Long Song thrush Poems
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My poems can be written straight from my heart
So I ensure my notepad and pen are never far apart
I’ll write humourous lines on a fun situation
Or on disastrous events, which affect a whole nation
I get inspiration from everything that’s around me
I’ll try and describe it as best I can in my poetry
A stunning sunrise painted as if by Monet’s brush
Hearing the tuneful twitter of the morning song thrush
The patchwork quilt of colour on the autumn hills
Seeing motorbike races with its thrills and spills
Watching a tiny baby sleeping so peacefully
Or moonlight dancing on a silvery sea
Listening to beautiful love song on the radio
This can evoke memories from so long ago
The death of those who were once in my life
Of good times and bad, life issues and strife
Some poems are fact, although many are fiction
But I’ve found poetry has become my addiction
What inspires me to write poetry
Sponsored by Julie Rodeheaver
09-04-17
So the song thrush sings his tunes to the darkening sky.
Is it to give thanks to some bird god or just for you and I?
As we watch the evening’s dying light and say goodbye to another day lost in time.
We sleep to give rest to our maddening minds. Then wake to insanely rush through the precious time of daylight.
Planning for this and planning for that. Dreaming about this and dreaming about that.
Silently killing us all our lives. It plays the echoes of our broken promises in our lies. We can hear time slipping when we close our eyes. Gravity eats our youth and gets hungrier as time passes by.
Solace is taken by wiser minds. Now we can’t anymore reach, leap and run through the darkest nights! The wind sounds the same and the sun is just as bright when our bodies can’t cope with the stress of living in these modern times.
Escape to find some peace in the evening light. With glass of water or your favourite wine, sit and close your eyes to listen to the thrush sing for you tonight.
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
The vixen is teaching her cubs to dance,
The dance of the fox trot.
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
Mid-March marks the wild animal masquerade
As the crimson embers of dusk fade,
The worm moon is rising.
Stars swoon to the moonlit tunes
Of the song thrush and warbler,
More subtle and melancholic
Than the chorus of dawn;
The jazz of the chiffchaff
And nightjar acoustics.
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
Slow, slow.
The glade is spotlit,
Luminous, sublime and silvered.
Humble earthworms deep in the ground
Awoken and beckoned to the spring sound,
To the rise and fall of the dance.
The cubs’ eyes alight with secrets,
The vixen wears her finest gown
Silken, and lustrous,
Her dog fox cloaked in shadows.
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
Last summer's velveteen foxgloves
Silence the rhythm of her paws,
Beautiful but deadly.
He brushed in tails is a smooth elegance
Of sleek copper shimmer.
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
They gather as a promenade of hunters.
Let the carnival begin!
The first chirp of the robin near my shut window pleaded
The blackbird, song thrush, chiffchaff, and pheasant pleaded as well.
The sunflowers, cornflowers, and marigolds that needed
Prayed for his help; he was as silent as a silent spell.
Fishes, amphibians, reptiles, and weak invertebrates
Hares, squirrels, owls, puffins, swans, geese, and willow ptarmigan
Lions, leopards, tigers, elephants, and monkeys with rude traits
Prayed; the cosmos seemed as though curled. The sun's silence went on.
As playgrounds were snow-covered, in gloomy moods, children prayed.
Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and cousins called. He said:
When I was shining, your minds seemed seismically swayed.
Can't you, when I am cool, with your inner warmth, march ahead?
Winter's whimsies play vehement games on the sun, so sure
Which element of nature, without him, can their wounds cure?
Once upon a budding arcadian green
a last veil winter hoar melts on the bud -
Romney low country lambs fattened to wean
chew in flocks upon the ruminant cud.
In the tea trees to the whistling song thrush
I alone hear that first September dawn,
and outside beyond ryegrass, fern and rush
glisten woolly coats of sheep early shorn.
Oh to feel again its warm gentle breeze
on greensward and dryads in the gnarled trees.
But upon the altar of this season’s new day
so a spring offering is born a prey.
In stone moss stream, wild aromatic grass,
the sleeping flower does the sun invite
but an ancient blood moon shall come to pass
on the shadows of day and dark of night.
Soon the muster will shatter a false peace
in cornucopia of herd and bloom -
nigh the yard gates will fill with milky fleece
and only finest wool spin on the loom.
Oh to feel again its warm gentle breeze
on greensward and dryads in the gnarled trees.
But upon the altar of this season’s new day
so a spring offering is born a prey.
Smell the petrichor and jade scented hedge,
the lambs, the honeybees in pollen’s net -
that botany of sights and sounds and fledge
of young and new moonrise to moonset.
The morepork on night hunt moonlit prowl
casts its eye and spreads its speckled wing -
and in the mists see swamphens and waterfowl
rise again the prismatic dawn of spring.
Written: August 1989
Spring is just around the corner
‘tis my favourite time of year
delighting in the knowledge that
Spring is close
Spring is near
Sounds of twittering ~ chirping ~ cheeping
are sounds I love to hear
for spring is truly in the air and birds are everywhere
I am woken before dawn by herring gulls squawking
they are roosting very close ~ to each other they are talking
Then crows I hear their caw caw cawing
for me a special treat
each day a crow caws out ‘Hello’
then caws to me ‘Good morning’
The sweetest sound of all is when I hear a blackbird call
for his repertoire is endless
each morning he’s performing
his romantic love filled aria
especially for me as I sip my morning tea
I love the sounds of sparrows so many gathered in a tree
just like the largest choir ~ they sing in total harmony
Such joy to hear a song thrush as he perches high above
warbling for his mate ~ serenading her with love
~~~~
New life beginning
New shoots are springing
With all her birds singing
Mother Nature at her best
All dressed to impress
Written 21st February 2021 ~ a very Spring like day…
Contest Spring Birds Poetry
Sponsor Constance la France
FIRST PLACE
Contest ALL YOURS (Feb 28)
Sponsor Brian Strand
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