Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 16,000 daily subscribers. Over 7,000 archived posts.
Barbara E. Young: Blues for the Fisherman
Since the blues ought to be tall birds
wading and wailing
when the sun dies—
let the blues fill its lungs now:
the hard-working sun dips
and folds into the hills and rocks,
and the stars begin to show up
one one.
As the sun dies, love it with the blues.
When a man dies
hurt ought to be a monsoon
moaning denial. When a man dies—
do despise that peacock sunset,
despise the ping ping emergence of stars,
drown their fluty condolence, damp their trills.
When a man dies
let grief swallow the light
and the heron in twilight.
Copyright Barbara E. Young. From Heirloom Language by Barbara E. Young (Madville, 2021)
Barbara E. Young, her husband Jim and their two cats live in White Bluff, Tennessee, near Nashville.
Great Blue Heron (source: ebird)
Vox Populi 
Beautiful 💔
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow! I have lived my version of those blues for 11 years. Thank you for giving voice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely!
LikeLike