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Birds and poetry

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Old Friday 23rd January 2015, 18:09   #2876
Tanny
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Peter Walton.
The Light at Inner Marsh. (RSPB, Burton wetlands)
The bird we went for never did appear
Across the fresh lagoons and muddy shore
That opened out below us as we strolled
Down the broad path towards the crowded hide.
Everything seen was commonplace: the tribes
Of gulls; tall waders summer-tinged; sleek grebes.
Yet they were jewels in the tide of light
Which over-the-shoulder flooded in-so bright
It peeled awaythe dullness from each bird
Till all were miracled, past any word.
A ducks black head, when stroked by wind and sun,
Shimmering dark green as it had done.


M.Corfe.
Thank you Mr Stapleton. (Stapleton wood)
Thank you Mr Stapledon for walks I've so enjoyed
The broken tracks of silverbirch await from city noise
The woodland beauty holding one entrance within its hand
The Squirrels, rabbits, moles and voles in magic Olaf's land.
My home sits humbly by your woods, my window's blessed with views
My life affected by your gift, my soul in debt to you.
Your name is now forever blessed in many Wirral hearts
Such gift, such magnaminity, your woods set you apart.

Inner Marsh Farm, now called the RSPB Burton mere wetlands and the Stapleton woods are two of my birding sites. These poems were in my collection taken from the magazine, Peoples friend, about 2005.
I have many more poems from this magazine, all with a mention of birds in them.
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Old Monday 26th January 2015, 18:38   #2877
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This is one of the thousands of poems from Francis Duggan

regards

Merlin


A Beautiful Day in Winter

A beautiful day in Winter with warmth in the sunlight
And the clouds in the blue sky so woolly like and white
And the white backed magpie piping on high branch of tall pine tree
A great day for to be alive and life's okay with me.

Some birds already nesting it is that time of year
Their babes will be fully fledged before blossoms will appear
Upon the leafless fruit trees in their blooms of pink to gray
And Spring though seven weeks off draws nearer by the day.

A pleasant day in July without a trace of cold
And dandelions on the Nature strip bloom the colour of gold
And the pink flowers on the camellia tree so lovely to behold
They bloom in the depths of Winter by Spring they will be old.

A beautiful day in Winter without a chill in the breeze
And the house sparrows are chirping on the sunlit garden trees
It would take a grumpy person with this weather to complain
Though by the weather forecast tomorrow will bring rain.

Francis Duggan
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Old Tuesday 27th January 2015, 15:59   #2878
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Hiya mate, thanks for being with me again, we will keep this thread going till our end.
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Old Wednesday 28th January 2015, 11:27   #2879
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Thank you Tanny for finding this thread. I can't remember if I ever posted poems on it, but I'll have fun reading the poems & looking to see if I did.
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Old Wednesday 28th January 2015, 19:35   #2880
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Here is a poem from the 'great' Edward Thomas who died in the First World War.

regards

Merlin



Edward Thomas

Birds' Nests
The summer nests uncovered by autumn wind,
Some torn, others dislodged, all dark,
Everyone sees them: low or high in tree,
Or hedge, or single bush, they hang like a mark.

Since there's no need of eyes to see them with
I cannot help a little shame
That I missed most, even at eye's level, till
The leaves blew off and made the seeing no game.

'Tis a light pang. I like to see the nests
Still in their places, now first known,
At home and by far roads. Boys knew them not,
Whatever jays and squirrels may have done.

And most I like the winter nests deep-hid
That leaves and berries fell into:
Once a dormouse dined there on hazel-nuts,
And grass and goose-grass seeds found soil and grew
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Old Thursday 29th January 2015, 20:38   #2881
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The Hungry Robin
Maryann Foster
A ROBIN likes a busy spade --
To perch and swoop, to beak his fill with worms and flies where weeds are laid,
Of such stuff his dreams are made, so do not let this Redbreast fade in winter's world of chill.
His food is buried underground he cannot dig a hole,
Frosty fingers spread around, snow lies thick in drift and mound,
And none can hear his muffled sound as he bares his starving soul.

