A bird stood in sand
is a confused creature.
Unsure of the waves ahead,
too tired to explore the grass beyond.
A sort of limbo.
Resting
while grains of sand
slowly mount on its webbed feet.
A subtle weight that goes
unnoticed,
yet soon becomes
irritating.
Over time the bird would grow to hate the substance.
Its head doesn't twitch.
Unbothered by the wind
it could gently handle,
deciding to greet it's impact instead.
Peace was no longer part of its life,
a distant memory of it's nest days.
Even flight was lost.
Not a freedom,
but a disdain for vast heights
and even bigger drops.
The bird stood in the sand,
unmoving.
Tag Archives: Bird Poetry
September Poetry: a ziplock bag
For the most part,
he kept his heart in a zip lock bag.
That way less people would
ask him if he had one.
A question he grew tired of.
Course he had one.
Silly question.
It was like asking the sky if it was blue.
Yes, sometimes it looked grey,
but even the sky got tired
of being the same colour.
He would leave it
sat next to him
when eating his lunch
at the local park.
The pigeons would bob their head
and move in closer,
thinking if they lingered for long enough,
they'd get a piec;
his heart an escaped crumb
from a loveless granary loaf.
They didn't know any better.
Neither did the children who would
stare as they were dragged past
by their mother's hand.
'Anyone told you it was rude to stare'
I'd think to myself.
It was no use however,
Children were curious beings.
They probably wondered why
I was feeding my heart to
the pigeons,
the pigeons wondered why I
wasn't.
Regardless,
it sagged over on itself
looking disgruntled.
I should have probably
written my name on it,
across one of the semi translucent
white lines,
just incase I did ever misplace it.
How long could I go without it?
There are lots of people wanting
a replacement these day.
Suppose I never got it back,
that wouldn't be ideal.
What if the sky never turned blue again?
Would the birds refuse to sing?
One thing for sure is that
the pigeons would still be hungry.
April Poetry: The Lady And The Robin
We wonder.
Wondered.
Into the abyss,
short sighted about the potential future
off behind that shrub.
The one that the squirrel just hurried into.
Chewing that strawberry that he’d been given by that kind lady
with the polka dot skirt,
that was long enough to establish her as a woman past her prime.
Yet how is it that she’s the happiest she’s ever been now.
Smiling more than ever before,
with the few years left that no longer held such a weight over
her thoughts.
She was finally able to walk the park she used to as a child
with the same careless attitude,
where she could feed the local wildlife fruit that she had brought with her.
She took another out of her bag.
A robin twisted his head sideways in order to see what
fruit she was now brandishing.
He could tell she was friendly human,
simply by her hand,
and that she’d had a pet in her life,
probably a dog by the looks of the wear
to her right hand.
And that she used to cry a lot.
Maybe it’s because she had just lost a loved one,
but he wasn’t 100% sure on that one.
Needless to stay
she was friendly,
even if she was hurt.
Although the beckoning smile on her face said otherwise.
He swooped down onto her hand,
twitching his head
left, right
up and down,
trying to get a better look how to of approach the grape.
It’d been months since he’d had a grape.
For some reason they were few and far between
in this part of the world.
Pecking at the fruit,
the inside flesh finally showed.
Juicy and happy
The bird tilted his head back yet again
gulping down the sweet clumps
of grape.
He was a pleased Robin.
And she was pleased that he was pleased.
‘How I wish you could see this’,
she wondered to herself.
Yet he could,
he’s the one writing this.
Birds in a Field
Together we feel safe
A blanket of white
Tucked softly over a grass field
All safe in thought
Until someone breaks off in angst.
That’s life
One moment you’re safe and warm
And the next you’re fleeing
Running next to those who you thought
Were just as secure as you.
Free fall is fun
You get to learn most about
yourself when you’re falling.
Flying is like falling sideways
You still have the feeling of wind
between your feathers
but you just don’t know you’re
Still headed towards your death.
The Seagull
You’re confused
This isn’t your usual surrounding
Where are the waves
Where’s your blurry reflection
No life below
Not life that you would recognise
Or at least want to
Gliding effortlessly as ever
In a space that isn’t yours
You follow a route
Made to lead some where
But equally no where
No longer vast
Or expansive
And limitless
You choose a journey dictated for you.
You should have stayed
But perhaps an experience awaits
One that involves growth
Even if it isn’t right for you.
So keep moving,
Gliding
Even if where you’re headed
Will lead you
No where.
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