In the rubble of a bombsite cries a man who is afraid;
his young wife and child went missing when the bird fell from the sky;
and his neighbours come a-running from the homes that can’t be saved.

This man is digging with his fingers for the little girl he made,
desperation in his shouting that the bird took her away.
In the rubble of a bombsite cries a man who is afraid.

There are tears across his country, but the grit is in his eye.
He is calling for his baby, but his throat is raw and dry;
and his neighbours come a-running from the lives that can’t be saved.

So many lonely people left by loved ones swept away,
by the restless wings of predators who fall upon their prey.
In the rubble of a bombsite cries a man who is afraid,

but who falls upon the ground to dig his future from its grave;
and a miracle is lifted and is held up to the sky,
and his neighbours come a-running to a life that can be saved.

And a cursing and a wailing fill the hole that has been made
by intangible corruption in the shape of many graves.
In the rubble of a bombsite cries a man who is afraid;
and his neighbours wipe the rubble from the tiny life they saved.


Published by

Julia Dean-Richards

Julia is a writer and performer living in the Shropshire hills. Her writing is a product and expression of the love she has found whilst journeying through the most difficult times of her life.

7 thoughts on “Bird”

  1. Very touching and heartfelt poem. It is truly tragic we as humanity still create such misery and still a glimmer of hope as we come together and try to save what we can from the rubble. Beautiful poem… I am going to share it I hope you don’t mind. 🙂

    1. Thank you, Joe. When I was at school, we used to be told we had to ‘try harder’. Poetry can sometimes dig deeper and is one of the ways I can try harder – yes, so, so tragic, and such important fellowship and hope.

  2. The worlds is telling me that it’s time I wrote a villanelle. They seem to be all about me.
    This one is excellent. Powerful conveyance of a raw, deep and heartfelt subject. The image of the bombs, the birds falling from the sky, has become iconic in our culture, our subconscious. It is one that haunts me too, and there is an echo here of a piece that I am working on. Perhaps it will find its life in a villanelle….
    Thank you for this.

    1. Thank you, Johnny. There is something right about a villanelle – it lends itself to a story. The rhymes are there, but they don’t jump in front of the content. Looking forward to reading yours…

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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