Photo credited to: Magnus Hellström.

We blow rictus words
Forth, dear Night-Mother,
Pluming, brushing, still

Filling mouthlings all,
The uncanny worm;
Plunges, head-first, whole.

Sinking little feet,
The bracken stings us,
Anchors us, lucky

Save plunging, outward,
Out there, outside, into
Sky-fold, cloudless pit.

We caw, we cry, we
Lament loamy grounds
We helpless tumble.

We are not nimble,
We are brave, we are
Catching, like our claws

We catch the worm on
Sunny days, under
Rain, or peaches cloud.

Little leaves of gold 
Craven umbrellas,
Tumble, they tumble

They save us, above
They wait, nacreous.
We huddle, brothers.

Our feathers are warm,
Our feathers are warm!
We are mud, gold, ash

And opal. Always,
Rounded and wholesome,
Just like our Mother.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

6 thoughts on “Bird

  1. Hi Eve. This is a lovely poem, the words directly from the mouths of little birds… I love the ‘opal’, also ‘we are not nimble, we are brave’. I can almost hear the high pitches voices saying their simple thinkings…. Jane

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s