With my birdfeeder full

A bountiful supply

I think I'm giving nature a hand.

But as I watch nature unfold

It is she, that is helping me

By including me in her plan.

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Barn owls are unearthly.

On moonlit nights they coast

above the fields in silence,

floating white as ghosts.

They bring me out in goosebumps

and were I mouse or vole,

when barn owls came along the street

and knocked on doors for "trick or treat"

I wouldn't pamper them with sweets,

I'd scurry down my hole!

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Why do poets ponder

The birds of the air...

For their beauty, their freedom, their song?

Why do they find peace in asking

Questions that begin with why?

Why are they so willing to share

The inner most part of their soul,

Hidden in symbolic mazes

With hedges high?

I guess what I'm really asking

Is why do I?

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While most other birds sing a duet,

Or with a chorus hidden up in a tree,

There's a little bird that sings loud and proud, 

Alone, but in harmony.  

This little bird sings outside my window,

While the rest of the birds are asleep. 

This little bird sings with depth and conviction,

While others can only dream.

Where does it find the courage 

To stand alone and sing?

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It’s said that one alone don’t make a Summer

but when there’s none at all, is that when Summer’s gone?

And when there’s nothing up there but a shimmer

of dust from the desert superheated by the sun;

and when the sheds and barns remain in silence

from April to October; when radiance that shone 

on midge-full fields no longer flicks on mindless 

scything wings and sideslippings ...

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Once I bought a bird in a shop

I opened the cage and let him be

For a flying happiness I’d hope

To let the stars witness it’s free

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He belted his little heart out

Same time every day

It lasted for hours and hours

But still…

She  does not come.

I shouted out to the little bird

“Why not perch on another tree?”

“I was calling out to you…”

the little bird replied,

“To keep that smile on your face.”

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Feathers stuck in the cage

Yet melody that soothes

Watching her flying friends

Spreading wings in the sky stage

Giving the luxury life

With food and shelter

No worries of hunt or hunter

Living with the broken wings alive

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Each time that I observe the world,

I should spy beauty, peace and love.

Each time I listen, I should hear

The soft song of birds, or at most

The low hum of conversation.

But when I crane my neck,

Look up, down or sideways,

In front or behind me,

Or at some frantic screen,

Or catch imagined exploits,

Mouthed off on a train, or neighbours,

Hyped up in angry gatepos...

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“The birds will wake you up!” they said.

I’d doubted that, but yes, it’s true -

no sooner have the stars all fled

than osprey cries come piercing through

the speaker in the wooden shed

that guards the tree where they have bred

for many years, successfully bred.

This week I’ve more than filled my quota

of opening up the eyes of tourists.

Last night was my slot on the...

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How long will we have to wait?

We line the cliff top path.

Below, the breakers resonate   

and jubilant kittiwakes laugh.

We question one of the volunteer staff, 

“How long will we have to wait?”

“How long will you have to wait?”

She smiles and makes it clear:

yesterday it was ten to eight,

Thursday, not here -

or so they think - it didn’t appear!

“How long ca...

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I’m putting out some food on my fantasy bird table 

hoping to attract my all-time favourite birds.

The first to arrive are the ones that used my first table:

robins, tits, and blackbirds that nested in the woods.

The flock that follows them are the best I’ve seen in Britain:

a ptarmigan, an osprey, a dotterel and a smew,

a bearded tit, a peregrine, a puffin and a bittern 

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Looping round till it’s a blur 

the falconer swings the weighted lure

beneath the bird, enticing her

to go into a stoop.

With hooking bill and crookéd claw 

and plunging like a meteor

she swipes the fakery to the floor

with a vicious slap of feathers.

Around the crowd, a communal gasp.

The predator’s grappling in its clasp       

the prize, but is the bird a...

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The balance of life and death

rests on a dot in the sky

whose frivolous shivering breath

rivals the moths in its quivering

rippling hovering, high

and triumphant amongst the cumulus,

the twin-piping syrinx delivering

an opus more complex, more tremulous

and vaporous than any cantata.

The minstrel of the meadow 

sees the grasshopper climbing,

sees the froghopper fal...

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A colony of terns concedes no paucity

of energy: the strident racket rising

in steep vociferous steps

envelopes your whole mind as if by sorcery. 

But one event might strike you as surprising:

now and then - untold by any augury

and with no cause - it stops.

A rigid talon grips the atmosphere 

and sound shuts down, as though there’s been a sudden

resetting of the wi...

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A shining stone on the horizon.

In a stunning world, it does it’s bit.

You may find it surprising,

This beauty is just shit.

Or guano to be more correct,

Though crap it is to most.

It beckons me to come inspect,

Though I’d rather not get close. 

It catches me slumped in blue,

When chuckles are more sparse. 

Cheers me to think that such a view

Came from ma...

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Birds of a feather flock together

Sitting in my stillness whilst the outside world continues to move in it's very own ebb and flow.

