Best Curlews Poems
Flaxen fields of rye and wheat
Basking in the summer heat.
The curlews haunting, plaintive cry
In hurried flight they cross the sky.
Around the fields the hedgerows grow
Full of thorny briar, and hazel too.
Stinging nettles crowd the verge,
Buttercups striving, pushing through.
The dandelion clock it waits,
For a gentle summer breeze
For just the slightest breath of air
To spread its dainty seeds.
The sweetest of them all I see
The forget me not enchants me.
Such a tiny thing, a dot of blue
How could we ever, forget you.
And always, there's the bramble
Its tangled thorns everywhere,
But how we love this prickly bush
When it brings its ripened fruits to bear.
The harebells bow their lilac flowers
While purple bonneted thistles tower.
Clover flowering all around,
It's crimson carpet adorns the ground.
All this around our countryside
Just outside our door,
Nature in her summer garb
Who could ask for more.
Morningtide reverberates, the songstress calls,
buoyant curlews play in oceans of copious grass,
wave after wave shattering against dry stone walls,
meadows dance the rhythm of the farmers weatherglass,
implementing the orchestration from moortop squalls.
© Harry J Horsman 2020
SPRING MORNING
The Bluebells hail the morning sunrise
tears of dew grace stems of green,
the valley nestles in God’s franchise
foliage awakening across the dene,
here a spring morning reigns serene.
SPRING DAWN
Morning tide enhance sweetness of the songstress call
buoyant curlews in oceans of copious grass,
wave after wave shattering against dry stone wall,
spring dances to the rhythm of the weatherglass
obeying whimsical whims from the moor top pass.
SPRING VIEW
Song Thrush calls reveille
morning in infancy
penetrates the valley,
spring day of clemency
portrait of regency.
© Harry J Horsman 2012
As the year thunders on the autumn days begin to get shorter the nights are early,
My old dog stretches out by a blazing log fire only turning over when he's too hot,
Arthritis is slowing him down his hips are so sore he walks very slowly with a limp,
Very soon it will be time to take him out on grassy rich heaths for the very last time.
Although the weather for autumn is calm it is the damp air that makes the pain worse,
Outside he lays watching spiders form radiated circles on every single bush and twig,
And at the silken threads on every blade of grass and he barks and sniffs so quietly,
His mood is solemn but calm, he is in a daze and forgets his way back to the garden.
We walked along forest meadows running chasing sticks and shadows barking with joy,
He would bound up to some lovely hedges or soft willow plots and roll in green grass,
Smoke from autumn’s bonfires has a smell that reminds me of wonderful golden sunsets,
Now it will remind me of loneliness with my faithful old friend running in a dog heaven.
By my log fire my dog’s eyes are brown they are pleading there are tears in the corners,
He doesn't understand that he is old and cannot do the things he has always loved to do,
A haunting stare asks me to help him because you're my dad you will make me better,
Next day I take him out for the very last time a long walk into the vets and I break down.
My hands deep in my pockets I walk where we always walked and soon it will be winter,
Standing and watching the departure of numbers of birds that have shared our summer,
The Curlews, Sandpipers, Snipes and Bean Goose fly across the sky but my joy has gone,
Norway thrush's arrive but where is my dear old friend we watched the seasons together.
The Fern-owls, dotterals, swallows and some of the plovers used bid us a last goodbye,
Today go the flycatchers, white throats, warblers, wheatears and the hardy red sparrows.
Gardens show us autumnal flowers crocuses, autumn snowflakes fall on meadow saffron,
Everything is going and saying goodbye I turn into the wind tears roll down my cheeks.
How delightful is the softest sound of a clear and starry summer's night,
You may hear a moth bashing up against a cottage window pane near a lamp,
If you listen really hard you can hear him amongst the many garden leaves,
A boom as the soaring cockchafer passes your ear, into the flowery lime.
The smallest runnel murmurs aloud as do the far rivers over the green downs,
The frogs deep in the marshes sound like they are turning a thousand wheels,
And the dorhawk, the cuckoo and the nightingale sing from meadows far away,
Quails pipe from the ripe green corn, curlews from the far away moorlands.
The sound of a little owl, hooting, he is small, smaller than the blackbird,
He hunts for food in the twilight of the evening, mewing shrilly like a cat,
The little owl lands in a back lawn, and his head swivels like a corn wheel,
It's a fierce little bird and will rid a garden of mice, rats and small birds.
The flowers are in the fields, scabious, companula, glomerata and some thrift,
The flowers in our gardens are borage, phlox, day-lily, gladiolas and many more,
Grasses that make mowing grass beautiful are perennial clover and goats beard,
Filling the air with sweetness that will make you heady and happy, great days.