Supply him with a source of scraps, a crust of bread a bit of seed,
Water from the garden taps, a cosy place for cold night naps.
Keep him safe from life's mishaps, this special friend in need.
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Old Friday 30th January 2015, 07:44   #2882
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That's a great poem Tanny.

best regards

Merlin
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Old Friday 30th January 2015, 14:38   #2883
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Indeed it is. Very nice.
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Old Friday 30th January 2015, 19:09   #2884
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It's good to hear from you Fugl.

best regards

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Old Tuesday 3rd February 2015, 20:27   #2885
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Tanny,you are a star.Thankyou.Cannot belie ve that members are still posting to this thread,thankyou everyone .Take care ,Tanny ,will be thinking of you.I guess I will have to hunt around for a poem or two .
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Old Tuesday 3rd February 2015, 20:28   #2886
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Merlin and Tanny,2 lovely poems.Thankyou.
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Old Wednesday 4th February 2015, 20:00   #2887
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Curlew
Brenda G Macrow
I hear you still, a disembodied voice
raised in a rippling song of ecstasy,
Bidding my heart rejoice.
Spirit of purple moor,
Of lonely glen and ocean-fretted shore,
You haunt me in the sunlight and the rain.
Unseen and free,
Yet lingering ever in my memory
You call to me again,
Sweet music of the Highlands to my ears,
Giving me back lost years.

The Call of the Curlew
Maggie Smith
Green waves break, Flecked by grey, Chill winds are raging,
Stinging sand blows ashore, Swept by the sea;

Seaweed comes racing in, Brake waters lashing; Long gone,
The summer friends, Tanned and carefree.

The wet beach Curves out of sight, Bleak rain fast falling;
Far over the salt marsh Now screened mistily

A cry comes Through wind-bent reed; Curlews are calling-
The memorable sound of The haunting "Curlwee ".
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Old Wednesday 4th February 2015, 21:12   #2888
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A couple of mine from a while ago...

The Gathering

At a distance black snowflakes swirling in the air
Then closer still changing like smoke clouds
Thousands of starlings wheeling everywhere
Gathering together to roost in their crowds
Then down they go in a waterfall
Cascading into the reeds
All answering the call
Like a broken string of beads

Val.

Robin Song

A nightingale sang in Berkley Square?
That can't be true, it never lived there,
But a Robin singing in darkness chill
Of night before light, he will!

The time, five fortyfive, this early morn
When I heard that song, long before dawn.
His Winter melody rang sweet and clear
I knew that he was perching near.

By our porch window, in the tree
He sang his heart out there for free
T'was as if his song was just for me.

Val
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Old Friday 6th February 2015, 14:21   #2889
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Two good poems Tanny and from you as well Val.

I know that I have posted this before but given the 100 years anniversary of its extinction was September 1914
I think this poem about the Passenger Pigeon is especially poignant?

regards
Merlin

Passenger Pigeon

One and then another
and then another just the same
Then dark and living clouds descend
with the thunder of a billion wings
A mighty mass of movement
The thick and musty stench
The unheard of sound surrounding
the breaking of the branch
"Here they come!"; the cry is heard
Then movement on the ground
A deadly storm is coming quick
with greed and violent sounds
With pole or net or gun
the targets are the same
Though a million are left for dead
the loss is seen as gain
Then away the clouds arise
A billion to their fate
Dashed to the ground from different skies
to pillow, plate, or crate
The living clouds descend
Each one marked with a numbered wing
Billions are millions are thousands
and then; one is left to sing

by David Staley
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Old Friday 6th February 2015, 20:54   #2890
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I remember that Passenger Pigeon poem, what a tragedy was that loss to a country.
Very well done Val, I like those two.

My first poem posted this time doesn't mention a bird but I felt a mood that I liked in it.
All Natures Colours
Stephen Albrow.

How I hated rainy weather, till, one stormy autumn day,
While strolling through the heather, all natures colours came my way.
Through the clouds the sun came creeping, golden rays flashed all around,
Then a rainbow started leaping to the heavens from the ground.

I saw red and blue and yellow; I saw indigo and green.
All natures coloures shouted, "Hellow", All determined to be seen.
As I stood there fondly gazing, raindrops falling on my face,
What I saw was so amazing, it assured me of natures grace.

In the past I'd fled from thunder, hid inside when storm-clouds brewed,
But the rainbow I stood under made me change my attitude,
Now I don't fear rainy weather, it's part of natures design,
Joining sun and rain together, she makes all her colour's shine.


Daily Bread
Kathleen Gillum
I strolled across the village green one morning during May
The sun streamed down its golden beams upon the waiting day.
Breadcrumbs scattered for the birds Lie by a wooden seat,
And an old lady steals away as if on slippered feet.

Then fluted notes from tiny throats surround me everywhere,
As feathered wings, all fluttering come skimming through the air.
From boughs and treetops they descend Just waiting to be fed,
Watching for their human friend who scatters daily bread.

