Writing about Bluebirds Singing

Writing about a Bluebird song
Writing about a Bluebird song

I will not crib about writing this one like I have been cribbing about writing the other poems inspired by Rick’s prompts. That is because I have been getting some fiction writing done. Not the best fiction, but then, I am a rank beginner, so what can I expect?

Anyway, without further ado, here is the poem. I call it: Bluebirds are meant to sing.

Bluebirds are meant to sing

Bluebirds are meant to sing.

Leave the flying,
fighting, dying
to those
who know better
the Bluebeards
who bring meaning
to short, big words
like war, valor, glory,
vainglory perhaps.

You are a bluebird,
it is your place to sing
to bring in the spring
to bring up your brood
to whistle and sing,
to not be understood.

Your song does not
now concern
those who know better,
little bluebird,
for what use is a song
when a long war is on
there are people to kill
and battles to be won?

But sing, little bluebird, sing,
sing of the skies, of the distant
seas sing, cry out your heart
in joy, in pain, sing of anguish
in love, of soft blue rain sing.

Sing of men in throes of lust
sing of empires turned to dust
sing your soft blue song,
sing, little bluebird, sing.

When the war is ended
and all the battles are won
the job of those
who know better
would be done
but your work, little bluebird,
would have just begun.

So sing your blue song
little bluebird,
bluebirds are
meant for singing,
leave the flying, the fighting,
the dying to
the Bluebeards
who know better
and be a little bluebird,
and like a little bluebird, sing.


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