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Birds and poetry (1 Viewer)
- Thread starter christineredgate
- Start date
christineredgate
Winner of the Copeland Wildlife Photographer of th
Annie,it is years since I read anything by Edward Lear.I remember as a child having to learn "The Pobble who Had no Toes".Also the Owl and The Pussycat.
Thankyou,Annie,for a little light relief as it were.
Thankyou,Annie,for a little light relief as it were.
Mickymouse
Ubuntu Linux user
Does any one remember this one by Edward Lear, while we are in nonesense mode?
The elephant is a bonnie bird.
It flits from bough to bough.
It makes its nest in a rhubarb tree
And whistles like a cow.
Mick
The elephant is a bonnie bird.
It flits from bough to bough.
It makes its nest in a rhubarb tree
And whistles like a cow.
Mick
And from one of my all-time favourites, "The Hunting of the Snark":
As to temper the Jubjub's a desperate bird,
Since it lives in perpetual passion:
Its taste in costume is entirely absurd --
It is ages ahead of the fashion:
But it knows any friend it has met once before:
It never will look at a bribe:
And in charity-meetings it stands at the door,
And collects -- though it does not subscribe.
Its flavour when cooked is more exquisite far
Than mutton, or oysters, or eggs:
(Some think it keeps best in an ivory jar,
And some, in mahogany kegs):
You boil it in sawdust: you salt it in glue:
You condense it with locusts and tape:
Still keeping one principal object in view --
To preserve its symmetrical shape.
As to temper the Jubjub's a desperate bird,
Since it lives in perpetual passion:
Its taste in costume is entirely absurd --
It is ages ahead of the fashion:
But it knows any friend it has met once before:
It never will look at a bribe:
And in charity-meetings it stands at the door,
And collects -- though it does not subscribe.
Its flavour when cooked is more exquisite far
Than mutton, or oysters, or eggs:
(Some think it keeps best in an ivory jar,
And some, in mahogany kegs):
You boil it in sawdust: you salt it in glue:
You condense it with locusts and tape:
Still keeping one principal object in view --
To preserve its symmetrical shape.
Tanny
Well-known member
I waited through the autumn, when the branches overhead
Were bending with black damsons, and with apples green and red,
When Michaelmas daisies' eyes were blue,And chestnuts golden brown,
And mushrooms gleaming in morning dew,And leaves came tumbling down.
I waited through the winter when the trees were black and bare,
And snowflakes, soft as kisses, came floating through the air,
When days were short and chilly and winter nights were long;
I thought of you, remembering the days I heard your song.
I waited in the springtime as the trees turned bright and green,
And the apple trees in blossom were as lovely as a queen,
I heard you one May morning-I was glad that you had come,
Bringing all the hopes of summer, Dear Cuckoo, welcome home!
Dorothy Morris.
This is what I believe this thread is all about.
Were bending with black damsons, and with apples green and red,
When Michaelmas daisies' eyes were blue,And chestnuts golden brown,
And mushrooms gleaming in morning dew,And leaves came tumbling down.
I waited through the winter when the trees were black and bare,
And snowflakes, soft as kisses, came floating through the air,
When days were short and chilly and winter nights were long;
I thought of you, remembering the days I heard your song.
I waited in the springtime as the trees turned bright and green,
And the apple trees in blossom were as lovely as a queen,
I heard you one May morning-I was glad that you had come,
Bringing all the hopes of summer, Dear Cuckoo, welcome home!
Dorothy Morris.
This is what I believe this thread is all about.
christineredgate
Winner of the Copeland Wildlife Photographer of th
Jason and Tanny,thankyou for two totally different types of verse.Jason,one has to think to understand your verse,and Tanny,yes,a typical British Spring.Oh for the joys of our lovely countryside.I saw a lovely bluebell wood yesterday,surrounded by the most glorious hue of gorse ,unfortunatley ,I was driving ,so was not able to stop and take a pic.It was on a hillside.This afternoon a Blacbird was sat atop a gorse bush,black on yellow,but when I moved close to take a pic,he was off.But the images remain in my mind.I do not need a photo.
Thankyou,Tanny and Jason.
Thankyou,Tanny and Jason.
Nerine
Well-known member
Mickymouse said:
Yes, I remember, I always like Lear's nonsense. This one is quite well known (I think) :-
There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, "It is just as I feared!
