Clamour at Dawn
Emerging, with dog in tow,
Into the clean morning air
A clamour of birdsong clashed and clang
Like a smack,
A full, glorious whack of song.
Contention not chorus,
A rioting convention,
Booming with Pigeons,
Still Hooting Owls,
Tittering Tit-Titting & flitting
Melifluous Blackbirding
Melodious Thrushing
Warbling Robins and
Quackering ducks,
Unidentifiable ullulations
Mixed with shrieking chickens,
The odd far off barking dog,
And the trace trumpeting of distant deer.
My dog paused to peer into the clamouring murk
And lurched off about her business in her doggie way.
I stood, rapt, leant into blent air.
Overhead swans swang and geese
Whooped across the lightening sky
In the clamouring dawning new day.
In the Realm of Stolen Gold
In the realm of stolen gold
Rivers rang: long bright clear;
Plundered, they now grow cold
Bleak brittleness taking hold.
Faint rain remains: endless, drear
In the realm of stolen gold.
Plundered woods, drained lakes, dredged and sold:
Scuppered scuffed wilderness. Clear
The memory. Lust will never grow old:
Hardened but cheap. Pain may be doled.
Failed heartbeat forgot, feared:
In the realm of stolen gold.
Their histories shudderingly unfold:
Ravaged revenants revered now smeared;
Followed as far as we grow cold,
Trapped in the boldest story, sold
Rivers rang no more long bright clear --
In the realm of stolen gold
Grasped tight – now can never grow old.
Flights, Issue Nine, June 2023
Flight of the dragonfly 