Curlews crake against white limestone walls
Their echo shrill in the early mist
Wake those who danced the night before
As bog sighs from heat release and black water buzzes
The insects a top scoot in siderwinder display
Heather hangs over and down to the slime in purple and yellow brown
A bicycle grounded on a nettled floor and endless sting
Dance long over and handle bars long relieved
Of scent of a young lady's dress up lifted by seam.
Corn mountain awakes and crows upon the light but corncrake was there first
Mountain clicks and breathes with new sunshine and old scenes the hay the turf
The window curtain a saucer hidden with red meat a treat unseen
Oh why does father not approve
Up, out, blue pooch curtain breaks open and feet to hessian mat
Get up quick the fox was down was in and took the best Rhode Island red
Never to lay never to feed nor mend the mesh but dance dance dance
Kneading and current buttermilk bray and toss and knead away
The heat remains and cooks and pots the bread upon the air
Sweet smell and egg and Rhode Island's best.
Hush boy a sound clean collar for him upon this summer working day
Hangs on Father McHugh's nail it hangs of starch and awaits it's wrap
Before the pipe alights and hears do tell her name do tell
Is the lady of good stock and family fair or cold and just of the night and the air
Forget the bird explain no more as the pipe will choke and bang the floor
Tell me again as Sunday lasts to Mass now and pray for those who passed
up on the moors, sweet love
shadows dance at dusk.
low across the purple shades
wild ponies whinny
and snuffle steam into brown grass
while curlews cry the sun to rest.
And I heard again those voices,
Buoyed upon a murmuring wind,
And oyster-catchers with their
Distinctive, shrill-piping call;
The plaintive cries of floating
Curlews,
Carrying on that wind,
As spilt sunset
Settled over the ruby-red, wine-coloured
Moor.
Blazing purple heathers --
Distant bellows from rutting stags --
The whirling grouse...
And close by, opposite my quiet little
Door,
Seldom seen otters, whistling when
Calling their playful mates,
Splashed and sported in shallow runs
And shadowy pools:-
Opaque, amber waters, swathed
In brilliant starlight,
Reflecting intensity displayed overhead;
Night's rich velvet skies encrusted in
Sparkling jewels.
Yes, as darkness begins to fall,
With drowsy eyes half-shut...
Again, I see and hear it all.
For it is certain, I have now become
Familiar with what is truly meant...
To have to endure an ever waking
Discontent.
Our great debate is about to start
Over which aspect is the essential part
Of the word 'kiwi' -- Is it that strange-looking bird
Or is it the green, fuzzy fruit that tastes so darn good?
You say a kiwi can't be a bird, because it can't fly
Well, how about emus, and rheas, and ostriches?
They are flightless birds too, say I
You say no bird has a beak so awfully long
Well, just look at pelicans, curlews, and storks
I say you're wrong!
You say alright, o.k -- Consider the kiwi berry
I say the kiwi's no berry -- to the contrary
It's clearly a citrus fruit
You say, No! No! -- A kiwi grows on a shrub or a vine
I concede that may seem like a grape or raspberry
But whoever heard of 'Vintage Kiwi Wine?'
You shake your head and you say
It's rightly called the 'Chinese gooseberry'
While I assure you it's got more vitamin C
Than an orange inside a pail
Of straw, black, blue, and elderberries
Thus concludes our debate
Wasn't it great?
Maybe I won -- Maybe it was you
But when we sat down to eat some kiwi
~ Away it flew!
Once were badgers in leafy dale,
once were rabbits and foxes too,
once were pheasants in shining copse where cuckoopint and coltsfoot grew.
Once were songbirds in privet hedges,
once were bluebells for mile upon mile,
once were dark woods cool and shading hiding squirrels and foxes guile.
Once were home fed pigs and poultry,
once were food with proper taste,
once were marls with mirrored water, but now they only hold our waste.
Once were farmers in umber meadow,
once were colliers in village pit,
once were taverns for quenching thirst where now the townie and tourist sit.
Once were fens and fields and down-lands,
once were moorhen and curlews call,
once were stewards of Gods own country, where now there is but urban sprawl.
Once were leaders of Albion's masses,
once were statesmen of unbending word,
once was a land that was fit for heroes, where now only spin and deceit are heard.
We remove the stones from the field
like they were rotten teeth
stepped carefully over hawthorn hedge
stepped with tired and heavy feet
Remember this by the fireside
ash and flame and sap and sound
calloused hands over death black hearth
heavy eyes remember heavier ground
There is flame in these hands and feet
that melt the earth and dry the eye
it sweeps the weary from the field
pours your life out by and by.
