You see them everywhere,
sometimes countless in number,
winged, walking or wading,
running the gauntlet of waves,
filling the air.
Birds populate the planet,
make their home in trees,
buildings, on grassy paddocks,
icy continents and clinging
to the craggy heights of cliffs.
So many. But where do they go
to die. We see only a few
as roadkill or the odd one
decomposing under a bush.
Where are the others?. Surely
death should be more visible
in their ranks, parklands dotted
with those that have fallen dead
from the sky or a branch. More
washed up on a beach.
You would think their remains
would be everywhere
in plain sight. But no.
It's as if the dead slip through
a portal and into the unseen,
leaving no trace. Or maybe
the earth simply claims
and disposes of them
in haste out of respect.
Or do they find somewhere
inaccessible, hidden from view,
a place to pass away
and leave the human mind
to wonder why
the bodies of the avian dead
seem to number so few.
Categories:
parklands, bird, death,
Form: Free verse
abandoned parklands
filled with decaying dreamscapes…
frozen wine cooler
Categories:
parklands, dream, grief,
Form: Haiku
I grew up in the high Appalachians
Near the rim of the newest parklands,
Before strangers discovered the beauty
And the possibilities of running the rapids,
Enterprising out-of-staters saw promise
Buying up the small farms and fields,
Making them summer whitewater camps.
Now, real money is being made while
The seasons allow the sounds of laughter,
Drowning out dejected sighs of poverty
In the high Appalachians where I was born.
written September 12, 2021
Categories:
parklands, adventure, money, mountains, poverty,
Form: Free verse
if the pathways and parklands
of my childhood could talk
they would speak of time crawling
before it could walk.
and when clouds hung like mobiles
on strings from the sky
I would run with my arms out
pretending to fly.
I would 'land' near the steep bank
that looked down on the track
to watch trains pass there daily
before then heading back.
in that long, lost, hot summer
when I never knew time
I would scan the horizon
through the haze on the line.
the dots that grew bigger
would soon thunder past
- they were moments I lived for
that flew by so fast.
but as clouds clouded over
that magic had gone
and as the last train rolled past me
I sensed time had moved on.
Categories:
parklands, growing up, imagination, innocence,
Form: Rhyme
Pools of Longing
Sara L Russell, July 9th, 03:11am
That it might come back to me, that sweet sensation,
When i would reach out my arms across the cool light blue ripples
and push off from the side.
Then would i glide
out across the water, as a white crane glides across the sunset,
as a white cloud hurries brightly on a warm southerly breeze.
There are trees
when I go walking; butterflies and wild flowers too. They seem
comfort enough for a short time, in parklands and along the lanes.
There are trains
I may never ride on, there are buses I am still rethinking,
There is time enough for drinking in the the cafes and the bars;
But oh my stars,
what would I give to go back swimming,
gliding weightless once again, free as the birds that skim the sky.
Categories:
parklands, longing, summer, water,
Form: Rhyme
A grizzly isn't really, as bad as he's made out
He wanders round the parklands, when no humans are about
But there are times of course, we meet him in his home
We can't blame him for being there, it is on his land we roam
Open up your tent flap, and see the big brown bear
Close it quickly zip it up, you must not meet his stare
He would not come to campsites, if nothing for him there
After he had looked around, he would go elsewhere
He has that special odour, you can tell where he has been
You sense that he was at your camp, even though not seen
That is why statistics, that are often known to lie
Can this time tell the Gods own truth, so very few will die
So when you stay in National Parks, or even just 'Out There'
Leave a pristine place behind you, leave nothing for the bear
We can do it safely, out camping in the bush
If we just use some common sense, not give our luck a push
So there is that big brown bear, sexes named as hogs
Does little of the damage, of domesticated dogs
But he is big and looks so fierce, he takes a lot of blame
Should he vanish then this earth, would never be the same
Categories:
parklands, animal, nature,
Form: Ballad
A crow told us not to go away
Whilst a knitting and a purling she did say
You can’t go to China for I am scared
The meet thought of it is such a dread
I’ll stay in Adelaide in the parklands
And ruin Mother Nature in our grand plan.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Categories:
parklands, football,
Form: Ballad
Housemothers twain, swaddled in sorrel fur
And bustled skirts, walking ‘tween the parklands.
Brilliant cobalt sky, above cawing birds,
Who demand substance, with their harangue?
So the fostering queens proffer their alms.
The badelynge of ducks, on polished ice,
Lambently advance with feral affray.
As morsels of cardinal fare, entice.
The attending dames in their tender, urbane way,
Have rescued these birds from another wintry day.
Categories:
parklands, animal, beautiful, beauty, bird,
Form: Dizain