THE NIGHTJAR
How slow
Blood spreads
The ripple's last ring
How still her step
The edge of dreams
The bell`s cold lip
The hammer`s kiss
How time has swept
On that last swing
A room where Death
Refused his leave
An honored guest
Still one so grieves
There'll be no rest
Next nightfall brings
I'll stay my breath
The Nightjar sings
A dawn chorus of unfamiliar birdsong woke me before first light. I had slept well despite the night sounds of a nightjar and the heavy breathing of unseen animals beyond my tent. Before exhaustion finally claimed me, a feeling of inevitability had washed over me.
we can't change circumstances
embracing moments
taking stock
we are either the hunter or the hunted
what part do we play
in the dance of life?
Stroke of twelve banter down lanes,
madrigal of quaint shroud dark mystery,
lull between that veiled velvet lullaby,
crescent moon peep oe’r urban slumber,
boisterous beep beep car quiet piercing,
deep indigo curtain wrapped pine trees,
nightjar sky dive whilst emits eerie pitch,
oblivious to midnight’s terse timeline
Line of Inquiry:
“joy, empathy, compassion
on an upward arc
an effervescence eternal
causes bliss ignition to start” - Unseeking Seeker
a nightjar sang in ecstasy
its haunting melody reaching me
a kindred spirit in its reticence
due to our unassuming countenance
when love found me by the ceil blue stream
that wended among harsh words of the past
it was more than just a lifeline
to heal my bruised spirit
I lifted my head to the warmth of his words
as their caresses washed away my insecurities
under the bridal arch we promised fidelity
before the sun had set
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!
silence resonates
eerie gray glow of night sky
nightjar* prays for moon
*The fiery-necked nightjar has a distinctive call that many have rendered as 'good-lord-deliver-us'.
As dusk hours darken the skies ever later
Crepuscular creatures return
Strisores awaken the heathland
As the heat of the day still rises from the earth.
Quietness blankets the world in black
So silent I hear only noise
Yet over the volume of nothingness
The nightjars are back with their voice.
The trilling incessant and echoing through
The forest, rebounds from the trees
Bringing the woodlands alive at night
As the sound travels far on the breeze.
Pausing only to breathe and break their song.
As I hold my breath to silence my body
Closing my eyes to strain and not to miss
A single note in their evening aria.
As I retire to my chamber
Window open to allow warm breeze
Finally as sleep creeps into my mind
The nightjars commence their diminuendo
The noise of the night retreats
Inky blackness taking over the sky
Dreams float through the dark
Accompanied by the memories of the day.
Everywhere, I see myself these days,
I see a smile attached to my face.
My worries have started to disappear,
I see the happiness on my plate.
The memory of you is stuck in my head,
the scent of you is printed on my chest.
Anywhere in the world, I hear your name.
"you are only mine" is all I claim.
The beauty of yours is like a bottomless sea,
and it stretches as far as the eyes can see.
In your arms is where my world lies,
For me, it's great peace, a heavily prize.
So my love, let's gaze the stars,
let's make some memories, and put them in a nightjar
romantic stargazing ends with a smooch
nightjar rattles approval
watching crescent moon, charmed
Date written: 09/25/2021
The ripple in the calm stream
The cold air in the sun
The nightjar or the owl scream
The silence you begun
The creaking door in the night
Soft footsteps in the dark
The movement of something out of sight
The wrong shadow in the park
I turn because I sense you there
Even though you can’t be seen
The knowledge that I know you care.
Makes me sleep easy in my dreams
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.
I Am Not Chuck-Will’s-Widow
Part I: Bullies, Lodging and Treats
Whip-Poor-Will at twilight —
Tremendous skyline.
My wings ~ vainglorious, like a teen girl’s locks.
Nightjar
Goateater
Bugeater
Bully-based bias, cryptically colored
along branches and leaves.
And don’t step on me, but do hover
near my nest
if you’re a tasty treat, not a pest.
Part II: HAUNTED
away she flew, wild-eyed, pale,
see-through; buried under my wings.
the mourners nearly stepped on her;
litterfall and cladodes -
fear and delight at my whip-poor-will dirge.
7/23/2020
I am a Bird - Personification Poetry Contest
Sponsor is Tania Kitchin
In the dappled hour between day and twilight,
surged the call of a Nightjar in flight,
a Whippoorwill sang at will,
echoing his trill.
I kept so
still,
and although
quivering with chill,
waited for a female shrill
to answer him while I hid from sight
in the dappled hour between day and twilight
Andaree - 11 Line Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Posted on July 13th, 2020
Checked on sites:
rhymezone and howmanysyllable
*My apologies to those who viewed and left comments before this poem mysteriously disappeared.
The unmistakable nightjar
Rattling dusk's lullaby
What a strange sleep seduction...
It's just 8 PM!
Date written and posted: 10/20/2018
Dark river
The still
Lost stories
The will
Nightjar or skylark
The water doesn’t care
Moonshine or sunlight
Don’t you dare
Questions for the waters?
Too many words unspoken
Too many secrets stolen
Too many tears eaten by cold waters
Dark rivers tell nothing
Moon glistens on dark water
Mist settles as mind wonders
How many lives lost their living on a cold night in this dark river?
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