentration flies away.Eyes stray to the window,searching… garden seat, bird bath.No blackbird.Sipping after dinner coffeeby that lonely window,the garden is deserted.Eyelids, heavy… with…disappointment… close.Cold coffee when I wake.A rock settles heavy inside.Drowsy mind exploresfor its meaning…A blackbird sized hole.Lingering, watching fire in the sunset,and shadows deepen.A dark shape lands on the birdbath.My spirits lift me from my chair.I put out meaty morsels.
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Being a blackbird fan myself, I have experienced similar feelings watching the birds or noticing that a regular is missing - at least for a time. But this poem locates the observation in this particular time and catches a mood/feeling with great accuracy. Thanks for sharing your poem, Jacky.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Andrew. The sparrows are catching on fast. They wait till 'Beaky' is fed and come to share!
Delete'Blackbird singing in the dead of night...'
ReplyDeleteA lovely poem about the nervous check-ins we're all engaged in these days. Also a twitcher's delight! Thank you for sharing, Jacky.
Thank you, Owen.
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