Best Jackdaws Poems
THE ARDINGLY JACKDAWS
The jackdaws know from prudent aviation
As they scan the land for real estate that's prime
In touch with best of value in location
The venerable old schools pass test of time
While feral doves and hawks migrate to city
Where humanity's detritus scatters wide
With copious pickings putrefied and gritty
The jackdaws, more selective, have their pride
Choosing well kept lawns and sports fields to supply
A table that's both generous and refined
Then from above look down with corvine eye
On a land that nourishes body soul and mind
Like others who discern a deep heart's cry
Their instinct calls them back to Ardingly
Categories:
jackdaws, bird, nature,
Form:
Sonnet
How beautiful the sounds, sights of nature
In the distance alarm call of a cuckoo,
beautiful sound of summer Tanager
Blackbirds hopping around getting in a stew,
Acrobatics of swallows, swifts, Martins,
Crows of the carrion, rooks, jackdaws, Raven
Cooing of turtle doves and wood pigeons,
Chittering robin, eyes closed what heaven,
Finches so sweet, green, bull, haw, gold and more
Speedy blue, great, coal, willow and marsh ****,
nature is such a pleasure never a chore ,
Seeing these wonderful birds thrills two bits
Serenity while watching our game bird
Pheasant, partridge, grouse, geese and mallard duck
Graceful swans glide, sights and sounds must be heard
Wading birds sifting for food through silt and muck,
birds of prey, kestrel, sparrow hawk, Peregrine
Eagles, buzzards, goshawk, ospreys skilful hunters
Larks hovering, lap wings, owls, magpies so pristine,
Sea birds, waders, hunters, lovely colours,
These moments of relaxation, undisturbed
listening, watching our beautiful wild birds.
Categories:
jackdaws, appreciation, bird, nature, sound,
Form:
Rhyme
They came as dawn's fresh light fell upon the land.
With their hard hats and high viz jackets.
Busy men clamour and plot,
Measure and scratch,
Cigarette smoke floats up high.
They never told me.
Bulldozers and diggers,
In splattered yellow overcoats,
Sit patiently for ignition.
Waiting to devour.
They never told me.
Angry Chainsaws roar,
Felling arthritic trees
That tumble silently.
Only homeless jackdaws,
Screech resistance.
But why didn't they tell me?
Maybe they don't know,
That I was once emperor of these woods.
The tycoon of rickety treehouses,
Whose Kingdom stretched for acre and a half.
Are they unaware of our imperialist acorn
Wars,
And slingshot invasions,
That lasted to tea time,
Or until a ice cream van
Rolled down the road,
Where's Clint Eastwood when you need him,
He would ride in on his trusty mare
With guns ablazeing,
And rapidly put an end to this unfurling travesty.
By this time next week my childhood memories,
Will be erased, buried beneath tarmac and
White lines
Terminally extinct, so stressed out shoppers
Can get their trollies
To the shops at least five minutes quicker.
Categories:
jackdaws, childhood, social,
Form:
Elegy
There …
It was
dark. England,
set down, and stretched out
for miles,
and days
without end
Far afield her quondam spirit,
But forever sprawling
Beneath
Discouraging clouds
with unbroken tears
that washed out …
cricket games
and pigeon stool,
bleeding into drinking …
Watered-down whiskey
from pubs
following the concrete pavements
Victorian structures,
and verdant meadows
that sleep …
to the lullabies
of Jackdaws and humming engines
I often wonder,
how one can speak
without both lips in motion;
Are they half ventriloquists?
I need no retort;
I’m just playing George on this one
When Auntie returned …,
from London, with her brain
swimming in high tide,
they were quick to blame
the clock,
but Manchester is the author
of this charlatan
The tale is that
those who trust
Big Ben for time
Will in fact misplace their minds
How true a case is he?
Old England will agree
he is special
Rum will whisper tall stories,
same with Cognac and Vodka,
but aren’t there days
when we are restrained
What is Sawicki,
but a train, blowing wet whistle?
How straight can one walk
with neurons bathing in ethanol?
In days past, dictionaries were scarfed-up;
men were …
Men were quick and questioning
Where is evolution;
like monkeys we mimic?