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!'
Who said, "It is just as I feared!
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!'
And this one I particularly love:
MR. AND MRS. SPIKKY SPARROW
I
On a little piece of wood,
Mr. Spikky Sparrow stood;
Mrs. Sparrow sate close by,
A-macking of an insect pie,
For her little children five,
In the nest and all alive,
Singing with a cheerful smile
To amuse them all the while,
Twikky wikky wikky wee,
Wikky bikky twikky tee,
Spikky bikky bee!
II
Mrs. Spikky Sparrow said,
'Spikky, Darling! in my head
'Meny thoughts of trouble come,
'Like to flies upon a plum!
'All last night, among the trees,
'I heard you cough, I heard you sneeze;
'And, thought I, It's come to that
'Becausehe dose not wear a hat!
'Chippy wippy sikky tee!
'Bikky wikky tikky mee!
'Spikky chippy wee!
III
'Not that you are growing old,
'But the nights are growing cold.
'No one stayes out all night long
'Without a hat: 'I'm sure it's wrong!'
Mr. Spikky said 'How kind,
'Dear! you are, to speak your mind!
'All your life I wish you luck!
'You are! you are! a lovely duck!
'Witchy witchy witchy wee!
'Twitchy witchy witchy bee!
Tikky tikky tee!
IV
'I was also sad, and thinking,
'When one day I saw you winking,
'And I heard you sniffle-snuffle,
'And I saw your feathers ruffle;
'To myself I sadly said,
'She's neuralgia in the head!
'That dear head has nothing on it!
'Ought she not to wear a bonnet?
'Witchy kitchy kitchy wee?
'Spikky wikky mikky bee?
'Chippy wippy chee?
V
'Let us both fly up to town!
'There I'll buy you such a gown!
'Which, completely in the fashion,
'You shall tie a sky-blue sash on.
'And a pair of slippers neat,
'To fit your darling little feet,
'So that you will look and feel,
'Quite galloobious and genteel!
'Jikky wikky bikky see,
'Chicky bikky wikky bee,
'Twikky witchy wee!'
VI
So they both to London went,
Alighting on the Monument,
Whence they flew down swiftly-pop,
Into Moses' wholesale shop;
There they bought a hat and bonnet,
And a gown with spots upon it,
A satin sash of Cloxam blue,
And a pair of slippers too.
Zikky wikky mikky bee,
Witchy witchy mitchy kee,
Sikky tikky wee.
VII
Then when so completely drest,
Back they flew and reached their nest.
Their children cried, 'O Ma and Pa!
'How truly beautiful you are!'
Said they, 'We trust that cold or pain
'We shall never feel again!
'While, perched on tree, or house, or steeple,
'We now shall now look like other people.
'Witchy witchy witchy wee,
'Twikky mikky bikky bee,
zikky sikky tee.'
I
On a little piece of wood,
Mr. Spikky Sparrow stood;
Mrs. Sparrow sate close by,
A-macking of an insect pie,
For her little children five,
In the nest and all alive,
Singing with a cheerful smile
To amuse them all the while,
Twikky wikky wikky wee,
Wikky bikky twikky tee,
Spikky bikky bee!
II
Mrs. Spikky Sparrow said,
'Spikky, Darling! in my head
'Meny thoughts of trouble come,
'Like to flies upon a plum!
'All last night, among the trees,
'I heard you cough, I heard you sneeze;
'And, thought I, It's come to that
'Becausehe dose not wear a hat!
'Chippy wippy sikky tee!
'Bikky wikky tikky mee!
'Spikky chippy wee!
III
'Not that you are growing old,
'But the nights are growing cold.
'No one stayes out all night long
'Without a hat: 'I'm sure it's wrong!'
Mr. Spikky said 'How kind,
'Dear! you are, to speak your mind!
'All your life I wish you luck!
'You are! you are! a lovely duck!
'Witchy witchy witchy wee!
'Twitchy witchy witchy bee!
Tikky tikky tee!
IV
'I was also sad, and thinking,
'When one day I saw you winking,
'And I heard you sniffle-snuffle,
'And I saw your feathers ruffle;
'To myself I sadly said,
'She's neuralgia in the head!
'That dear head has nothing on it!
'Ought she not to wear a bonnet?
'Witchy kitchy kitchy wee?
'Spikky wikky mikky bee?
