Best Wagtails Poems
...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot
Loose leaves rustle.
The grey light of evening dips and sways.
Evening birds bleat
their lonely tattoo.
Gone are the jays and the wagtails,
the burnt-out end of smoky days.
No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly cut.
The clatter
of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a 'pecker
jonesin' for nutrition, finding squat.
Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin.
A lonely candle sputters
and she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for space,
still no inspiration will brighten her face.
Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping
white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the neverland that has her clammed.
One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Exhilaration wracks her,
electricity whacks her
like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys!
Sparkling little star,
So much you warm my heart,
A little girl in pigtails
Made of sugar and spice,
But enticed with snails and mice
And puppy-dog wagtails
When you sing you bring happiness to my heart
So sweet you are my brightest little star
By: Eve Roper 8/28/2015
When
'The Arrow Of God' is
'No Longer At Ease'
'Things Fall Apart'
'The Voice' of
'The Enemy Within'
'Whispers At Dawn' saying
'Weep Not Child' as
'The House Boy' named
'Maru' looks at
'The Sterile Sky' and
'The People Of The City' run after
'Samankwe And The Highway Robbers' up to
The Juju Rock
Where lived
'The Black Hermit'
A man begotten of
'The Concubine'
'From A Crooked Rib'
According to
'The Cardinals' -
'The Interpreters' of
'The Shadow Of Imana'
But the
‘Mine Boy’- a
‘Second Class Citizen’ from
‘Serowe, Village Of The Rain Wind’
And a master of
‘The Marabi Dance’
Who doubled as
‘The Collector Of Treasures’
For his King said it was
‘A Question Of Power’
And so there was
‘No Easy Walk To Freedom’.
‘The Grass Is Singing’, he said
Pointing at the
‘Arrows of Rain’ and holding
‘A Cowrie Of Hope’ to the
‘Devil On The Cross’.
‘I Will Marry When I Want’ just as
‘I Write What I Like’
And, being
‘A Man Of The People’, I say
‘The Beautiful Ones Are Not Yet Born’
When I find
‘The Girl Who Can’ handle
‘Smoldering Charcoal’
And one who seeks
‘The Joys Of Motherhood’
And is not afraid of the
‘Dew In The Morning’
I will write
‘So Long A Letter’ to her
And together we shall explore
‘The River Between’ for
‘The Return Of The Water Spirit’
‘Gathering Seaweed’ at the shore
And ‘God's Bits Of Wood’
To keep ‘Dreaming Pachinko’ warm and
‘The Chattering Wagtails Of Mikuyu Prison’
‘In The Fog Of The Seasons' End’.
(Titles of AWS- African Writers Series books including poem title- except Whispers At Dawn. A tribute to the Authors of those lovely books).
After the snow and the thaw set in, the bigger birds banished all the little ones to the
higher branches of the trees as they fed on nuts and seeds. Big bullies lol!
melting morning
wagtails protest from above
as crows swoop to feast
Birdwatcher
This passionate, keen Ornithologist,
Is an interest, I profoundly pursue.
With the upmost of dedication,
To Black Tern & Long Billed Curlew.
Never a Twitcher, or just an obsession,
Binoculars on hand to observe.
Redstart & Greenfinch, also Reed Bunting,
Come into focus on a birdlife reserve.
Warblers & Wagtails, singing all day,
Sounding so sweet in the garden.
Robin & Chiffchaff scurry around,
That’s my bug meal, if you pardon.
Black Tailed Godwit & Purple Sandpiper,
Great Skuas & Dunlin share low tide.
Petrels & Fulmars, big Herring Seagull,
All I can name from a secluded bird hide
When
The Arrow Of God is
No Longer At Ease
Things Fall Apart
The Voice of
The Enemy Within
Whispers At Dawn saying
Weep Not Child as
The House Boy named
Maru looks at
The Sterile Sky and
The People Of The City run after
Samankwe And The Highway Robbers up to
The Juju Rock
Where lived
The Black Hermit
A man begotten of
The Concubine
From A Crooked Rib
According to
The Cardinals -
The Interpreters of
The Shadow Of Imana
But the
‘Mine Boy’- a
‘Second Class Citizen’ from
‘Serowe, Village Of The Rain Wind’
And a master of
‘The Marabi Dance’
Who doubled as
‘The Collector Of Treasures’
For his King said it was
‘A Question Of Power’
And so there was
‘No Easy Walk To Freedom’.
