Blue sky seagull chirp,
pealing plaintive strain oe’r tides,
weeping waters rush
Cherry dew song thrush,
weaves mirthful mist from spruce tree,
off-key forest fall
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!
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.
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?
That thrush so high up on the tree,
does it sing for you or me?
Its trills I hear with such delight
even though it's not in sight.
Then it's quiet. I peer and stare.
Has it flown? I wonder where?
And now it's on a neighbours' tree.
Is it's song for them or me?
Over the fence its song proclaims
worms and snails are mine to claim.
It's singing not for you or me,
yet from snails it sets us free.
Confined by virus week by week,
isolation may feel bleak.
Yet while it's quiet we can hear
sounds of nature far and near.
For each of us till fading light
thrush's song does us unite.
ADVENT OF SPRING
It was as though a sign had been received.
The master plan, held back, now causing stirring
As if nature’s endocrines had been released
Flooding all the world with catalytic spurring
Pre-dawn the Song Thrush first perceived the moment
Her triple prelude showed she could recapture
(As day broke, light in softer glow bestowment)
Her first symphony of blissful, careless rapture
On this cosmic stage light rose imparting sheen
And sun lent equinoctial warmth to nourish
The hedgerows that had barely hinted green
Were now transformed to full fresh verdant flourish
A delicate jade mist veils sylvan canopy
Sweet Spring is clothing Nature in full panoply
Close your eyes, I'll take you down a country lane
Leading to a stream where crystal waters flow.
Can you hear the song thrush sing his sweet refrain?
Do you feel the golden sunshine's warming glow?
Often in my childhood years I would remain
Carpeted by lush and verdant grass below.
Tranquil sounds of summer sweeping over me,
Colourful imagination running free.
02/02/19
'My Place Multi-Part Easter Prizes Poetry Contest'
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire
xanthic daffodils
sway on a cool morning breeze
song thrush breaks snail shell
Captcha haiku contest
Sponsored by Harry Horsman
my log in captcha was XSS
8/7/18
Blackbird Haiku
Blackbird sings so sweet
Song Thrush adorns black clothing
Bring joy to the World
Written 25.7.18 for Tania's
Haiku Bird themed contest
ADVENT OF SPRING
It was as though a sign had been received.
The master plan, held back, now caused enaction
As if nature’s endocrines had been released
Flooding our world with catalytic action
Pre-dawn the Song Thrush first perceived the moment
Her triple prelude showed she could recapture
(As day broke, light in a softer glow bestowment)
Her symphony of blissful, careless rapture
On this cosmic stage light rose imparting sheen
And sun lent equinoctial warmth to nourish
The hedgerows that had barely hinted green
Were now transformed to full fresh verdant flourish
In trees the sap is surging in ascension
A delicate jade mist now veils the canopy
Across the land life wakes in each dimension
Sweet Spring is clothing Nature in her full panoply
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
Little speckled thrush
always in such a hurry
more Spring Songs to sing.
8th June 2017.
Contest one Haiku,
Sponsored by Rick Parise.
Awoken from fitful sleep, too uncomfortable to resume
Stifling heat prevailing one morning in early June
Through dawn's weakly strained golden haze
Fresh air my lungs desperately craved
To reach the front door, I descended the stairs
With door ajar, cooler air, under a fanlight glaze
My attention was alerted to warbling of a lonesome bird
One continuous note distinctly suspended, as in mid air
Uplifted my soul, as another bird's rendition I heard
With one accord, in duality, birds pitch perfect paired
Heralding in unison further bird answering calls
Culminating chorus of blackbirds, larks and song thrush thralls
Chirruping in octaves, as though orchestral blendings
Glorifying their earthly sojourns in joyous renderings
Listening, I stood in deep contemplation
As all industrial noise was still in cessation
All life in perpetuity as from centuries before us
I then realised, I too had been called by
the BIRD'S DAWN CHORUS
did he do it,did he do it
Judy did,Judy did
come out,come out-
The song thrush shouts
Brian Strand Entry for Twenty Twenty contest
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
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