Last edited by Tanny : Friday 6th February 2015 at 20:56.
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Old Friday 6th February 2015, 21:34   #2891
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Thank you, Merlin & Tanny.
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Old Friday 6th February 2015, 21:58   #2892
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Allan Burns, Where the River Goes

Reviews of Burns's new haiku anthology are here

http://blog.aba.org/2014/10/anticipating-memory.html

and here

http://tucsonaudubon.org/images/stor...r/VF_JFM15.pdf .
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Old Friday 13th February 2015, 08:43   #2893
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Thanks for that Rick.

best regards

Merlin
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Old Friday 13th February 2015, 16:28   #2894
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Ditto. Sounds like a very worthwhile book indeed. Among the excerpts, I was particularly struck by the crow poem

I just tried to order the book from Amazon but to no avail: it recognizes the title alright but there's no actual listing. A temporary glitch I trust. I'm hoping for a Kindle edition to leaven the big lump of field guides on my iPad but I'll settle for ink & paper if I have to.
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Old Wednesday 25th February 2015, 16:11   #2895
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A couple of days ago I went for a drive to see the high tide by New Brighton on the Wirral and enjoyed a splendid day in the wind and sunshine. When I took a look where the birds gather on a pontoon in the Marine Lake I photographed a variety of birds and among them was a rare bird from America, the Laughing Gull. Today when undergoing my third chemotherapy session I decided to write a poem to while away the time. Thanks for keeping this poetry site from disappearing into the archives.

Laughing Gull

Wild wind over the Irish Sea, wave spume flashing a rainbow from a sudden beam of sunlight.
Grey clouds racing the sky, patches of colabat blue showing between grey and white of billowing clouds.
I stand at the Mockbegger sea wall, camera ready for the spraying spume,
Wave hit the wall, “Whoosh-whoosh”, splash up high beside me,
Wind send it back and saves me from soaking.
“Keow-keow”, Gull yells overhead, twisting and turning,uplifted and plunging,
Dancing in the wind over the waves.
I go down to the New Brighton Marine Lake, Sheltered I find Gulls, Waders on lake pontoon.
Redshanks, Dunlin, Turnstones and Sandling, Purple Sandpipers with Cormorant and Gulls.
Bird men with cameras and powerful scopes, Stare down at an unusual bird,
A wandering American, blown over the Ocean, Its unusual laugh call sadly not heard.
Laughing Gull, the only one in the British Isles Sits with waders sheltering from the wind,
Young bird, immature feathers showing in sunlight.Black legs and beak shining dark and bright.
My heart is uplifted with all I have seen today, It makes me glad to feel so much alive.
I wished only I could join with the gulls in their play, And prey the American adventurer to survive.

Tanny 25th February 2015

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Old Wednesday 20th May 2015, 18:50   #2896
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Here is a poem from the Australian poet A.D.Hope
It is not that short but well worth the effort to read this special poem.

Best regards
Merlin

The Death of a Bird

For every bird there is this last migration;
Once more the cooling year kindles her heart;
With a warm passage to the summer station
Love pricks the course in lights across the chart.

Year after year a speck on the map divided
By a whole hemisphere, summons her to come;
Season after season, sure and safely guided,
Going away she is also coming home;

And being home, memory becomes a passion
With which she feeds her brood and straws her nest;
Aware of ghosts that haunt the heart's possession
And exiled love mourning within the breast.

The sands are green with a mirage of valleys;
The palm-tree casts a shadow not its own;
Down the long architrave of temple or palace
Blows a cool air from moorland scarps of stone.

And day by day the whisper of love grows stronger,
The delicate voice, more urgent with despair,
Custom and fear constraining her no longer,
Drives her at last on the waste leagues of air.

A vanishing speck in those inane dominions,
Single and frail, uncertain of her place.
Alone in the bright host of her companions,
Lost in the blue unfriendliness of space.

She feels it close now, the appointed season:
The invisible thread is broken as she flies;
Suddenly, without warning, without reason,
The guiding spark of instinct winks and dies.

Try as she will the trackless world delivers
No way, the wilderness of light no sign,
The immense and complex map of hills and rivers
Mocks her small wisdom with its vast design.

And darkness rises from the eastern valleys,
And the winds buffet her with their hungry breath,
And the great earth, with neither grief not malice,
Receives the tiny burden of her death.
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Old Friday 22nd May 2015, 19:45   #2897
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The Owl
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved,
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the north wind; tired, yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.
All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl's cry, a most melancholy cry.

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others could not, that night, as in I went.

And salted was my food, and my repose,
Salted and sobered too, by the bird's voice
Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.
Edward Thomas


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Old Friday 22nd May 2015, 20:33   #2898
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Excellent poems both, Merlin; looks like there's life in the old thread yet! I only wish I had something new to contribute.
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Old Saturday 30th May 2015, 06:56   #2899
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Emily Dickinson wrote ~

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me

Cool thread , birds and poetry are my two fave things!
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Old Saturday 30th May 2015, 07:41   #2900
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Nice poem Birdgirl

regards

Merlin
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