The field is a mix of green and grey-white;
the sign of gulls holding parliament
in their silent, watching way –
aside, of course, from latecomers
who announce themselves without shame,
wanting the whole neighbourhood to know
they’ve finally arrived.
These hardy birds don’t turn a feather
at the drizzle, droplets running down their wings and backs
just like the ones hitting our umbrella and bouncing off to soak
into the already sodden, boggish ground.
We speculate over their intent,
curious to see if they’ll partake in five-a-side,
or if the goalposts they’re huddling round
serve some other purpose.
Safe beneath a patch of leafless shrubbery,
three pigeons look on –
a stereotype of grandmothers cooing
about the sullen youth of today.
Above, the lone crow taking a moment’s rest
suddenly finds his peace disrupted
by a flood of hyperactive starlings.
Looping and twisting, the effortless mimics settle
on his very tree, and the one next to it,
clouding the area with constant chatter.
Grudgingly, he mooches away,
only to receive backup seconds later
from a quartet of jackdaws,
ready to bounce the riff-raff along.
Below, the gulls’ meeting remains at a standstill.
This poem is part of my #52weeksofnaturepoetry project to raise money for the RSPB . To find out more about the project and how to donate, please visit my Just Giving page here.
Sharing is also much appreciated, as I’m trying to raise as much awareness of our local wildlife as possible. The more people who appreciate nature, the more likely it can be successfully protected.