Photograph by David Waters
A diverse set of poems this week, some nostalgic, some descriptive, others taking a flight into the imagination (forgive the pun). However as always only one winner and that is Tomas Bird for The Ruddock (poem 5). Congratulations to Tomas and thanks to everyone who took part by writing and submitting poems and also by voting.
Poem 1
Hyde Park Love
A Christmas kiss, years since passed;
Lit a spark and our fire raged.
A cool and crisp December day,
I hear a voice call out my name.
We’d meet in star-lit shadows,
You were older, I was young.
Once we met, down by the park,
Hidden in plain view during day.
A curious Robin flew down by us
The only one to watch us play
We’d meet in star-lit shadows,
You were older, I was young.
Laid down staring at Heaven;
It’s true, it’s only just sky.
You left me to chase Sun rays;
I left you to catch Moon beams.
We’d meet in star-lit shadows,
You were older, I was young.
Kevin Eagles
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Poem 2
Quick Robin
Still,
Poised
Against the breeze
(The February freeze)
Alert
With song of beak,
Spike of claw,
Spark of eye,
Tuft and tilt of tail,
Fluff and fern and frond of feather;
Ready to spring from the wall and feel
The gift of air,
The lift and drift
Of wing and wind:
Quick robin
Poised,
Still.
Lizzie Ballagher
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Poem 3
robin/Robin
If I were a different Robin born
I would rescue damsels
Liberate from the rich
Return to the poor
Or dawn a guise
Of a sweet old gran
To bring happiness and joy
To boy, to girl and to everyone
I might gift the world
Songs, with my dulcet tones
Rejoicing at Staying Alive
Sending chills down their bones
Instead
I stand upon this rock face
Contemplating time, tide…
Wow, this world moves at an endless pace
For one revolution
Around our brightest star
Is my presence required here
Upon this land and up in the air
So whether my image stands prominently
As the symbol of sporting glory
Or upon festive cards, stamps
Or all manner of stationery
I will use my gifted time
I will soar so very very high
I will partake in the world’s offerings
I will stand proud and majestic
I will explore land and sea
Grasp all that there is for me
Be the robin I’m meant to be.
Shonel Jackson
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Poem 4
Something in the air
Looking from here
I see worlds in dark eyes,
A long journey through snow and rain
Till, cold claws no longer cold,
The red I carry in feathered faithfulness
Like a sign making real the thing it signifies,
Warm comes again.
Michael Docker
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Poem 5
The Ruddock
appearing always like an afterthought,
this blood-breasted, cocked head semicolon
skips before me as I light a cigarette.
Adjusting my sweat-rimmed bunnet
and sighing the fumes in two columns
to the rolling slate-grey sky;
the Ruddock arrives to help weather
the storm.
Is it a practitioner of aeromancy –
this muse of Christmas –
or merely a comforter of the broken?
Will it sing into my soil-stained ear?
Though I am not the son of G*d,
and I have no wounds to use as stain;
I am still a son.
Will it bring water to my chapped lips,
as it seeks to ferry the contents
of my freshly-filled pond to the parched souls
of Purgartory?
I hold my beer up as if to say “I’m fine”.
Will it string the first falling leaves
of autumn into a pastoral-patchwork
shroud; anticipating the end of grief?
I am not a prettye babe in the wood though.
I am man in my garden surrounded
by pales of boulders,
spade-scraped markings,
reusable-rubble,
warm-glass bottles, label peeled;
the catalyst for change.
The Ruddock – content with this afterthought –
blood-breasted and cocked head,
it skips away as I crush my cigarette.
Adjusting my sweat-rimmed bunnet
and shivering as the wind strikes up
from the rolling slate-grey sky;
we retreat to our homes
of house or hedgerow
to avoid the storm.
Tomas Bird
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Poem 6
We remember
The birds came to visit you,
they came to see if the time was right.
From the rooftop of your living,
to tap the window of your death.
They waited in preparation
on the top of a bush,
visible to us all.
Not a warning,
but a reminder that the time was coming.
One was bid to lead you and came to the sill,
tapping impatiently,
like heaven’s finger’s drumming
and you tried to tell us you had to go.
And the tears and years move on
and you come and sing your song.
And we remember
and we remember.
Angie Butler
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Poem 7
Winter Dawn
Tiny feet cling to the edge
of the icing scattered wall.
Just up from the street sign…
not far from the traffic lights.
Black bead eyes and red breast
watch, this way, that as the town wakes
and school taxis and sleepy students
pour past on an automated journey.
Sunlight fights with frozen puddles
the battle she always wins,
thin covering cracks and water
once again becomes liquid for the tired robin.
Andrew Scotson
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Poem 8
Red on Limestone Walls
On the colour wheel
mix red with a lichen green,
Robin Redbreast tweets
Johana Boal
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Poem 9
Robin
Crimson breast, darting glance;
Partner in cold winter’s dance.
Spirit bird of Shaman’s law:
Let go the past; sing, love and soar.
Stephanie Haxton
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