Seascape - iPad - Elizabeth Waugh
Cloud forest birding
So, here I am then, lost in PNG,
seeking birds of paradise in mist,
a sad, frustrated ornithologist
in montane forest, pristine canopy
so high above, I cannot name one tree,
or bird. Only a trained biologist
could know each species, make a decent list
of unseen flocks, whose calls drift down – not me.
Not me, who by the age of ten, could name
beech, chestnut, willow, rowan, ash and yew,
blue tit, goldcrest, redstart, think it all a game
to watch and follow every bird that flew.
Here at Goroka, a child once again,
Kind Papuans guide me to all that’s new.
Barbara Mearns
The Language of Crows
Words are a clothing of sorts
but my coat begins to unravel,
threads sliding through my fingers,
collecting in small, unseen corners,
stretching back to my beginning.
Half-forgotten memories turn over
and over in the anxious dark
and familiar smells twitch, dangling
like fish hooks, ripping my heart.
I try to separate the past into neat
piles but get tangled up in frayed
edges lingering in the ebb and flow
of conversations. I snatch, try
to hold on, but they disintegrate
on touch. And yet…
there’s beauty in destruction,
in dark edges of melancholy and blood
behind the door, in black feathered wings
striking my cheek and talons tearing
at my throat. I can’t sing—I speak
the language of crows.
Kriss Nichol
Fly Agaric - Hazel Lowther
Seagulls, sandwiches and sunglasses
A beautiful evening on the beach
Calm sea and a fluttering light breeze
High tide, inviting water, but cold
My friend stands and watches while I bathe
I swim out a hundred yards, then turn
See a seagull ransacking my bag
Which holds the sandwiches earlier made
For our supper after a long swim.
“Look out”, seagull behind you”, I shout
She turns and makes a grab for the bag
The startled seagull drops our dinner.
Shoots up, flies off with an angry squawk.
Several weeks later, back at the beach
No food this time so leave bag unzipped
Take off my specs and stuff them inside
Before running down for my daily dip.
When I return after half an hour
My bag is circled with three toed marks
I dry my face, then glasses try to find
Tip everything out but no specs are there.
Next day I ring the insurance firm
Expecting them to reject my claim
For spectacles stolen by a bird
As a far-fetched and bogus demand
But not a bit, they calmly accept
Gull stole expensive varifocals
They will pay up without a murmur
Makes one wonder if it happens much!
Beverley Vaux
Deep Sea Prompt
Down Under
What is their story?
These ancient urns
wedged deep into
the ocean's bed
Who owned them?
in another time
and other world
not in our ken
Fascinated
we swim around
rubbing shoulders
with fishy creatures
Nudging us
and annoyed
as we disturb
their playground.
Eleanor Chesters
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