‘The Grass Is Singing’, he said
Pointing at the
‘Arrows of Rain’ and holding
‘A Cowrie Of Hope’ to the
‘Devil On The Cross’.
‘I Will Marry When I Want’ just as
‘I Write What I Like’
And, being
‘A Man Of The People’, I say
‘The Beautiful Ones Are Not Yet Born’
When I find
‘The Girl Who Can’ handle
‘Smoldering Charcoal’
And one who seeks
‘The Joys Of Motherhood’
And is not afraid of the
‘Dew In The Morning’
I will write
‘So Long A Letter’ to her
And together we shall explore
‘The River Between’ for
‘The Return Of The Water Spirit’
‘Gathering Seaweed’ at the shore
And ‘God's Bits Of Wood’
To keep ‘Dreaming Pachinko’ warm and
‘The Chattering Wagtails Of Mikuyu Prison’
‘In The Fog Of The Seasons' End’.
(Titles of AWS- African Writers Series books including poem title. Whispers At Dawn by yours truly included. Tribute to the Authors of those lovely books).
The verdant leaves
of the cherry trees
rustle as a wagon
loaded with corn
rides deeper into the wide ruts
of a rustic road,
hungry ruminants wallow
by a limpid lake;
cheerful kids wave
and wagtails warble
at my unexpected arrival...
suddenly my Dalmatian barks.
O jovial Autumn
incite my surprise,
and renew my decadent mood!
The grapevines rest
while giving off their fragrance,
and this weary steed
must rest in tranquility
to continue this journey...
before he pants-up grief;
and for mine and his sake,
let him get some sleep!
A sanguine sky
promises the loveliest sunset
ever seen by me
in this rustic Vermont landscape;
thrushes sing with me
to embellish my harmony,
not minding the crickets that
conspire in the hickories,
or the fluttering hawks
that return to their nests..
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
In the twilight,
Eilat, seems deserted, some Antofagasta,
Chile's North, before my eyes.
Bordering Jordan not far, there,
where the hills are tinted in blueish-grey,
at the horizon.
A solitary shadow, grey,
the harbour of Aqaba.
Small, distant houses,
scarcely illuminated by a
fading sun.
Some ships in the harbour,
towed side by side like toys.
I am crossing the plains,
some Macchia, some dry thornes,
and a firm sand, giving way to my footprints.
The border: barbed-wire,
sandy hills, a water drench,
with reed growing
in mouldy water.
Here a snake, there a coot,
some water-wagtails – and I,
the only silent creatures.
I scarcely leave any tracks in the sand.
Brilliant, crystals of salt in the
ridges, underneath, slippery, some soil.
I walk over cracked loam,
which is vaulting in edges,
flying off.
It crunches, when I cross it.
High above three planes
circle like big cranes in the evening sun,
flying close to the border.
Wind thrives through the reed,
which is respectfully bending.
There, to the left, an artificial hill,
a plateau, bolders, grey, arranged in a
triangle, and above, Israel's banner,
blue-white, the star of David
with colours already fading and -
some barbed-whire,
carelessly floating in the
wind.
Ahead of me a snake is sneaking off.
A water-wagtail not able to fly
is resting in my hands.
It is good to feel nature,
to inhale silence, to seem unreal,
slowly disappearing in the dark,
like the surrounding nature.
Night brakes slowly now,
with the cool wind from the North.
Stars, like shiny needles in the darkness
piercing the sky, covering me in silence.
My dreams are drifting,
yet caught in the past.
My friends come dine with me, while nature writes its poetry.
