Opened the
curtains, there they were, on the fence
six yards away; one raven, one magpie;
this was unexpected, unpleasant
I had an uneasy feeling about these birds,
that I shouldn’t have witnessed this fraternisation
this mud doing.
They looked directly at me, fearless, dull,
contemptuous – as in a viable threat
refused to leave, until they were ready.
Eventually, they flew off
closed knowledge under their wings,
I felt the dread of a sky left empty.
Our area is magpie owned, always two together
vivid statements
of disrespect and colour blindness
on the move, through windows, for baubles that glitter
their gruff singing, like bones cracked open.
The ravens visit less often
their manifestation more reason to stare;
recently I watched them, descend from nowhere
land with precision on a neighbour’s roof
a gang of fat hands, cornering the neighbourhood
the sound of roof tiles smashing.
These uncalled of the air, these thorny grievances
bring to mind something long forgotten
a suspicion, a dark age corner
carrying with them the weight of wise women
the unhappiness of clouds that never settle
looks – so deadly, daylight dare not move.
Published 2002. Rough-hewn, needs compression; at times the poet veers off down the thread of his thoughts rather than the thread of the poem. But he has something to say, which the reader of poetry can never take for granted.
six yards away; one raven, one magpie;
this was unexpected, unpleasant
I had an uneasy feeling about these birds,
that I shouldn’t have witnessed this fraternisation
this mud doing.
They looked directly at me, fearless, dull,
contemptuous – as in a viable threat
refused to leave, until they were ready.
Eventually, they flew off
closed knowledge under their wings,
I felt the dread of a sky left empty.
Our area is magpie owned, always two together
vivid statements
of disrespect and colour blindness
on the move, through windows, for baubles that glitter
their gruff singing, like bones cracked open.
The ravens visit less often
their manifestation more reason to stare;
recently I watched them, descend from nowhere
land with precision on a neighbour’s roof
a gang of fat hands, cornering the neighbourhood
the sound of roof tiles smashing.
These uncalled of the air, these thorny grievances
bring to mind something long forgotten
a suspicion, a dark age corner
carrying with them the weight of wise women
the unhappiness of clouds that never settle
looks – so deadly, daylight dare not move.
Published 2002. Rough-hewn, needs compression; at times the poet veers off down the thread of his thoughts rather than the thread of the poem. But he has something to say, which the reader of poetry can never take for granted.
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