Started on 25 Aug 201318 poems
The magpie she knows many things,
I don't speak her secret tongue.
If I give her treasure, coins &
Squadrons of cackling jackdaws
pepper fraught valley skies
while avoiding marauding
Level with me,
His tree top
Mirrors my perch.
a grey-silk morning,
from the water
i like to dress for an imaginary girl
(we will meet each other soon) by putting on
a silk tie with
To a sudden
Instead of bothering much about anything,
I just watched the grumpy chaffinches -
The collar dove is a shrunken vulture.
Winter neuralgia hooks his hunched neck
on the skeleton
The male Satin Bowerbird is an artist.
All the rest went chasing bugs and worms -
while his DNA
Crows bore holes
Into the snow
With their beaks
And their blackness.
Garrulous choughs gather in the valley
As dawn etches rose and violet gullies
There’s too much noise
For Darwinian comfort:
As the robins bring grubs
To the bushes beneath
She sits in a spindly lane-side tree,
Plump and delightfully pompous,
The Thames flows towards its highest tide, gently
Lapping over its banks from Hammersmith to
These birds choose to live in rarefied air,
Where all around them mountain peaks
Hate to brag won't be doing it here
Just listing the birds I daily see.
Only to find out whether
Won’t someone tell them its 4am?
I’m woken again by the sound of them.
They perch on the wall
The molten rooster mooches in the burning dust,
testing grassless earth for temperature