Corn, maize, sunflower seeds, bread, nuts and fruit for all
your needs. A bowl of water for you to wash, a gentle sip and
your thirst may quash. Through the pine the sun doth glow,
around the table the colours flow. Before my eyes this
coloured mist, the morning air and dewdrops kissed. Blue ****,
Great **** danced the floor, Blackbirds, Thrushes wanting more.
Spotted Flycatchers dart and dash, Chaffinch, Bullfinch preen
and splash. The Treecreeper stalks the maize, a Bee Eater green
on yellow floats the haze. Jays and Magpies for morsels fight,
Wagtails hop in black and white. The Robin stands and shows
his chest, the Siskin lands not far from nest. A Yellow Wagtail
carries the eye, all is song beneath the sky. A Crossbill comes
and steals the seeds, the Wren is perched and gently feeds. On
a branch high above sit a pair of Turtle Doves, as a Bunting
sings to the one he loves. Warblers, Goldcrests scrap for corn,
Sparrows skip and clean the lawn. This mornings table was
with colour blessed, all was warm in natures nest.
Mid morning in the now leafy white poplar, tall and symmetrical,
four flashing light and dark magnificent magpies tea leaf, steal the
mannerisms of tinier wagtails by moving their tails up and down dancing
around from branch to branch leading following each other and chattering
away as though they have nothing else to do all day, for on this lovely day
their instincts start to do what all other young adult creatures do in Spring.
The waterfall splashes,
gushing from a
mossy hill that
drops small rocks;
it doesn't dribble
as on winter
days seeping into
grass that's dry.
Soon the waterfall
becomes a stream,
where ravens rest
to sip its water
on the hottest
day of summer...
while wagtails and
hummingbirds take a
dip to wash off
pesky bugs clinging.
Trickle, lively stream...
let me hear
your sounds and
compose a melody.
a crescent
lights the sky-
the bald eagle sleeps
yellow diamonds
just stopping by-
wagtails..onward fly
Each one of us follows a specific quest,
and there many different ones;
for me it's that passionate love which blooms
in spring when rain becomes mist.
Watching roses drip as eyes that weep restores
the memory of that forgotten sadness
brought by a faithless love known too briefly
to discover the scope of its insincerity.
Why didn't I believe in her fickle promise?
She only gazed at those radiant stars,
as a true one wouldn't have to compromise
the beautiful truth not stained with lies.
Still waiting to feel that passionate
love which blooms in spring...
happy wagtails by the petal-draped lake,
gather to make their notes ring.
Besides velvet-soft kisses that I eagerly steal
from tempting lips seeking this man's warm hand,
what else could please me more than an indulgent will
with that passionate love which blooms in spring?
The golden leaves fall off
the cherry trees groping
on the steep cliff,
the tall marabous lament...diving
in dark, shallow waters
their racous cry announce
the arrival of winter on the reef...
while the poet dreams!
The lost kite has flown off
a kid's hand that waves to its friend,
shrikes wait on pines' brenches
for their prey to impal on thorns;
wagtails stand on rocks
being watchful and trustless of them,
living in danger is not staying alive...
while the poet dreams!
The jumping mouse scurrs
from scrub to scrub crushing their leaves,
as daylight haunts his footsteps;
food is scarce by the waterfront,
so he scampers back to the underground,
to return when everything turns dark
and finds no one endagering his search...
while the poets dreams!
The blind,white-haired man is led
by a retriever that's so attentive,
as he guides him to an empty bench;
he can't see or perceive a fall's sunset:
like other cheerful eyes bedazzled by light...
while the poet dreams!
...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot
Loose leaves rustle.
The grey light of evening dips and sways.
Evening birds bleat their lonely tattoo.
Gone are the jays and the wagtails,
the burnt-out end of smoky days.
No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly cut.
The clatter of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a woodpecker
seeking nutrition, finding none.
Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin.
A lonely candle sputters and she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for space,
still no inspiration will brighten her face.
Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the never land that has her clammed.
One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Exhilaration wracks her, inspiration smacks her
like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys!