'Stop Thief! You're that kid Prometheus with his Blackbird.'
Stop Thief! You're that kid with his Blackbird.'
Real and imagined guilt stalks me, outruns me, guns me down, a would be Prometheus chained to Mount Kazbek, his liver consumed by eagles.
Little maggots prey on my mind. Am I a plagiarist?
I wrote my simple little poem about a blackbird and afterwards, in an unasked for Christmas present book, read ‘The Blackbird of Glanmore’ by Blabbermouth Seamus Heaney. I’d never read him! I didn’t like his poems, his Irish accent and his gift of the gab. Prejudice, but perhaps his popularity and superiority was what I really disliked and me too thick to understand.
p.s. I have since read some of his poems and find them excellent.
Unearthing sins, stirring the leaves,
for I have loved another bird,
black as sequined night,
dancing in the dark.
I don't know who did the engraving of Prometheus. Click to enlarge.
Poor old Prometheus. He thought he did Right. He brought us Fire. But he's OK. On Mount Kazbek I saw his rusted chains.
A master called his three servants to him and gave them each a chicken. He told them to take the chicken and go some place where no one can see and kill it. So the three servants left to kill their chickens.
The next day the three servants returned to the master but one of the servants still had his live chicken. So the master said to him, "why didn't you do as I told you and kill your chicken?" And the servant answered," where ever I went the chicken was always looking."
So remember whatever you do or where ever you go the chicken is always unearthing sins.
"Dingo Dawg....... the farmer's chickens.... and his wife ! "