poetry and prose
A Bird on a Limb in Hunters in the Snow
A bird, the colour of old paint,
sings a rusty-hinge tune.
Skips a note.
Its song has a sticky piano key.
The air waits.
No reply. No chorus. No riff.
There’s a sniff of change in the air.
Or is it the bird’s ab lib…
A bird, the colour of old paint ,
repeats its song again.
for dVerse Open Pub Night and shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter © Misky 2021
Huge implications here!
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Truly, it was just a wagtail in the laurel bush. 😀
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Love, love, love it! So much musicality here, very much focuses on the sounds and vocals of the bird. I adore the imagery, it’s swirling and fantastic. ❤ ❤
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That’s a fine first line – I’m intrigued – is this a real bird or a bird in a painting? Is this the real world or is the painting the real world, and we are…? Spare, leaving all that space for our imagination. Terrific.
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This is incredibly deep and philosophical! 💝 So much to love here from the image of “Its song has a sticky piano key,” to “There’s a sniff of change in the air.” Perhaps, an omen is about to be realized 🙂
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I love the fullness of this, expressed so sparsely. Awesome work.
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i love it when paintings inspire me. great first line
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You’ve described the bird’s song so well here with “Its song has a sticky piano key.” I like how you cut it out of the painting you shared earlier this week (I think it’s from there) which gives it more impact as it is still a solitary bird even amongst the assembled group with:
“The air waits.
No reply. No chorus. No riff.”
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I would like to say what Ron said. Sparse, spare, full, rich.
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Without the image, the opening line is mysterious ‘A Bird on a Limb in Hunters in the Snow’ – what does this mean? It certainly draws the reader in, searching for an explanation. I love the stark contrast of black and white here ‘the colour of old paint’ and the ‘sticky piano key.’
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Maybe I need to read more carefully! Your opening line is also very enticing, I love the ‘rusty-hinge tune’
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I love Bruegel’s work, Hunters in the Snow in particular, and I love the way you zoomed into the bird ‘the colour of old paint’ and brought it to life through its ’rusty-hinge tune’, Marilyn. And I agree with Ron, about the fullness expressed so sparsely.
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I love your opening–the color of old paint, and the poem itself is like a snapshot. It’s so sparse, but I can imagine being there, seeing/hearing the bird–and what comes next? I love the Bruegel painting.
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Thanks, b. Endless possibilities.
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This was lovely Myski, very enjoyable to read, well written!
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It's Still Life 
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