I wrote this poem back in April 1984. My third year of college. On one of my walks with my mentor, Robert. Suddenly, out of the blue, a blackbird landed by our feet. Walking. Talking. Wobbling to and fro. Side to side. Then backwards. Drawing our attention. Like if we were his best friends. Cute as could be. We stopped. But the bird’s low and slow clucking kept talking. Telling us something. Wobbling down the block. Stopping for a minute. Then wobbling more. That’s when we noticed he had something in his beak. What could it be? Looking closer, we saw he held a moth. His treasure. I guess he wanted to tell us all about it. Or maybe. Just maybe. He was trying to tell me I was on the right path. Which some black birds do. Telling me to trust my journey.
Playful Bird
A blackbird lands near my feet
Wobbling, as if to play with me
Mr. Blackbird, I say,
As he holds a moth in its beak,
Please snatch it away,
And play with me…
Original text ©2024 by Karen Lynn-Chlup. All rights reserved. Image by
Leave a Reply