Friday 30 November 2012

The true names of sparrows

Bold Investigator turns up first,
When we garden or put out washing,
Watching us just out of reach,
Wary, yes, but not afeared.

Seed-queen's next, the coast is clear,
She's perched close by, the bold one's mate,
Well rounded, sleek of feather,
Precious eggs to make and young to raise.

Meanwhile, Garden Scout's away,
Checking out new places, eyes darting,
For new-found food to tell,
Avoiding cat below and hawk above.

Wily old Four-winters sees,
As many times before,
Where danger lurks in bush and shrub,
Approaches slowly, grey of wing.

Swift young Crumb-prince dashes by,
Unheedful of the feline foe,
But today it's curled asleep indoors,
Morsels safely taken in the beak.

Others follow, a village-flock arrives,
In hopping waves from fence to post and tree -
Peck-your-head who fights and bickers,
Dust-keen bathes and flutters in the dry,
Twig-maiden seeks a nest to fill,
One-foot and half-tail, still alive,
At last the fledglings, as yet un-named,
Taught how to bathe and where to feed.


Thursday 29 November 2012

On Slapton Ley

Long shingle strand, wave-washed bar,
Holds the line and rippled bird-lagoon,
Swans galleon, billowing and blowzy,
Strutting feathered water-knights,
Coots follow, smaller sails black against white,
While close to shore,
A fishing boat arcs past, gull-shrouded,
Nets hauled by men in yellow,
We sit and sift gems polished by the tide.


Monday 26 November 2012

The beach-cairn

Beach stones glisten,
Small sea-smoothed quartz and sandstone,
Gravel tide-wet, sunlit,
Some larger, flat and packed in shingle,
Fit one atop the other,
A stepped mastaba,
Braching turrets placed by a steady hand,
Though the smallest slip and fall,
Repeatedly,
Until balance is achived.
The tide returns.


Tuesday 20 November 2012

Ode to a water rail

Splay-footed, struts near-silent,
Leaving reeds untroubled,
Elusive but for its piglet squeal,
Broadcast through the evening marsh,
Over coot and goose
And squabbling gulls,
The dabchick ducking, diving,
The moorhen picking, darting,
As starlings chatter into roosts,
But the rail-cry cuts across them all.


Tuesday 6 November 2012

The Joy of Broken Clocks

Battered wooden cases,
Faces scratched and chipped,
Hands bent, or sometimes amputated,
Prone, awaiting operation,
By tools that probe within.

Opening the back to peer inside,
Brass and steel packed tight,
Organs of chronology,
Screw-heads peeking out,
Waiting for release.

First one, then more,
Often stuck and so the driver slips,
Knuckles scrape on metal fittings,
Off comes a backplate,
Mainspring housing freed,
Tempered band spills out like entrails,
Oiled and glistening,
Cogs and spindles tumble, roll and spin.

Armatures hang loose
On disconnected pivots,
Ball-peen tapping pops
Shafts from fine-toothed wheels,

Each item stored
With others of its kind,
Until each time-piece is dissected,
Catalogued and warehoused,
Components sitting dormant 'til re-use
In new creations, decorations,
Bejewelled pendants or contraptions,
Though dismantling is a therapy in itself.

Peanut Pirate

Mischievous jackdaw,
Black claws grip tight,
Pecks at peanuts,
But wants them all,
Tugging at the feeder,
Winter-hungry,
Beak pulls on wire mesh,
Fragments fall.