Tomorrow the sun will rise
curlews spin on sky and reed
we prepare the earth to receive
sing some song to cast our seed
Now my head grows heavy still
fire light sink into black dark
I will lie down on my settle bed
return to greet life's beating heart.
As the year thunders on the autumn day's begin to get shorter the nights are early,
My old dog stretches out by a blazing log fire only turning over when he's too hot,
Arthritis is slowing him down his hips are so sore he walks very slowly with a limp,
Soon it will be time to take him out on grassy rich heaths for the very last time.
Although the weather for autumn is calm it is the damp air that makes the pain worse,
Outside he lays watching spiders form radiated circles on every single bush and twig,
And at the silken threads on every blade of grass and he barks and sniffs so quietly,
His mood is solemn but calm, he is in a daze and forgets his way back to the garden.
We walked along forest meadows running chasing sticks and shadows barking with joy,
He would bound up to some lovely hedges or soft willow plots and rolled in the grass,
Smoke from autumns bonfires has a smell that reminds me of wonderful golden sunsets,
Now it will remind me of loneliness my faithful old friend running in a dog heaven.
By my log fire my dogs eyes are brown and pleading there are tears in the corners,
He doesn't understand that he is old and cannot do the things he always loved to do,
A haunting stare asking me to help him because you're my dad will you make me better,
Next day I take him out for the very last time I walk into the vets and I break down.
My hands deep in my pockets I walk where we always walked and soon it will be winter,
Standing and watching the departure of numbers of birds that have shared our summer,
The Curlews, Sandpipers, Snipes and Bean goose fly across the sky but my joy has gone,
Norway thrush's arrive but where is my dear old friend we watched the seasons together.
The Fern-owls, dotterals, swallows and some of the plovers used bid us a last goodbye,
Today go the fly catchers, white throats, warblers, wheat ears and hardy red sparrows.
Gardens show us autumnal flowers crocuses, autumnal snowflakes fall on meadow saffron,
Everything is going and saying goodbye I turn into the wind, tears roll down my cheeks.
It’s time for concealing in hides and in nooks,
with a a ledger; glasses; camera, and books,
spend hours with patience in salt bush or long grass,
in hope there’s a moment, one cannot let pass.
Creeping on their bellies, or whatever it takes,
fighting mosquitoes, face to face with snakes,
if there is the elusive, for a fleeting glance,
sacrificing is made for maybe that chance.
Lovers of plovers, finches and wrens,
Rosellas, sitellas, purple swamp hens.
Clear mind and keen eyed, for feathered friends -
the bird twitchers club from Longwarry.
The migrants in summer who head for our shore,
will be watched by us as we search more and more
for a straggler quite rare that has lost it’s way,
and us twitchers register where, date, and day.
Searchers of perches, pigeon and kite,
Cuckoos, curlews, owl in silent flight.
Clear mind and keen eyed, through day or at night -
the bird twitchers club from Longwarry.
At our meetings on Monday, held six times a year,
we compare our sightings on what holds us dear.
There’s lectures, directions; what bird is where;
a display of feathers; and photos to share.
We may be different, some say we’re absurd,
hiding on weekends for the sight of a bird.
But if we are lucky, we do bathe in glory -
the bird twitchers club from Longwarry.
Clear mind and keen eyed, through day or at night -
the bird twitchers club from Longwarry.
SUNSET
When sun goes over hill at end of day
And draws its purple veil across the sky;
When curlews settle down from work and play
And no more through the twisted branches fly;
The woodsman takes his axe and homeward treads.
Hot meat and tea will end his daily work.
His children now are safe and tucked in beds,
Wrapped ‘gainst the ghosts and goblin-ghouls that lurk.
Now turns the cat to hunting or to fight:
Brown owl hoots joyful as he swoops down slow;
Their eyes are wondrous clear all through the night
The mice are terrified and hide down low.
Two lovers meet and fingers touch in joy:
The sunset is the time for girl and boy.
................................................
For Sara Kendrick's Contest "Sonnet Me"
Moon smiles and night palls a velvet blue veil,
And owls and curlews hail with a flirting tale;
Xylophones and cymbals bounce for our dance,
So come sweetie; let’s dive in a hypnotic trance.
*Place 10* in the following contest (judged on Sept. 20, 2020)
Aug. 29, 2020
Rithimus Divisa 5 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Gregory R Bardon
Original poem: A Time For Us to go merry-go-round,
posted on 8/16/20 for the contest, "A Time For Us"
Sponsor: JCB Burl