Best Magpies Poems

POTD 20 Dec 2018

Like sand in an hour glass
Time moves so fast
A precious commodity
Not meant to last

Measured in hours
Minutes unfold
Time waits for no man
So I’ve...

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Crisp end of winter morning,
my shovel digs the soil,
turning over weeds and worms,
and watch them twist and coil …
hoe the dirt once more again,
until a...

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Excitement filled the bushland as December was near
Every creature had been waiting for Christmas time - all year.
Wallabies hung their stockings on a  gumtree...

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A silence all pervading, nothing moves,
the gentle hiss I hear is in my head
like record stylus placed into the groove.
Clouds form the upper circle overhead.
Orchestra...

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Dance
Between the granite stones
Of the dead
Long ago last breaths do part
Memories seeping in dirt
Black birds and magpies
Lace and knots
Lingering thoughts
Swaying too and fro
Insane

Dancing 
On top...

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I went out walking to the woods today
I saw some canvas cities there
And many empty houses along the way
With yards overgrown or bare
And some building...

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There's an old timber, farm gate at the end of a track.
You wouldn't see it driving past unless you looked back.
It's made of roughly hewn...

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Heckle and Jeckle, jellyroll jam,
Ponce de Leon’s Fountain of Youth.
Little kids like to eat green eggs and ham;
So do you – now tell me the...

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Anxiously the trees were awaiting their morning breeze,
Birds nestled amongst the high towering branches,
Caressing in couples as they watched over their nests,
Delicately leaves were falling...

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When panthers prowl and lions stalk,
the lone wolves howl and parrots talk.
The bee hives hum and wild boars snort;
the grouses drum; the deer cavort.
And as...

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Places where good and evil play their games my minds conscious 
My light force fighting the dark sides final conflict 
The saber tooth born civil...

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Where are the magpies?
Where the ruined cathedrals;
where the exiled birds behind broken stones
that once made their homes
in the hollow heads of saints?

Here there in this...

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School was a mile and a half
walk from home,
across roadways, busy streets
and railway lines and through
parklands patrolled
by swooping magpies in spring.
We thought nothing of it
when...

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I have inherited pleasure:
the rhythm of pegs, the smell
of buttery sun on sheets,
a whispering murmur of trees
standing around, and the company
of magpies inspecting
with one eye...

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"Here rise to life again, dead poetry!
Let it, O holy Muses, for I am yours,
And here Calliope, strike a higher key,
Accompanying my song with that...

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