The Curlews flight.
Means it’s goodnight.
The dark, cool air.
I hear you up there.
The Curlews flight.
Passage through the night.
Their place to roost.
Safe as my little hoose!
The Curlews flight.
Signals it is goodnight.
The beautiful sound in the air.
Invisible in the night time glare.
The Curlews flight.
I can only wish goodnight.
To the people and wildlife out there.
Who, like me heard the sound in the air.
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.
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.
The bog cotton hisses in concert with the curlews bubbling wail.
The salt air stirs the marram grass, the sand sedge and sea kale.
Alone she walks in beauty 'neath the dappled harvest moon.
Her night-time wanderings witnessed by the nightjar and the loon.
She trips from dune to pebbled beach in wonderment and awe.
Revelling in her yearly sojourn as she dances on the shore.
With child-like innocence her eyes and ears dart at every sound,
as her naked body glides and weaves, feet barely touch the ground.
With the advent of the breaking dawn, she knows she must relent.
The shoreline beckons, the ebbing tide mean her time is almost spent.
She lies where shingle meets the strand as skin reverts to scale.
Then, she is gone, in a splash of foam and a swish of her mighty tail.
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
You are in your prime, and I’m in my clime;
Why sweetie in twenty then we waste this time?
Come, dance; we can gently our pleasures hound,
For here’s a time for us to go merry-go-round.
Run around, and you’ll see how flowers bloom
And drones fly around wanting for some room;
Birds, herds, and all love while their time is high,
So come sweetie; in delay, our prime will sigh.
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.
March 11, 2021
ALL YOURS (Mar 12) Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Brian Strand
Aug. 16, 2020
*A 1st Place* in the following contest (judged on Aug. 27, 2020)
A Time For Us
Sponsor: JCB Burl
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
Boys whose, curlews virtues
my, my, my
And girls superb views
Transverse views virtues
Firms whose diverse views
Oh, no
Term used to sell venues
Pay dues to entrepreneurs whose of work crews
…defuse
What do you know, Oh, my
Clerks whose payments of church dues
Not nearly a down payment on those church pews
Now you see
Wooh is Me
9/14/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
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!
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.
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.
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.
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
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"
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