Tag Archives: #birds

The glint of gold on a Goldfinch’s wing

The glint of gold

on a Goldfinch’s wing;

the trilling song

that a Blackbird does sing;

the cuteness overload

of a Robin’s hop;

the raucous cry

of a Jackdaw’s call;

there are many others,

but I cannot name them all.

The birds are back in town

The birds are back

upon the feeder,

where they do feed,

to assuage a need.

.

Goldfinches, starlings,

sparrows, others,

I help to feed

my feathery brothers

(and sisters).

A quiet Sunday morning walk

A quiet Sunday morning walk,

with just the sound of flittering birds,

as the dogs and I traverse the country lanes.

Further on, the cry of new-born lambs

from a field, a distance away,

that is dotted with many off-white clouds of fleece.

Other fields have grazing cows,

quieter in their ruminations,

while yet others are carpeted with growing crops of an unknown type.

Two horses freely digest their findings,

conversing sparingly with their neighbours, another herd of grazing cows.

I tip my hat to the morning,

and offer thanks

Goldfinch

There’s a goldfinch in the garden

half-inching the food that I left out for the birds;

how does he know that it’s his?

He doesn’t seem that bothered,

all ebulliently feathered,

a Hardy sort, and weathered,

stocking up for the season yet to come.

He’s not a Robin robbing,

or a Starling staring at me,

asking for another slice of seedcake;

he’s a goldfinch made of sturdy stuff,

that I actually think has eaten

until he’s finally had enough.

But, he’ll be back,

and soon,

for the Winter will be tough.

Planting Feathers

Planting feathers

in the verge,

I have to do it

I have an urge

and cannot stop,

I long for seeing

next year’s crop.

In the distance

In the distance

I can see black and white cows

crossing the green and brown fields,

their destinations unknown to me.

.

In the sky

gulls and crows and various birds

are passing from one horizon to another

their destinations also unknown to me.

.

Close by

in the hedgerows

tiny feathered friends tweet their messages

of information unknown to me.

.

I stand here and all this circles around me.

The wind beneath my wings

I’m happiest when I’m flying,

trying to stay aloft, crying

with joys – yes, that’s me

making that noise.

.

Riding the currents,

going where the mood takes me,

diving or soaring,

pouring my heart into the moments.

.

When I do land,

I stand, and look wistfully up,

to the heavens,

and yearn for when I am there once more.

The Woodpecker

It was only when I saw

the woodpecker pecking at peanuts

on our bird feeder,

did I consider the name peanutpecker

might have been an option.

Birds

There’s a sparrow on the ridge tile,

and a pigeon on the chimney,

both holding conversations

with friends I cannot see.

The sparrow chirps,

the pigeon coos,

and between the two

they spread the news,

that cats are about;

the feeders refilled;

there’s water in the drinks bowl,

tepid, not chilled;

or just twittering ‘cause they’re happy,

and cooing because they will—

now they’ve gone and flown off,

and I am sat here, still.

Grace Darling

Mother?

What is it, Grace, darling?

What sort of bird are we?

I think that we are called, ‘starlings’, my dear.

Oh.

Is there a problem, Grace?

No. I just wanted to grow up and be a kingfisher.

Ah, the fisher king – such a fine colouring, almost as beautiful as yours, Grace.

Beautiful? I am a dull shade of slate grey.

Not when you are in the sunlight, Grace; then you are without doubt the most beautiful of all birds.

Really?

Definitely.