John Fletcher
I know, and C. Marlowe
Much of William Blake and Carew
I recalled Arnold,
the Brownings, and Dowson,
So much for Killigrew,
old Abercrombie, Crowley,
and young Liam Wilkinson
Who in God’s name is Sawicki,
Whose “master” is he?
Categories:
jackdaws, mystery, on writing and
Form:
Lyric
Rigid wings settle
jackdaws fibrous feathers fold
Sky smoldering grey
Categories:
jackdaws, bird, color,
Form:
Haiku
Here I am happy and silly,
Garden; and windows are white,
Red swan of sunset is swimming
quietly on pond in delight.
How do you do, golden silence,
Birch puts on water its shade,
Jackdaws on roof without guidance
have their vesper. It's great.
Somewhere behind the garden,
Here where the guelder rose blooms,
Girl in white's tender, she's lantern,
She sings tender song among fumes.
Night chill fell down and it's napping
spreading with blue robe on field,
Here I am silly and happy,
Fresh rosy cheeks cannot wilt.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Sergey Yesenin. 1918
Categories:
jackdaws, emotions, feelings, happiness, hope,
Form:
Lyric
In brooding dusk they gather from the East
Arrive in twos and threes upon the trees.
Autumn beeches, now devoid of leaves,
Begin to darken as the branches heave
And teem with animated rooks.
And jackdaws too, all jockeying for space,
Amid this vibrant, raucous, corvid mass,
Jostling, shifting, squabbling for pride of place,
To raise their voices, demand attention
Speaking freely in this parliament.
When sunset beckons they slip the air
In charcoal squadrons to the field below
Where, in serried ranks along each furrow,
They bow and scrape in search of meagre fare
For supper and the long dark night.
The leader signals, adjourns the meeting –
Vast clouds arise, a thousand wings beating,
Driven as a single being, Westward
To their high swaying roost – murmur greeting,
Huddle together against the cold.
Categories:
jackdaws, bird, nature, night,
Form:
Verse
a day we went round in cycles until our senses cracked open
our eyes into the vangogh
greens birched our ears smacked by seabirds gulls
gobbing off perchpolluted in our nostrils the toxic bay
and ozonescent that seaweed belches beyond which
we touch base grounded through our sneakers over
mandrakehandled roots thirsty the
ariels of the island it thralls me and I am also video
pronouncing this is metafiasco you leading me
landing us nowheres following the one true path to
enjambment
of the dark of chlorophyll
waterless the sun photos and we are waterless
set in a shoot of turning shoots lifeline
a fake slick of isthmus cast off cast off you
and I am all crenulations and palisades thinking this all must
come to an ending to ahead like slipshod jackdaws come
crisping across the heat toasted toadstools stopping only to talk and yes
even to each other sweating chanting hums decomposing
future memoirs spying
on the natives howling from the tourists two
last things finding binocular hands listless cutoff
from the cymbeline sand by short steep racks of rockwalls sandwiched
by soil and grass and an idling car pulsing
in the early afterlight a magic roustabout of tapping
every faculty each musty sense one more day slapped down in
stone for an organgrinding holy day
Categories:
jackdaws, nostalgia, day,
Form:
Free verse
The blackbird takes off from his perch on
this lone pine in the dairy pasture, winging towards the
sky with all his might but
the pine is pugnacious and bitter, sweltering in winter. Before he
travels a league from her she drops him dead from the sky, victim of some
coniferous voodoo, some hex
or lymphoma ending him like a
matchstick.
