Long Curlew Poems

And I begin my own steep climb into 
The Chalkland Downs                        ...

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Le Courlis poussa des cris -Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's The Curlew Cried by T Wignesan


 (Note d’Oodgeroo : Le courlis fut le frère d’aborigènes. Il venait trois nuits de suite pour pousser des cris près...

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I know of a river of more than average 
Sorts...
Meandering, when not dallying to maunder,
Between many differing contours 
And unruly contorts;
Where a privileged youth once
Happily sought -
Pursuing about his passions
In the traditional methods 
By which...

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Egnehenots – of earth and stone

Chief elder – most wise upon the Salisbury Plain
     an old man . . .  loved deeply
     revered father of the...

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life without love
was how nature planned it
instinct was the way

instinct was the way
was how nature planned it
life without love

symbiosis
when two become partners
instinctive for one

instinctive for one
when two become partners
symbiosis

the mighty oak tree
supports many life forms
inadvertently

inadvertently
supports...

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Ranted I in fiery dance
Upon the rushed floor.
It plyeth mosaicate from out my thought.
Lucid it creels through battlement and prepapace.
Upon this tower, I cleveth Erin’s loved lorne lore.

It’s marshed earth with braided stench of wilded...

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A cloudless day, should have been warm but the frigid southern roaring 40’s cut like flailing daggers into the skin, leaving bones and joints to succumb to the maddening icy grip of winter’s callous fists....

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On a cold and frosty morning I gazed across fair fields, woods and copses,
I heard a wood-lark sing a sweet song, so sweet, hairs on my neck raised,
Did I hear it earlier in the month,...

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The crow, a prophet in the pines, 
Caws a lament, a mournful chime. 
Is it winter's grip he fears, 
Or a world grown cold, with unseen tears? 

The curlew pipes a mournful song, 
Across the...

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Le courlis poussa des cris – Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal’s « The Curlew Cried » by T. Wignesan

(Note d’Oodgeroo : Le courlis fut le frère d’aborigènes. Il venait trois nuits de suite pour pousser des...

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The feather beds are a string of mountains near where I live, famous for its raised bog lands, where my father and his brothers cut turf for many years. In spring / summer a wild...

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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...

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Solomly the mist drifted aimlessly,
cloaking moor and heather, the 
curlew and grouse silenced by
the haunting of a solitary piper.
Kilt clad from rocky outcrop,
the lament Land Of My Youth
echoed ridge and valley.
Beckoning the lost footsteps, 
the...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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D’weep

"Still round the corner 
there may wait, 
a new road or a secret gate."
J.R.R. Tolkien

Around the corner and up the creek
Lies in wait the horrible D’weep,
Watch out old man the hunger gnaws,
Will rip you from...

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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...

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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....

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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...

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