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There was a young girl from peru

Who loved a cockatoo…

She then met a raven

Started misbehavin'

And off the cockatoo flew!

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I

Sixty tonne of metal bellowing down the sky

assails the quietude

of reeds and muddy pools

where spoonbills sift through sludge and seagulls drift nearby.

The mouth of the Ria Formosa’s a birders’ paradise:

miles of salt pans hosting

birds of low-lying coastline,

in thousands upon thousands. It’s Eden beyond price

in every way but one: the fence of Faro A...

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White oh so pure rare delight
asking for signs  snow white doves close in flight
Beauty and love serenity and peace
I wish in your life from my heart doves release

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eager crickets sing in chorus

at the top of their lungs 

gusts rustle leaflets

in the string section of dwarf palms

nervous gnat raises his falsetto 

as high as he can

dragonfly’s baritone buzz

upstages her wingspan 

pileated woodpecker plays his pine 

keeping on the beat

tufted titmouse takes her tenor solo

melodic and neat

wi...

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To long for the tall and rounded neck

Of the swan overwintering.

To wind it round all snug and warm,

Tucked and sheltered under wing.

To see me through to daffodils,

When the long nights up and scarper.

But first the wind will undress trees 

And its bite will get much sharper 

For now the song has dimmed to still

And the sun just won’t stay put.

The air is g...

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Folk have too much time on their hands

This mad lockdown's stoking mischief

Families living on top of each other

From bad neighbours there's no relief

They put up a new bird table next door

State of the art, four feeders on a pole

Luring all the birds from my garden

It was my finches and robins they stole

I was unable to sleep at the shock

Worried almost out of...

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My wings are brown, not black and shiny.
I'm always peeping out through leaves.
I try and keep above the fear trilling below,
I know they are ingesting bitter roots.
And yet I swallow their song all the same.
The empty smoke of hope that arises,
as I am the Blackbird mother sitting,
gathering material and protecting you,
refined in pointless expectation.
I am a gust of failure that ruins,
...

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Blackened balls of confetti thrown against a slate sky

From left, from right, lines and angles they fly

Boiling clouds shuffle, sculp then conform

In kaleidoscopic monochrome; is this the start of a storm?

The mass absorbs and swells like translucent dough

An invisible baker, kneads, stretches and throws

And the amorphous miasma continues to grow

As eyes in wonderment gaz...

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The magpies

nesting in the beech

began shouting

angry

to see a squirrel

in their tree

Attracted

like bad boys in the playground

more magpies

joined in

hopping from branch to branch

a harsh chatter

of anger

The squirrel

preferring a quiet life

left

by way of my garden

wall

Today the tree is silent

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When you get writer's block
go for a walk

find a friend 
have a talk

blow bubbles
spin a top

count stars
watch birds flock

whatever you do 

don't stare 
at a blank page

as the clock
goes tick-tock. 
 

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I’m ordinary and that’s ok

Extraordinary is made of

A million ordinaries anyway

I can feel Magnolia

Reflecting sheen 

From her glossy dark leaves

It’s early afternoon

Rays warm my left shoulder

My car window lets just enough in 

The faint rattle in my back seat

Plays a bridge

To the melody of my AC

The turns of my car, so familiar

The rout...

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my breath left me

on a day of cold and color

against your turned back

white face, white mist

under the beat of your wings

singing the song of the swan

snow falls down

through a world of stolen breath

a feather finds its way

beside a snowflake

curled in my palm

i wish on a white and silent world

that you would take my heart

the way you took my lungs

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They sit in the toilet and squak

my mother still thinks that they'll talk

They love each other 

their sister and brother

and have beaks as sharp as a hawk

They are green and yellow and blue

they watch you in the loo

but if you take a bath 

they'll have a laugh 

cause they'll cover you up in their poo

it's been 3 years since they were born

They feed on mostly sweet ...

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And then, suddenly, it was calm - the morning wind which threw

rain hard against the window panes and sent beech leaves rushing

across the grass to pile gold-brown against all that the borders grew,

all slowly dulling their greens to wet, muted browns, brushing

the soil as their leaves curl and droop - vibrant Spring-strength gone,

fading sadly.

                         The wind ...

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I set off on a ramble through the Forest of Bowland

binoculars at the ready, a bird book to hand.

I hope to see some species that don't breed in the lowlands,

hen harriers and short eared owls, quartering the land.  

My list has pipits, crows and jackdaws,

grouse in surplus but no raptors.

I tick off golden plover, curlew and wheatear

but where are the skydancers? 

THEY'RE ...

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Heron Taking Flight

Rickety, this ruckle

of struts and ragged canvas,

a collapsing tent

of awkwardness

unmade by the earth,

by degrees cranks into

its one true element:

slipping tethers

into air.

________

Preliminary Findings

Preliminary findings

suggest a probable

leakage of fuel

before the tank exploded.

(Cockpit not located

at th...

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A small flock of unidentified birds

flies into the skeleton trees

and disappears.

What magic is this?

