February 12, 2009

What I'm Putting Out - Poem: Migration

The following is a poem I've been fine-tuning recently. It's from a series of related poems I've been (slowly) working on that deal with hope and despair. Any comment or well-intentioned criticism is welcome.


The birds rose up,
that whole frightened flock
lifting as one cloud,
black against the field’s brown.

It is not strange to see
such throngs gathered nervously
everywhere now.
It is the season.

Fleeing the dark, the dead
of winter, a hundred together
wheel southward,
sliding into the weak sun.

Would you flee with them
when all that is in you lies
hard and cold as these dead fields?
Still the winter would remain.

Beat instead your heavy limbs
toward heaven, up but not away,
one small pair of wings
black against the sky’s gray.


  1. What a wonderful poem that pulls my mind's eye directly to the sensation of a winter day. Beautiful!

  2. Very nice imagery.