'Chippy wippy chee?
V
'Let us both fly up to town!
'There I'll buy you such a gown!
'Which, completely in the fashion,
'You shall tie a sky-blue sash on.
'And a pair of slippers neat,
'To fit your darling little feet,
'So that you will look and feel,
'Quite galloobious and genteel!
'Jikky wikky bikky see,
'Chicky bikky wikky bee,
'Twikky witchy wee!'
VI
So they both to London went,
Alighting on the Monument,
Whence they flew down swiftly-pop,
Into Moses' wholesale shop;
There they bought a hat and bonnet,
And a gown with spots upon it,
A satin sash of Cloxam blue,
And a pair of slippers too.
Zikky wikky mikky bee,
Witchy witchy mitchy kee,
Sikky tikky wee.
VII
Then when so completely drest,
Back they flew and reached their nest.
Their children cried, 'O Ma and Pa!
'How truly beautiful you are!'
Said they, 'We trust that cold or pain
'We shall never feel again!
'While, perched on tree, or house, or steeple,
'We now shall now look like other people.
'Witchy witchy witchy wee,
'Twikky mikky bikky bee,
zikky sikky tee.'
Nerine
There are many other Lear's featuring birds I could quote (another particular favourite is the Quangle Wangle's Hat) .... but instead I offer the following description of a little observed nesting habit !!
The common cormorant (or shag)
Lays eggs inside a paper bag.
You follow the idea, no doubt?
It is to keep the lightning out.
But what these unobservant birds
Have never thought of, is that herds
Of wandering bears may come with buns
And steal the bags to hold the crumbs.
Christopher Isherwood
(I have another version of this that is attributed to anon !)
The common cormorant (or shag)
Lays eggs inside a paper bag.
You follow the idea, no doubt?
It is to keep the lightning out.
But what these unobservant birds
Have never thought of, is that herds
Of wandering bears may come with buns
And steal the bags to hold the crumbs.
Christopher Isherwood
(I have another version of this that is attributed to anon !)
christineredgate
Winner of the Copeland Wildlife Photographer of th
Annie and Nerine,thankyou,very lighthearted and lots of birds.Yes I remember well,"The Old Man with a Beard",but had not heard yours ,Annie,re the Cormorant.Very funny.
Again,many thanks.
Again,many thanks.
birdman
Орнитол&
If I could be granted one special talent by the Almighty, I think I would choose to be able to move souls with words.
Although I am pretty well educated, and have a high IQ (forgive the boast), I have a relatively appaling vocabulary, and a writing talent that is next to zero.
Poetry for me must have instant impact, and not all "good" poetry works for me, but from time to time I read something that gives me butterflies - and there are lines in this thread which do that.
There are too many contributors to thank for the selection of fascinating verse, but special thanks to Annie W. I'm going to have to find out more about Robert Service; The Bird Watcher brought tears to my eyes - tears of sorrow, tears of joy, tears of deep emotion.
Yes, if I could be granted one special talent by the Almighty, I think I would choose to be able to move souls with words.
Although I am pretty well educated, and have a high IQ (forgive the boast), I have a relatively appaling vocabulary, and a writing talent that is next to zero.
Poetry for me must have instant impact, and not all "good" poetry works for me, but from time to time I read something that gives me butterflies - and there are lines in this thread which do that.
There are too many contributors to thank for the selection of fascinating verse, but special thanks to Annie W. I'm going to have to find out more about Robert Service; The Bird Watcher brought tears to my eyes - tears of sorrow, tears of joy, tears of deep emotion.
Yes, if I could be granted one special talent by the Almighty, I think I would choose to be able to move souls with words.
scampo
Steve Campsall
Well, for me at least, those few lines suggest your prayers are being answered. I was moved by the honesty of what you said and the clarity of how you said it.
I think I have posted the following poem before, but as an example of the way words can 'move the soul', it would surely be difficult to better it:
The Darkling Thrush
I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.
31st December 1899
I think I have posted the following poem before, but as an example of the way words can 'move the soul', it would surely be difficult to better it:
The Darkling Thrush
by Thomas Hardy
I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.
31st December 1899
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scampo
Steve Campsall
I did have to write some poetry for a creative writing module at university years back but it was not about birds - and I know my limitations, Tanny, so I'll leave it to those who have the gift in abundance.
