#52weeksofnaturepoetry, Poetry, Uncategorized

#52weeksofnaturepoetry Week 15 – Ms. Blackbird

Feathers of leaf drop, plain and inconspicuous:

you won’t see her until she darts, stone-skipping steps,

across the path and on, on

into the grass. Shape distinct now against the green,

her partner still outshines her in his black evening jacket,

tangerine beak lifted in lively chortle-song.

Often, his bold appearance

is what gives her away – rarely are they far apart;

a tiff or two won’t separate them for long.

While he entertains the gardeners, watchers, afternoon ramblers

with his dashing looks,

she hurries about, a curious rain of leaves and twigs

misting the inches above her head.

Her search for morsels is never-ending.

Unafraid is she of getting close

if it means a beakful of worms might be claimed.

Fuel for creating her latest architectural project,

this year’s nest. You may find it one day,

long after its time.

How many broods were raised in it, you might wonder.

How many indeed?

This poem is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. Being autistic, nature is often my only place of solace, and I want to do all I can to protect it. As I’m not very comfortable around other people, most of the standard ways of helping out (volunteering, sport-style fundraisers etc) were not a good fit for me, so I came up with #52weeksofnaturepoetry, where I have to post a nature poem here on this blog each week for an entire year without fail.

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!

Poetry

Modern Art

Your mouth parts slightly when you sleep on your back,

eyelids as soft as if they’re painted on.

You spend so much time animated –

jumping from moment to moment –

that at first it was strange to see you rest.

Then I learnt that this is the only peace you get.

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

Hooping

I step inside the circle,

raise it above my head

feeling the muscles of my shoulders and upper

arms. I can turn

clockwise

or anticlockwise,

connect it with my hips,

my back, my legs, my chest.

My heart. And

my mind.

It stops a moment after I stop,

lingering for just that fraction longer

as if posing the question ‘Shall I

go on?’

Poetry

Homecoming

The field is green. So green that it blinds me,

taking over my senses with its scent.

Grass, wildflowers, heather. Pine

off in the distance. And you.

All earth and petals, brambles and silky leaves.

You run your fingers through the long fluffy tails

reaching up to your hips, a smile lingering

at the corners of your mouth.

Welcome home, you say,

and I am welcomed by a cloud of

meadow browns and common blues.