Starling symphonies perform the sky,
Effervescent from ferment trees,
Woke to Mobius heaven an acrobatic joy,
Rejoiced in clamour, dip and swirl,
High to chattered tumbling of air,
Off over tree tops, helical, adoring,
The heart to follow, soaring.
In this heart scarved,
I cut my dovetail love,
Watch wind, its brushed calligraphy,
Tossed, turned to blow,
Now distant twists in the danced eye,
Pasodoble freckles in assembly,
Raucous cacophonies of murmuration,
Dust in distillate song,
Wild branded to Nirvana,
On a tangoed sky.
Ranked shoals that fly,
Birded in air, to take their medium,
Fated as Isadora’s twisted silks,
Dip, wheel, fall,
Till prone sigh waves,
And sleep in lees of trees.
Leaving to feel,
That suddenness of being alone,
Unseen twitter of the tenement,
Bursts the bubble of such ecstasy,
Clouds bereave in mourning day,
As words remembered in the mind,
No lips can say.
I am a writer living in Yorkshire, England, recently retired from the teaching profession. I have always written and love poetry and have a large backlog of work. I have, through my own neglect had little published. I had four poems in a recent anthology: "Viral Verses," put together to raise funds for the NHS and am currently working with a sculptor writing poems to complement his work. I have a few collections on the go: "Norse Gods," "Box of Ochre," "Water Dancing with the Moon."