Birds

Metaphors of freedom and metaphor in poems as well as messengers, birds bring joy to our days to day lives, especially when we are all so restricted. We’ve shared ‘flashes’ of kingfisher, oyster catchers’ calls, magnificent magpies and stories of blackbirds.

Feeding the Birds in Bristol Harbour by Anna Haydock-Wilson
 For the Birds – again
 Before daybreak three gulls
 fly inland mewling overhead;
 
 mistle thrush, blackbirds, Jenny Wren sing
 for crumbs and oats in my back garden;
 
 out front, high on bird feeder pinnacle
 cock robin monitors comings and goings:

 collar doves, blackcap, starlings, sparrows
 magpies – two for joy – dunlins, crows;
 
 willie wagtails scuttling underfoot peck
 whatever they can pick up.

 In turn, together or apart,
 I watch each bird take its chance. 
 Rosy Wilson
Corvid cycle
Sickle wings askew
Scraping clean sky’s high contours
Red kites’ mewling screams
 
Ack-ack beaks rattling
Rooks tumble into barracks
Storied tree scaffold
 
Chattering jackdaws
Scatter across stubble fields
Suburban scuffles
 
Skirling smoky flocks
Ruffle dusky hillside skirts 
Ten thousand starlings!
Patrick Wilson

Photos by Paul & Anna

 On Ha’Penny Hatch
 Hanging over rail
 White egret stabs
 At running Ravensbourne
 Mallards escort ducklings
 Steadily upstream
 Leaving silty streaks
 Four days shut up, nature deprived
 Breathlessness returned
 Willing to breathe again
 Paul Wilson
Magpie by Paul Haydock-Wilson, to see video click here
 Under the lifting bridge
 Standing again on Ha’penny Hatch
 The day after a half century of birthdays.
 Green flash of kingfisher zips through and away upstream,
 ‘Gyptian goose squats on mid-channel rock.
 White egret shivers jazz feet,
 Disturbing silt in its singular quest for grub.
 Dancing, darting under the lifting bridge,
 I smile at the sheer energy of movement.
 Paul Wilson
Reflective black headed gulls in Eastville Park, Bristol by Anna
 Beckenham Lake
 Eye to eye with ducks 
 In icy water, framed with autumn orange
 The cold glows gold in my bones
 My feathers are dry too
 Ruth Fishman
 Saltee Islands
 as I walk, meditate
 along the sea wall
 contemplate gulls
 roseate terns as they
 swoop and turn, a flight 
 of ducks in formation
 
 I long to dive in, 
 swim with seals
 as once on the Saltees, 
 off Kilmore Quay,
 we swam together, 
 our family with theirs 
 Rosy Wilson
Andrea Morreau
 
 Baby Blackbird
 All week we've heard squealing deep in the ivy
 Your parents flying to and fro, foraging 
 Grubs and bugs for you and your siblings
 This morning they chased away a dozy wood pigeon
 That bumbled too near your hidden nest,
 
 So why are you cowering on dead leaves
 Squeezed into corner of house and fence?
 Worried mum fluttering around the eaves
 Did you jump or try to fly too early,
 Or is this normal fledging - taking a rest? 

 I just looked again and you've disappeared -
 I hope you're safe. I would tell your parents
 But they seem to be missing too, and though 
 I spend more time with them than any human, 
 We can't really communicate - perhaps for the best.  
 Patrick Wilson
  Easter Day
  Rising before dawn
  no chorus, one blackbird sings
  I hug an ancient yew

         over calm waves
         three cormorants fly low
         oystercatchers converse 
Rosy Wilson
Par Avion 
A squirrel loops his way 
Along the tangle of branches 
And leaps tree to tree 
Above him the crow echoes his curve 
At my table, 
Under my anglepoise 
I write a letter 
To be posted in the red box on the corner
Andrea Morreau

Author: Anna Haydock-Wilson

Artist, Filmmaker and Community Project Manager

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