Behold the dark bird,
new as a fresh injury
old as antiquity
spreading its wings
bespangled with collected eyes.
Millions cheer the dark bird.
empty sockets over their grins
like twin red suns
over a planted scythe.
Behold the dark bird
in all its majesty and power,
its feathers tipped with blades
and blades are most of what it is,
wounding all, even itself.
All hail the dark bird
whose spread tail obscures
the east, its head devouring the rest.
Kneel to the dark bird
and behold in its bones
your own grave.
_______________
Music: Cream Deserted Cities of the Heart by Jack Bruce and poet Peter Brown
I love those opening lines. All hail the dark bird, indeed, double (triple?) meaning methinks. Nice one!
ReplyDeleteThat dark bird with blade-tipped feathers is spot-on.
ReplyDeleteBirds are not always about trilling song and soaring, majestic flight--sometimes they come to feed on the corpse, or even make one, showing us their ancient dinosaur rapacity. So it is here, stark and shrieking and straight into the eyeball. Too many gems to quote, but I especially admire how you have set out the bird's components, "..spreading its wings/bespangled with collected eyes.." the fearful blades, and the final vision it gives ".. behold in its bones/your own grave." I am in awe of anyone who can write this week, but to write this well is something given to very few of us.
ReplyDeleteThat's uh, dark! OK, justified. It's a dark thing stalking us, blades for wings.
ReplyDeleteThis is so sharp and dark, especially that ending. I find myself wanting to reach a hand out/down to pull the hopeless one(s) out of the abyss, if I could.
ReplyDelete