Just to prove my point, here are two of those failed attempts. The first I wrote when I was 40 - I feel it all the more ten years on; the second I was asked by my son's headteacher to write for the school magazine:
40
A forty-year-old red-brick semi of the kind you can find any-place.
Haunted
Like most of the others – mine is not an unusual case.
Ghosts
Drift through each room, if you follow me you will know what I mean.
Skeletons
Kept locked up in cupboards, hoping they will never be seen.
Spirits
Floating around, the high one’s I can’t reach any more.
Zombies
In the 7am mirror, after a sleepless night before.
Conker Tree
Yellow-veined, leafy fingers wave
To greet the coming of Autumn,
Hiding the fruits of summer’s quiet labour—
Perfect, prickly parcels of childhood glee:
Wind-fall gifts that excited, young hands
Gather, crush and open to reveal
Nature’s roundest, brownest, shiniest jewel—
Yet, a jewel whose fate is now sealed:
A myriad of Life’s secrets to be lost
As Death’s approach comes ever nearer;
A future no longer as a towering tree,
Yet, still there is hope of victory—
In a schoolday Conker fight;
And a place in a childhood dream.
PS I can't sing or play an instrument, either - but I do enjoy listening to other's music!
Just to prove my point, here are two of those failed attempts. The first I wrote when I was 40 - I feel it all the more ten years on; the second I was asked by my son's headteacher to write for the school magazine:
40
A forty-year-old red-brick semi of the kind you can find any-place.
Haunted
Like most of the others – mine is not an unusual case.
Ghosts
Drift through each room, if you follow me you will know what I mean.
Skeletons
Kept locked up in cupboards, hoping they will never be seen.
Spirits
Floating around, the high one’s I can’t reach any more.
Zombies
In the 7am mirror, after a sleepless night before.
Conker Tree
Yellow-veined, leafy fingers wave
To greet the coming of Autumn,
Hiding the fruits of summer’s quiet labour—
Perfect, prickly parcels of childhood glee:
Wind-fall gifts that excited, young hands
Gather, crush and open to reveal
Nature’s roundest, brownest, shiniest jewel—
Yet, a jewel whose fate is now sealed:
A myriad of Life’s secrets to be lost
As Death’s approach comes ever nearer;
A future no longer as a towering tree,
Yet, still there is hope of victory—
In a schoolday Conker fight;
And a place in a childhood dream.
PS I can't sing or play an instrument, either - but I do enjoy listening to other's music!
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christineredgate
Winner of the Copeland Wildlife Photographer of th
This thread is quite unbelievable.When I started it,just as a one off ,wondering how many poems people could think of which contained bird references,I thought there would perhaps be about 20 or so replies,but the diversity of the poems is amazing,form Edwards Lears nonsense,(Thanks for the 2cnd verse ,Jason) to some of the dark sinister prose which Steve keeps turning up from time to time.You know the guy I mean Steve,too many threads to go back and have a look,William Blake?.I have just looked in the folder of the first 2 weeks when I dutifully copied each poem.Then there was the lovely one from Annie,RuneXL1:Wainamoinen's Harp-songs,Steve,s the Darkling Thrush,and self composed from Tracker,Tanny and Steve."The Dodo" from Charles was another different type of verse,very easy to read and understand.Is there any aspect of verse which has not been covered in this thread?.That is without delving to deeply .
I've read that Skelton has a reputation for being bitter-tongued. However, this poem isn't. Considering that Britain was only just beginning to embrace the Rennaisance when he died in 1529 (way behind everyone else as usual), the rhythm seems quite remarkable to me.
Merry Margaret, as midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon or hawk of the tower,
With solace and gladness,
Much mirth and no madness,
All good and no badness;
So joyously,
So maidenly,
So womanly,
Her dreaming;
In every thing
Far far passing
That I can indite
Or suffice to write
Of merry Margaret, as midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon or hawk of the tower.
As patient and as still,
And as full of good will,
As the fair Isyphill,
Coliander,
Sweet pomander,
Good Cassander;
Steadfast of thought,
Well made, well wrought.
Far may be sought
Erst that ye can find
So courteous, so kind,
Of merry Margaret, as midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon or hawk of the tower.
John Skelton
One thing puzzles me slightly: Why should anyone have regarded a falcon as gentle? We're probably talking falconry birds here; maybe you need to have handled one to understand.