Categories:
jackdaws, animals
Form:
Free verse
Her soul is pure solitude
A home where trees meets
The granite fists of mountain Gods
Her eyes burn of near enlightenment
Of the cyclic nature of humanity's truth
She blesses the rain, the fog
The. Mosquitos the jackdaws and the frogs
Wishes for nothing only the warmth
Of a early morning sun,
She has no need to fill the void
For void is what it's
The true nature of things
And her wisdom expands
Watching, listening
To the silence of the silent moon,
A spirit of near perfection confined
Within a decomposing cage
She sing songs to the winds
And lullabies to the clouds,
Just accompanying time within the void
Categories:
jackdaws, june, solitude, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
Thankyou
The obnoxiously indifference of a turtle hair do in a queue is reprehensible really. It never fails to amaze how many swans can actually fit onto a conveyor belt and glide. Motionless static should never be considered to be akin to a mile of marble sated mist. And a mist is neither a mule eating mustard and neither is it a musical note. Jangle then. That's right. Jangle. For it is often found that a jangle is better than a jingle and can juggle forty jackdaws at great speed. Wow. It is of no concern to a beak. And beaks are neither brakes brake dancing, bills booming, bulls bringing bounty, or half a pint of liquidised pie. It is quite often spoke of in a bucket or a bicycle wheel. Serial serialized sterile sanctuary spiritual swirling saint saviour. But sayings are often prohibited under a rubble of un made bed. A shark in a cave is often equivalent to a shower in a church. Rise then sit then. Forward backwards motions. In slow visual feed buttons. With light or without. Question not the ideology of a bee in a brightly patterned skirt. Nor wish for a pantry cake in a sealed cone. Ha to that. In fact hahaha. Mystified monster buses moving many miles. Z coniferous Z at thirty seven dishes of sparkly foods to seventeen heads chewing during speeches. X
Categories:
jackdaws, baby,
Form:
Twice a day, the jackdaws gather in their thousands, in that same old tree
It is as if they only gather for a good old group meet and a bit of repartee
Standing in the garden you see them flying in their groups from overhead
As in their thousands and all the late comers who have just got out of bed
The last ones in make me laugh, squawking as if to so say don't forget me
Then silence descends, just what is going on within there I just cannot see
It's as inside that tree the chief Jackdaws have a gathering of all the clans
Discussing all the local farmers, then talk about the rest of the day’s plans
Then no more than an hour you will get to see them all flying off in groups
Then it’s all over “till dusk when again they are all back in massive swoops
I really admire their kith and kinship; it's far greater than ours can ever be
But it never stops me wondering just what the ‘eck is going on in that tree
Indiana Shaw . . . ; )
Categories:
jackdaws, bird, culture,
Form:
Couplet
Beyond Nut Wood where Jester Bird –
Gambols among the hedge,
Where daffodils are bowing
Their golden crowne’d heads,
Where regimented corn shoots
Form their military lines,
And rooks and jackdaws take their fill –
Whilst farmers head is blind;
A joyous spring this day did bring,
Filling bush with buds anew,
Where careful unfurls the cautious leaf
In fear of frost or chill;
What hand did make this day so fair –
Pray tell me Jester Bird?
But of the seven that I did ask
Not one would speak a word.
Categories:
jackdaws, animalsday, daffodils,
Form:
Verse
Some pondered ways
to pep-up the pulpit and pew,
but disinterest and ennui won the day.
The clergy went away to get help
and never came back.
Eventually, thunder and sleet
cracked stone, spire, and gable;
neglect, and the cold winds of time
nibbled at arch and buttress.
Where once was a stained-glass light,
weeds and mildew weathered to a moldy rot.
Where once the hems of cassocks swept
now mice and spiders rest or nest,
and baby bats roost in the rectory.
There In a dusty belfry
owls hoot and solemnly perch.
Walls crumbling to niche and cranny.
Amid all this spacy ruin
jackdaws lay their speckled eggs,
while in the misty moonlight
homeless angels fan dance
upon feather-light, slinky legs.
Categories:
jackdaws, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
A twelve and a half foot mongoose on a train could be likened to a twelvemonth tail of a tram whose movements of splash could be a beef tuning a banjo or a bamboo style crib holding up a playing card of a jack. Jacks are neither jackdaws nor jumping juniper berries. And wearing a nine piece fish outfit is best left to the eleven cups and saucers whose antics please and tell of tubular erotic notions mixed with the accessories of spoons. Peerage is not noted to be phenomenon of which the passing passengers playing points are clearly cabinet cables but vintage vocal cords of a violet variant can achieve great elongated notes at incredible octaves of otters which boom and vibrate. Great. Frumpy fractionising fraternizing fluffy socks are being very very clever as they can whirl around at anticipated cohesive chanting charges of the best beetle fields. So don't put a giant hen in a pen or a purse. Public power points pink pins. And pines rise up in the air of the nautical miles. Haha cupboard under a blanket asleep. Haha xx xx and numbered teats of the world. Xx solarisation xx z
Categories:
jackdaws, bangla, baptism,
Form: