blackbird – From Bath to Cork with baby Grace

January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968

I wish that I could sing
a song so strong
your dream would seem GcPwvo98NRgoMKk1ndyLpeyJ

to have returned to life
on streets
where blackbirds thrill
and arms are bent
against the ring of a call to prayer.

You sit on the right side of an angel’s wing

You rise with horned larks
across farmlands, prairies, deserts, and golf courses.

I have a song
that waits to be sung
the day a choir is born
surrounded by mixed fruits,
blackcurrants, redberries, dark chocolates, and meringues.

Martin Luther King
you’ve never slept,
always an eye forever,
a tooth ready for the call,
ready for the Promised Land.

In defence of unhappiness

“Happiness is a warm gun” – John Lennon

As the cuckoo grabbed a nest
and crushed eggs to death
blackbirds sang

As hurricane winds blasted
and tree trunks fell
wood beetles sang

As mayflies starved and died
exhausted swarms collapsed
hover of trout smiled

As meteor crashed to Earth
the sun went black
jellyfish smiled

As serfs and slaves revolted
blue blood was spilt
beheaders sang

As Job tasted pestilence
a hunger reigned
Almighty sang

As foetus died stillborn death
a mother wept
a hope was born.

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