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(Blackbird)
Perched on a maple twig, still, in the indistinguishability of the garden back, dun merging with black, sun-deepened shade, but for the give-away of one bill bob, I would have become convinced my mind outlined a shadow;
but as I pen these words, emergence: his quick and easy leaps that, float a pact with gravity -
distinct his black sheen (bathed only yesterday), foraging in emerald grass for seed fallen from feeder,
until he takes offense, sees it in my eye been spying (and at the cheek of fluffed out sparrow thinks to tag along, sidekick).
This time, when he vanishes, it's done to perfection.
..........................
This is a poem in 'free verse' - having no single or consistent organizing form or scheme -what Robert Frost likened to 'playing tennis without a net' or, more appropriately for English weather, sheltering under the kind umbrella of Samuel Taylor Coleridge who characterized all decent poetry as 'the best words in the best order' (as opposed to good prose which was just 'words... in their best order'). Mind you, there are so many quotes on what poetry is without defining its form - I rather like Dr. William Carlos Williams' 'poetry is a dance over the body of our condition'.
The pic is of Incredaboy, would-be sidekick of Mr Incredible. Hope the sparrow develops no Syndrome. ;)
Here is the song of the Common or Eurasian Blackbird, for readers in the New World, and for other areas this bird is not known:
