Monday, February 24, 2014

A thousand birds

A thousand birds declaiming
in shivered, rippled voice,
the joy of life sustaining;
as heavens do rejoice.

A thousand birds in swooping,
in feathered, perfect time,
that endless, ageless looping;
the flock does move sublime.

A thousand birds in settling,
on twig and branch and leaf,
arrayed in rustled rattlings;
pure decoration brief.

A thousand birds in rising,
a soaring through the skies,
such masterful surprisings;
here, then gone, they fly.


  1. Your poem conveys the sheer mass and majesty of such a thing...a thousand winged souls merging and converging as individuals in unison. It is a magical thing to watch a flock of *anything* move so seamlessly.


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