Curlew Poems | Examples

Loch Ba

With clouds dispersing above Loch Ba,
to where would we go? And just how far?
We followed the track for more than two hours
listening to birds enjoying the flowers:
meadow pippit, willow warbler 
curlew, lapwing and skylarks,
bog asphodel and milkwort, 
ragged robin and lousewort,
plenty of pignut and wild thyme.
The remembrance has more value
than contriving a rhyme!
Around us the trees alder and oak
contorted old rowan and birch
all covered in lichen and mosses. 
After lunch we returned along the shore 
with grebes, geese a raptor and so much more.

Isle of Mull, 14th June 2024

The Fens

Snipe and Curlew are skating on the mist
they sing of the water
that sky-water which sways to their songs.

Flat is this land with no coastal margins,
here I am the peak of a mountain
my coated form
darkly winged with strange desires,
an ardor compelled to rain down
upon these wandering streams,
to babble and pour in the Wash is my pleasure.

Osprey skim between the worlds
as they plow the brume and drizzle.
Silver trout dangle in the air
hooked by the wringing and the wet,
the taloned and the dunking beak.

You gandering Grebs where are you gone?
O yes, you are swimming a soaking river
betwixt the two poles of this sodden world,
you wade and paddle, dip with a breezy ease -
with dauntless sweeps you divide the oceans.

The British Seashore

On the cliff at the Worm’s Head 
High above the horns of the bay
I see the surfers ride great waves
With horses’ manes
That ever fail, but never end
In the strong Atlantic surge

In the estuary at Dartmouth
Where the oyster boats dredge
Turning and drifting in slow shadow dance 
Great nets of shells are hauled up 
And poured out on to the decks
As I plunge upriver

Tacking along the wending Dart
With bent-puzzle oaks on either side
I hear a sudden hush descend
Upon a lonely river hythe
As time and air, smooth and still
Forever glide, like Mayflies
On cold, clear water

In the seaway by the port
With its unmistakable algal aroma
Of the British seashore
I hear the heavy horn of a freighter
That plies its path
And never sinks, yet ever diminishes
Beyond the waves

And far from the pier of the seaside town
Where sandpipers probe 
In spiral casts
I hear the penthal call of the curlew
Like silver flourishes on a black cloud
That never moves, but holds dominion
In the cold morning air.

The Roggenwolf

A familiar dawn of dull and sunless sky
the inconstant rattle of unlocked door, which
plays a backbeat to the buzz of dying fly.
A breath of wind blows a high, discordant pitch;
wildly rings a wind bell on a porch nearby.

I should have repaired the door a while ago
before it and I became unhinged, beside
the thing solely clatters when North Easters blow.
It’s so very nearly time to step aside;
let others tend to the house, the garden mow.

And yet, some dawns are born splendid sapphire blue
the backbeat buzz, then a rhythm of devouring
melodies we made together, me and you.
The sweet memories of passion flowering
wildly consummated in one morning’s dew.

A familiar dawn of dull and sunless sky,
the harsh singing of a curlew overhead
a Roggenwolf stealing from a field of rye
and wild wind that whistles past now empty bed;
also rings a wind bell on a porch nearby.

Sand Dune Lagoon

Lake Wollumboola is intermittent.
A coastal dune lagoon, enclosed by berm of sand.
Its basin a drowned creek-scoured depression.
This tiny lake is perched above high tide, vulnerable.
Its survival lies at the whim 
of wind-blown and sea-thrown sand.
It's long term fate short-lived as its filling up 
with sediment, weed, detritus and muck.

This little lagoon among the dunes
is mecca for migratory birds.
The curlew and buff-breasted sandpiper,
The long-toed stint, pied oyster catcher and little tern.
These vulnerable birds depend on the vulnerable lake.
They arrive on-cue from long-hall flights.
Alight and feeds in the shallows.
Mate, breed and lay eggs in vulnerable places
on the open beach and shore.
They squat on eggs and fledge their young,
and when the time comes, migrate back
with young yearling in tow, 
to whence they came.
They book return migratory flights to 
Lake Wollumboola each year, 
hoping it survives vulnerable
for another year,
and hoping its time is not yet up.

Meeting

Moon peeped
through the treetops,
tiptoed
to a window,
knocked softly
and hushed
to keep his promise.

‘Chuck, chuck, chuck, '
a gecko wished;
a bat dropped
an oozing mango
and flapped
from the backyard;
a curlew
screamed a welcome note;
a door creaked open,
and they
shadowed the moon.


Robert Browning's "Meeting at Night" inspired me when writing this piece.

Vrishchika Wind

You were 
neither a destroyer
nor a preserver 
like Shelley’s west wind.
You were
a native signal
to harvest the taro and tapioca.
You were
a swing for the shore, 
and my soul too.

You weren’t 
just a parching wind
for me.
My still leaves 
were energized 
by your verve.

Moon shines. 
Henna plant blooms.
Ghost of a love loiters 
in the old melody
from a CD.
If you blow now, 
a heaven will open 
as in the past.

Climate has changed 
like generation. 
Vrishchika and the present
are passive,
poker-faced.
Season of stirring wind 
is no more.
An Ockhi of havoc howls 
instead. 



Vrishchika,- a month in Malayalam calendar, noted for continuous 
                     wind in some parts of Kerala
Ochkhi –      name of a cyclone

First published in The Curlew

The Curlew

The curlew’s trademark, long down curved bill

Delves deep in mud, belly to fill

Heath and moorland breeding ground

Mating calls eerie sound

And then chicks arrive

Oh how they thrive

Birds anew

Curlew

View

As If To Remind Me

As if 
To remind me 
Of past sorrows, 
The plaintive cry of a curlew 
In the distance. 

       W.A. CHOLT . COPYRIGHT  Fergal O Reilly. 2017.

Birdwatcher

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

The Narcissist

Me a bush stone curlew,
And this is my fond view—
There's none whoso like me
In all space, land and sea,
An if one does exist,
Bird it be, be it beast,
Reflection of mine is,
And oh dear, I love this--
A curlew of rare hue!
_____________________________
A bush stone curlew, a bird, spent hours staring at its own reflection as shown in a video that became instantly viral. The bird became instant star as well. Now, if this bird had a poetic bent of mind, it might have penned a little ditty like this. 

      Happenings, humour | 21.03.2017 |

Wild Life Words

Adder,badger
barn owl
             black hairstreak
silver studded blue
damsel fly
fritillary
                 sundew-
Marsh helleborine
Duke of Burgundy
                  goat willow too-
Porcelain fungus
purple emperor
                   quaking grass
skylark
bush cricket
                      curlew-
Dowy emerald
bluebell
                 wild service tree
Gentian
corncockle
widgeon
                 chalk hill blue

inspired by BBOWT WILD LIFE CHAMPIONS

The Not So Original Monoku Challenge

The long billed curlew is frightened by something, he's ready to take flight.

Haiku Marsh

Out of the vast marsh
plaintive grey curlew calling -
my sister scolding me.

Oooh So True

Afterlife, how the universe seamlessly ultimately absorbs and entwines me into you
that's Divine truth, plain and true.
Joy and peace await when 'life' is through
and all's unstuck from Being's glue
everything's eternal lasting whilst forever anew
with shades of whites and hues of blues
with fades of life, the new realm you go to
now seeing all, an unrivalled view
that teasing puzzle and the cryptic clue
a bird that swam and also flew
maybe a swan or perhaps the curlew?
Harsh winters crisp frost and hopefull springs moist dew
rainlike your body drops, as your soul freely flew
like the wind, when your last trumpet call was blew
Fear not, as everything embraces you!
©John-Ovan.P.Hull

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