Smoke from the boiler-house chimney,

at the mercy of the fickle wind,

blows this way and that, confused

unstopping, white, following the music

of Mozart's violins: moving, then still

- a crescendo starts to build -

- falls away to keen -

- a lull -

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I fly the birds around this place

We chat amongst the trees

The wildlife up in this place

Contains a rainbow breeze.

The truth rises to the top

A quiet frozen mountain

I fly my birds up to the top 

To chat and to surround it.

Discussing the monopoly,

Folks with greed in mind--

I'm the messenger of truth

Sending my birds to fly.

The Greed-ridden dictators 

Own...

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Look at this thing, this gruesome thing, this shake-off from the slick.

A car mechanic’s rag, a bag of bile, a doodling hand that drags

a biro clot of crudeness up the beach.

This foul-up. This bird. This broken component of our world.

Then look at that: a flesh gorged kite, circling

while cluster bombs slake a starving nation’s soil.

America’s pin puckered vein, the fight for th...

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On a hot summers eve close to the twighlight,

the marble of crimson came rolling down past sight.

Misty clouds coating the ever changing sky.

birds whistle their last tune before slumber calls them.

Stars begin to light.

Soon it will be night.

Close to the twighlight.

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Swaying flowers,

passing hours,

birds in evergreens

happy smiles,

worth your whiles

and sappy little trees

muddy faces,

fraying laces,

and a gentle summer breeze

swaying flowers,

passing hours,

making memories

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Humming bird, buzzing bird

flying high, oh so absurd.

how i wish i flew to see the forming dew

then left another morning new.

there will be room for you.

on the star we'll fly so high

over, under, in the sky.

singing fairies lulabies.

watching rolling tides.

flying slow flying low,

over swaying medows

seeking stars that glow,

then going home.

T...

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There's mist on the Menai

There's geese in the sky

There's snow on the Mountains

As the mist rolls on by

It runs from the Swellies

To the Irish Sea

The mist on the Menai

Majestic and free

From the banks of the Briant

To Caernarfon's great ramparts

To the edge of the Llyn

Hear the Waders and Redstarts

There's mist on the Menai

Not a cloud in the sky

Th...

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WOODLAND WONDER

Gently caressed by the breath of the breeze,
branches sway atop tall lofty trees.
Restless leaves, to gnarled fingers, cling
wondering what freshness the new day will bring.

Hopping about on long leafy arms,
fluttering feathers displaying delicate charms.
Beautiful songbirds sing out their sweet melodies
in the grand performance of natures sweet harmony.

Bushy tailed...

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Ballad from my dream
September.15.1995 / September-7-2013
*Updated 2.20.2014*
Trisha M. Hopkins

I
Im enjoying my walk along outside
Enjoying the warm morning sun
Small animals begin to scurry and hide
Finally my work is done
Here comes some beautiful birds
I see them out of the corner of my eye
I try my hardest to them
But they are too far up in the blue sky
I begin to follow
This ...

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The fierce wind blows, yet the dew won't dry
On the petals of the lone rose blossom.
Sparse thorns stand raw, achy reminders
Of the wondrous lost dream of yesterday,
When the two golden birds sat on this branch
Staring into the infinite mirror of their eyes,
Rejoicing in the warmth of their evening song,
Delighting in each other's pure presence,
Basking in the divine light of Nature,
And ...

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The geese ventured

Peace signs against the sky

Flocked victorious

Towards southern realms

The sun their prize.

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My daughter brought a Jackdaw in the house

And grief introduced itself

Melancholic and wounded

It hunched in the corner of the room

She fed him her loving eyes

Bread in tweezers

And named him Poe

Then this sanctuary

Took him

She phoned every night

He was mending well and with the magpies...

He was in the biggest aviary...

He was set free.

But w...

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formed in v they fly

o’er top o’me

bellies, usually driven snow,

this morning

honey dipped in hiemal morning’s glow

til’ falling, scrap and skreel

fo’ morsels discarded

by genteel and boor

for there is no inequity

in commission to cloy the

ever open maw

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I saw birds

flying high

in the sky.

I wanted to

join them but

I can't fly.

Sometimes I feel

low, and I

just want to cry.

My smile, for

you see it

is fake.

Cause my soul

it surely

does ache.

I look for

a glimpse of

peace, ...

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The shrill piping call of the returning Curlew

Contrasting with the lonely peep- peep of Golden Plover

Plaintive note of Peewit carried on the wind from its arching flight

Wading birds reclaiming their share of the corduroy moorland

Nesting sites found on drier ground among ling and crowberry

Ascending notes of Skylark lift the spirit and raise hopes

Honk of Raven ...

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The king and queen are out today

Rip-roaring over edges

Making bulletpoints.

He takes her by the hand

“Fly with me – our eggs can last awhile

In your sweet absence!”

No dove's-tales for them.

Passion hard as arrows - 

Flight an ecstasy, a ballet

As together they worship freedom.

Settling amongst a spangle of flowers

He feeds h...

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