Blackbirds in Winter


The blackbirds drop from the cold air like windblown leaves

Appearing from every angle, as if conjured

They scabber on the asphalt pavement, looking for grips against the gale

Where is the food, the mangled carcass, the road-kill?

Bent against the storm, they still strut as they pace

Heads cocked and bobbing with each step

And then, bursting back aloft in spite of the oncoming force

Without so much as a ruffled feather


While still low they sway sidewise with the invisible current

Drifting to the west, then rising

Riding, laughing, like evil spirits



Copyright 2016

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2 Responses to Blackbirds in Winter

  1. Pingback: Words for a winter’s evening. – Joseph E Bird

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