Come into the garden, Maud,
for the black-backed gull, has flown;
come into the garden, Maud,
I don’t want to be alone.
.
My gull had kept me company,
a bag of chips for one, for two, or threeeee-
come into the garden, Maud,
even though the chips have gone.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Chips, #ComeIntoTheGatdenMaud, #GreatBlackBackedGull, #Gull, #poetry. #poem, #Tennyson, song
The gulls fly
across the sky
which doesn’t seem to mind.
My seagull,
is not a boomerang –
I had to get that straight,
before it became too late.
.
Anyway, it flew away,
one wintry day
in the very, very,
month of May
(which ‘was’ a surprise).
.
I expected it to return by June,
by the light of a slithery Moon.
(But, no.)
.
When it hadn’t come back by October,
I checked to see if I had looked over
(or over-looked)
my seagull.
(I hadn’t).
.
Christmas passed,
as Christmases do,
with no fewer sightings
than two less than two.
(Which is none).
.
Valentine’s, Easter, back through May,
and still no sign of my seagull –
not on any day.
Until one differing
(and different) day…
there was a flapping and a hopping;
my hoping had helped,
there was my seagull,
I think that I yelped.
.
Where had it been,
and why for so long?
Did my seagull’s sat-nav
go incurably wrong?
I never did find out
where my lost seagull went,
whether it travelled first class,
or slept in a tent,
cruised all the oceans,
or stared at a pool,
I have a few notions,
but none of them cool.
.
Wherever it was,
my seagull’s back on this beach,
where the sun’s always shining,
and life is a peach.
An golan,
h’an mor;
ow neyja ughel
ow neuvya down.
gwyls ha rydh.
—//—
A gull and the sea
.
A gull,
and the sea;
flying high,
swimming deep.
wild and free.
Why do they call me Jonathan,
when my name is Syd;
is it because of that book they read
when they were but a kid?
.
Jonathan Livingston Seagull,
by Richard Bach it was;
and how do I, a gull, know this?
Well, you may ask,
and I should not tell,
but, suffice it to say,
I’ve read that book as well.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Gull, #JonathanLivingstonSeagull, #LooeGulls, #poetry. #poem, #Seagull, Cornwall
I drew a picture
of a gull,
it had flown from within my mind,
and not from Hull
(or another place
that does not rhyme)
and there it was
upon the page,
looking sad;
because,
after an age
of standing there,
it hadn’t flown off anywhere.
The seagull flew
across the sky,
and spied a Rainbow
passing by;
the seagull asked
‘Where do you go,
when the Sun and rain are through?’
The Rainbow replied,
‘When they have gone,
when the rain has fallen,
and the Sun has shone,
I follow after,
in their wake,
until another bow
I should take.’
.
The seagull flew,
the Rainbow faded,
life carried on,
though now slightly jaded.
I’m here,
and this is where you’ll find me;
and I know you just have to remind me
that this is not the beach,
and that the seaside is out of reach;
but, to tell you the truth,
ever since I was a youth
I have been a seeker seeking follies;
and, here, I can chase the trolleys.
I’ll always remember the day:
it was a Saturday,
the day
that a jackdaw
pinched my pasty.
“A jackdaw?” you ask,
“Was it up to the task?
It’s normally a gull
that, perceiving a lack,
will snaffle your snack!”
“‘Twas not a gull,
from Looe or from Hull,
that pinched my pasty,
it was a jackdaw,
of that I am sure.
Black and shiny,
sleek and smart,
was the fearless jackdaw
who practiced his art
to take possession of my lunch,
a wholesome pasty,
on which ‘it’ did munch.”
That day has now been circled
on the calendar of my strife,
as a day I’ll remember
for the rest of my life.
The seagull and the jackdaw
took flight one day,
as only a seagull and a jackdaw may;
following the currents
that flow in the air,
lifting their wings
to where all eagles dare;
carousing and calling
in utter delight;
‘til they called it a day
at the coming of the night.
 | Cynthia Praski on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
 | Words from a Lentil… on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
| Cynthia Praski on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
| Words from a Lentil… on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
| Cynthia Praski on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
Graeme Sandford 