Merry Margaret, as midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon or hawk of the tower,
With solace and gladness,
Much mirth and no madness,
All good and no badness;
So joyously,
So maidenly,
So womanly,
Her dreaming;
In every thing
Far far passing
That I can indite
Or suffice to write
Of merry Margaret, as midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon or hawk of the tower.
As patient and as still,
And as full of good will,
As the fair Isyphill,
Coliander,
Sweet pomander,
Good Cassander;
Steadfast of thought,
Well made, well wrought.
Far may be sought
Erst that ye can find
So courteous, so kind,
Of merry Margaret, as midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon or hawk of the tower.
John Skelton
One thing puzzles me slightly: Why should anyone have regarded a falcon as gentle? We're probably talking falconry birds here; maybe you need to have handled one to understand.
Tanny
Well-known member
This thread, Christine has to be one of the best in the forum. It allows a bird enthusiast the opportunity to express their feelings in a different way to photography and music. There's beauty in a picture of a bird, there's also beauty in words. Thanks for letting me express my words.
As for something different, I have composed a poem about the life of a bird, from the time of breaking out of an egg to the time of his own eggs hatching, it is twelve stanzas long with six lines to a stanza and up to thirteen words per line, far too long for this thread. I will write the first three stanzas as an example.
THE LIFE OF A MUDLARK.
I hear the sigh of whispering wind as I in warm darkness lay,
Breathing comfort to my unborn soul I grow with the sound each day.
Multiple cells expand my frame and my egg tooth hardens to chip.
Aquiring my strength I hack away and the air of the north I sip.
On breaking free I there lay still exhausted with my birth,
Focusing my eyes to what I see a wall of straw and earth.
A shadow above drew my attention, my mother was standing there still,
Black and white with creamy eyes and an off-white coloured bill.
I lifted my scrawny neck in response eager for a mouthfull of food,
Three sisters with me squeaking as well were all in a hungry mood.
Soft bodied insects down my throat and I swallow them into my crop,
With a warm grey down encasing me, to a first blissfull sleep I drop.
Abundant spiders, beetles and worms give strength to my wings and feet,
My sisters also gain feather and weight and we fight for the food we eat.
For twenty days our parents provide then they no longer bring,
They sit there in a nearby tree and its a song of feeding they sing.
Driven by hunger I desperately flap onto the rim of the nest,
I see my parents with food filled bills the driving force of my quest.
The black and white Mudlark or Pee-wee is a small pigeon sized bird seen throughout Australia.
As for something different, I have composed a poem about the life of a bird, from the time of breaking out of an egg to the time of his own eggs hatching, it is twelve stanzas long with six lines to a stanza and up to thirteen words per line, far too long for this thread. I will write the first three stanzas as an example.
THE LIFE OF A MUDLARK.
I hear the sigh of whispering wind as I in warm darkness lay,
Breathing comfort to my unborn soul I grow with the sound each day.
Multiple cells expand my frame and my egg tooth hardens to chip.
Aquiring my strength I hack away and the air of the north I sip.
On breaking free I there lay still exhausted with my birth,
Focusing my eyes to what I see a wall of straw and earth.
A shadow above drew my attention, my mother was standing there still,
Black and white with creamy eyes and an off-white coloured bill.
I lifted my scrawny neck in response eager for a mouthfull of food,
Three sisters with me squeaking as well were all in a hungry mood.
Soft bodied insects down my throat and I swallow them into my crop,
With a warm grey down encasing me, to a first blissfull sleep I drop.
Abundant spiders, beetles and worms give strength to my wings and feet,
My sisters also gain feather and weight and we fight for the food we eat.
For twenty days our parents provide then they no longer bring,
They sit there in a nearby tree and its a song of feeding they sing.
Driven by hunger I desperately flap onto the rim of the nest,
I see my parents with food filled bills the driving force of my quest.
The black and white Mudlark or Pee-wee is a small pigeon sized bird seen throughout Australia.
Yes, Steve: we'd caught up big time by the end of the century.scampo said:
Here a short one by an old friend of mine who died 10 years ago.
Into my fever's flush
Dropped the cool, pearled notes of a thrush,
Gently, like falling rain,
Each liquid phrase - again -
Wearing away the stone
Of my wearied watch alone,
Floating me, plunging me deep
In a still pool of quiet sleep.
Anne Hemming
