#52weeksofnaturepoetry, Poetry

Kingfisher – Week 40 #52weeksofnaturepoetry (Raising money for RSPB)

Under a tiny bridge

linking the path beside the River Yar

to a nearby copse,

a vision of copper and metallic blue

hovers above the shallows.

Executing a smooth dive,

it re-emerges a blink later,

spraying droplets

back into the current.

Head lifted, it carries its catch

to a secluded stitching of branches.

Almost shyly, this jewel-bird

returns to the bank,

gaze hardly leaving its submerged targets.

Quick preen to set feathers in place,

followed by another dip,

another prize.

An everyday fisherman

doing an everyday job,

but to any spectators,

its skills awaken dormant joy:

a sudden connection with nature –

a sweet, natural high –

so electric

it leaves them applauding

for an encore.

This poem is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. If you’d like to help, please share this poem to encourage others to take joy in nature, and if you have the time and means to donate, you can do so here. Let’s help keep our wildlife wild!

#52weeksofnaturepoetry, Poetry

Puffarazzi! Week 35 #52weeksofnaturepoetry – raising money for RSPB

Whipped by salt heavy winds,

the photographer pulls their coat collar tight

and crouches low,

becoming landscape;

an unimportant, moss-covered rock

with raw cheeks.

_______________________________________

Camera gripped in restless fingers,

eyes trained on the puffin colony

hard at fishing.

_______________________________________

Snap!

_______________________________________

Lens focused?

Timing right?

_______________________________________

Quick check:

Sizing great, subject clear – but

colourful bill obscured,

clumps of grass

urged into frame by blasts of ice.

_______________________________________

Which unlucky species

did this individual catch?  

What quantity?

_______________________________________

Speculation is fruitless,

mere guesswork never equals

accurate data.

_______________________________________

Back to the trusty tool of trade;

listen, wait.

_______________________________________

Incoming at two o’clock.

Ready for your close-up, eager one?

Steady. Steady. Click shutter…

now.

_______________________________________

Success!

Head perfectly centred,

silver dripping from its bill

in the shape of sand eels;

nutritious prey

for lively chicks.

_______________________________________

Another fine slice of research

ready for analysing.

Citizen science at its finest.

This poem is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. If you’d like to help, please share this poem to encourage others to take joy in nature, and if you have the time and means to donate, you can do so here. Let’s help keep our wildlife wild!

The subject of this poem was inspired by Project Puffin, a citizen science project organised by the RSPB to gather data on what foods puffins feed their young and how these have changed over time, in order to determine whether lack of food is one of the reasons behind the steep decline in puffin numbers. Click here to find out more.

[Apologies for how these poems are formatted. I do write them in stanzas, but WordPress rarely decides to keep them, no matter how much I argue with it.]

Poetry

Pebbles

The stones are cool against my skin as the tide draws away

to leave them raw. Skitter, the drag comes.

It tries to take me with it, but I am planted firm,

my hair rooting into the shore.

I am solid, I am grounded, breathing a concept

I no longer need. The salt in my tears

from eons of watching sunsets and rises

crystalises into my imprint. I’ll remain for eternity,

even if I join the sand.

Poetry

Out of Us

The cage rattles as the shrieks fill it up,

over-spilling the ribs to the point of cracking.

Look up,

look UP.

Don’t sink to the riverbed,

resurface and gasp for air.

Ignore the temptation

to sprint past go

until you’ve no go left.

Grip the safety line being thrown to you,

you know it’ll never be forced away.

You know you can’t push it away.

Poetry

Thrum

My heart is racing,

it’s whirring,

a whirligig of flesh mechanics

all turning a deaf ear

to my will.

The sensible noggin

commanding my body to see reason

searching through every cause

and evening the pH.

It doesn’t work.

Oxygen helps, it’s true. So does quiet.

The dark.

But it’s your eyes

seeking, calm

that settle it.

 

Poetry

Gripped

It’s in the touch that we can find ourselves,

find our solid state once more

and stop the wisps of identity

being sucked away.

 

Whether it’s a switch

flicked back and forth,

or the feel of a friend’s hand,

it can bring us back.

 

Yet what if you’re barred from doing so?

What if the search lights come on

and leach away your freedom?

What then?

 

Do we find another means,

or do we let

ourselves drift away, voices and thoughts

silenced forever?

Poetry

Endless Days

The wind loops around my hands

playfully

nudging me onward, carrying the scent

of unexplored forests, coastal paths and caverns,

endless fields of wheat and corn and barley, meadows

full of wild flowers, that,

if I’m honest, may just make me sneeze.

 

I can feel the peace rifling through my hair and gently resting

its soft palms against my face.

My heart beats in time with the swell of the sea,

the calls of the birds

and the leisurely flutter of butterflies completely unaware

of how much an impact their wing-beats make.

 

The scurrying of people doesn’t bother me here.

I am home,

I am home,

I am home.

Poetry

Into the fog

The fog on the bathroom mirror covers my face,

coating it in a weariness I can normally only see inside.

Droplets run down;

tears I cannot shed.

My mouth is a watery line,

anxious and unsure of who I am.

 

Then you come in and open the window.

The glass clears as you lean against me,

easing my expression to a soft grin

as the warmth seeping from every inch of you

fills my heart.