Little blackbird little blackbird
You sit there so lonely
Your friends along the line
Not away, not too far.
I see you agitated
Worried and lonesome
Watching them get along
Where you sit, from afar.
Why don’t you start singing
To the day through the air,
To the sunshine that hits you,
To Spring coming in the air,
Your singing so beautiful
Would attract every ear
From Pictou to River John
From afar to right here.
Tag: lonesome
Golden Moonlight (day 2953)
In the moonlight
That claims us all the same
I want to touch you
So tender
Lonesome
I am a spoken dove
Two wings to fly so high
Golden wishes
Expired beside my written name
I Want to Feel You (day 2952)
I want to feel you
Until the lonesome bubbles
Fade away from my open eyes,
Huddled in the darkness;
Wooden chair holding
My scissors and notebook.
I want to feel you
So the open pages
I haven’t found to mark
Stay to the light
Forever low
Outside your door;
Knocking my heart
Ceases, overwhelmed by thunder.
Wildflowers (day 2614)
I broke into a heart today
That screamed a coyote song
An echo to my own demand
A lonesome trail seemed forever run
There was no point I could reach out
For inside this cavernous land
Ten thousand Oak stood tall and proud
Which no touch could penetrate
But she, alone, took me at last
Like wind takes up a sail
Spring at last in to this land
Where wild flowers planted in pasture.
Resting Spot Tonight (day 2319)
I am not to be taken down
Little lonesome memory
Falling everywhere in here
Take a figure dressed in black
My resting spot tonight.
Undulating aftershocks
My corpse a dangerous tune
Play me just such lovely song
With broken strings again
Take me to my hallow cave
My resting spot tonight.
Weathervane spinning restlessly
Copper at the top
Holy ghosts and untrapped souls
Ten spoons for a bed
Take my cover into eve’
My resting spot tonight.
Rolled On (day 1303)
I screamed from head to feet
With dragging dreams
Slipping down the lonesome path
Of all I’ve ever wanted.
And from here a whisper started,
Like a row of columns
Three hundred feet tall;
Built by the hands of iron giants
Who spoke only in grunts.
My itchy trigger finger
Gargled a strong glass of salt water,
And spit truth onto dry solid ground
That crackled underneath the weight of my
Soft leather soles, wrapping their
Loose ends half way up my calf.
Thankfully I knew how to walk,
I knew that all good things
Come at the end of the row,
So I buttoned up my callused shell
And I rolled on.
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Her Hands (day 835)
Her hands will die
Maker’s shoulder
Sifting clean sheets
Un-kept wicker
Lie not to her
Monotonous
Cold cold flower
Hold not wishes
Wind blows strong here
Lives hold on with
Tall tall top hats
Blurry shading
All I’ve covered
Dying grasses
Loudly told me
Surrender youth
Make me love her
Dying oak tree
Make me cry here
Falling dead leaves
Take me home my
Lonesome lover
Take me past all
Reverie then
And if this aye
Shall swerve this goat
To set me free
Shall make an end
Then ere warned
Five thousand shorn
A gooses neck
Death brings this end