They say make friends, have fun!
But did that end where it begun?
They say drink beer, tell tales!
So why bonds do they fail?
They say be cool, be hip!
But that feels me sick!
They say this way, this time!
But my life is my life and it’s mine.
Quiet stillness can be found.
Where thought process can be sound.
Let them live for the good times.
Let them find nothing between their lines!
I’ll walk alone, I’ll walk tall.
See skies shadows on quiet hills as day falls.
Watch grey wagtails bob in the stream.
Close my eyes in deep woods to feel free.
a crescent
lights the sky-
the bald eagle sleeps
yellow diamonds
just stopping by-
wagtails..onward fly
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.
Redstart & Greenfinch, also Reed Bunting,
Come into focus on a birdlife reserve.
Warblers & Wagtails, singing all day,
Sounding so sweet in the garden.
Robin & Chiffchaff scurry around,
That’s my bug meal, if you pardon.
Black Tailed Godwit & Purple Sandpiper,
Great Skuas & Dunlin share low tide.
Petrels & Fulmars, big Herring Seagull,
All I can name from a secluded bird hide
Loose leaves rustle.
The gray light of evening dips and sways
and night closes in.
Gone are the jays and the wagtails,
the harbingers of better days.
No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly sharpened.
The clatter of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a woodpecker
probing for nutrition, finding little.
Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin.
A lonely candle sputters as she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for position,
still no inspiration to brighten her face.
Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the never land that has her jammed.
One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Excitement whacks her like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys.
Loose leaves rustle.
The gray light of evening dips and sways
and night closes in.
Gone are the jays and the wagtails,
the harbingers of better days.
No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly sharpened.
The clatter of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a woodpecker
probing for nutrition, finding little.
Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin.
A lonely candle sputters as she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for position,
still no inspiration to brighten her face.
Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the never land that has her jammed.
One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Excitement whacks her like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys.
...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot
Loose leaves rustle.
The grey light of evening dips and sways.
Evening birds bleat their lonely tattoo.
Gone are the jays and the wagtails,
the burnt-out end of smoky days.
No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly cut.
The clatter of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a woodpecker
seeking nutrition, finding none.
Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin.
A lonely candle sputters and she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for space,
still no inspiration will brighten her face.
Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the never land that has her clammed.
One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Exhilaration wracks her, inspiration smacks her
like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys!
Loose leaves rustle.
The gray light of evening dips and sways
and night closes in.
Gone are the jays and the wagtails,
the harbingers of better days.
No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly sharpened.
The clatter of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a woodpecker
probing for nutrition, finding little.
Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin.
A lonely candle sputters as she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for position,
still no inspiration to brighten her face.
Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the never land that has her jammed.
One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Excitement whacks her like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys.
Sparkling little star,
So much you warm my heart,
A little girl in pigtails
Made of sugar and spice,
But enticed with snails and mice
And puppy-dog wagtails
When you sing you bring happiness to my heart
So sweet you are my brightest little star
By: Eve Roper 8/28/2015
Mid morning in the now leafy white poplar, tall and symmetrical,
four flashing light and dark magnificent magpies tea leaf, steal the
mannerisms of tinier wagtails by moving their tails up and down dancing
around from branch to branch leading following each other and chattering
away as though they have nothing else to do all day, for on this lovely day
their instincts start to do what all other young adult creatures do in Spring.
The waterfall splashes,
gushing from a
mossy hill that
drops small rocks;
it doesn't dribble
as on winter
days seeping into
grass that's dry.
Soon the waterfall
becomes a stream,
where ravens rest
to sip its water
on the hottest
day of summer...
while wagtails and
hummingbirds take a
dip to wash off
pesky bugs clinging.
Trickle, lively stream...
let me hear
your sounds and
compose a melody.
The Wagtails gathered before sunset,
Dancing their olive steps
Around treetops,
And chatting like teenagers
At an auditorium.
The sky, dreaming
Of dusk at its sapphire edge
Played with the palm trees
That spread-eagled
Lazily In shadows,
Whilst I followed a
Sandy road
Towards the sea,
Amongst the swirling dust
Of a saffron breeze;
A silent contemplation
Over ruby red wine
And arterial bursts
Of magnificent memories.
Each one of us follows a specific quest,
and there many different ones;
for me it's that passionate love which blooms
in spring when rain becomes mist.
Watching roses drip as eyes that weep restores
the memory of that forgotten sadness
brought by a faithless love known too briefly
to discover the scope of its insincerity.
Why didn't I believe in her fickle promise?
She only gazed at those radiant stars,
as a true one wouldn't have to compromise
the beautiful truth not stained with lies.
Still waiting to feel that passionate
love which blooms in spring...
happy wagtails by the petal-draped lake,
gather to make their notes ring.
Besides velvet-soft kisses that I eagerly steal
from tempting lips seeking this man's warm hand,
what else could please me more than an indulgent will
with that passionate love which blooms in spring?
...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot
Loose leaves rustle.
The grey light of evening dips and sways.
Evening birds bleat
their lonely tattoo.
Gone are the jays and the wagtails,
the burnt-out end of smoky days.
No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly sharpened.
The clatter
of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a woodpecker
seeking for nutrition, finding little.
Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin.
A lonely candle sputters
and she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for space,
still no inspiration will brighten her face.
Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping
white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the neverland that has her clammed.
One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Exhilaration wracks her,
electricity whacks her
like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys!
After the snow and the thaw set in, the bigger birds banished all the little ones to the
higher branches of the trees as they fed on nuts and seeds. Big bullies lol!
melting morning
wagtails protest from above
as crows swoop to feast
My friends come dine with me, while nature writes its poetry.
Corn, maize, sunflower seeds, bread, nuts and fruit for all
your needs. A bowl of water for you to wash, a gentle sip and
your thirst may quash. Through the pine the sun doth glow,
around the table the colours flow. Before my eyes this
coloured mist, the morning air and dewdrops kissed. Blue ****,
Great **** danced the floor, Blackbirds, Thrushes wanting more.
Spotted Flycatchers dart and dash, Chaffinch, Bullfinch preen
and splash. The Treecreeper stalks the maize, a Bee Eater green
on yellow floats the haze. Jays and Magpies for morsels fight,
Wagtails hop in black and white. The Robin stands and shows
his chest, the Siskin lands not far from nest. A Yellow Wagtail
carries the eye, all is song beneath the sky. A Crossbill comes
and steals the seeds, the Wren is perched and gently feeds. On
a branch high above sit a pair of Turtle Doves, as a Bunting
sings to the one he loves. Warblers, Goldcrests scrap for corn,
Sparrows skip and clean the lawn. This mornings table was
with colour blessed, all was warm in natures nest.
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