Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

Currawong ramble.

Currawong ramble.

Scowls and scrapes up the trees
Looks in the window, and sees me there
As though to say: “when I were a lad in
A lamp-lit street, I had your man disease”

Now the Currawong has flown apart
From the coup, the tart of a mother
Had left all his blood beak brothers
Had straddled twigs, to depart

Toward the rushing scrub ground
And an inverted heaven, heart
Beating earth, a shackled wing
Of everything that flight wouldn’t bring

When you deprive earth, of a chance
To sing, and let it flap with one singular thing:
“Let me bring, let me bring” all that rings
In the ears of those that chance ,

At all the love,
All the loam,
All the dust,
All the rust,
All the rain
All the sweet
Loam, loam, loam
Oh how I love that word,
It tells of all the songs unheard
If I could scrape talons through time
Over and over again,
To there I would fly, fall, keep
One eye on you –
Caaaaawww like an old and happy
And sleep.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
The Currawong is a native bird down here. I liken it with the crow in it's intense intelligent gaze. I just saw one, hence thought I would submit this.
Editing stage: 
(c) No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.