There was a fair flock of flying or non-flying feather-wearers in response to the call for avian verse. Judith Green was another to whom the dodo appealed, her entry ending with the last squawk of the great Auk and Andy Hebb encompassed piratic blackbirds and homing ravens, Viking-style. Robin Helweg-Larsen watched a flamingo taking off and Bill Holloway offered geese, bar-headed and barnacle. With thanks to all who took part, below, in no particular order, are the pieces that survived the ornithological inquisitor’s beady eye.
Alan Millichip: The Barn Owl
It hunts with precision, it flies without sound,
No simple escape on or under the ground;
With binocular vision it tracks with ease,
Then swooping in low for a smooth snatch and seize;
With camouflaged plumage it’s hard to detect,
The range of its senses engenders respect;
It represents all that is clever and wise,
With expectations far outweighing its size;
A familiar sight late evening or dawn,
It shrieks as it flies over rape seed or corn;
A joy to behold for each generation,
Not changed at all since the last glaciation.
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
Liza McAlister Williams: Little Brown Jobs
Little brown jobs, we call these birds;
they don’t deserve more graceful words.
They squat upon the windowsill:
they neither sing nor flute nor trill.
They hang around here in all weathers,
shake their wings and fluff their feathers,
wake me up at dawn and squawk
at top volume round the clock.
I truly am a gentle soul
but find I have a single goal.
Let me state it loud and clear:
Get these birds away from here!
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
Robin Helweg-Larsen: Copenhagen Riddle
There is one street in Copenhagen no one knows but I.
Invisible, unless you watch those using it go by;
It winds above the buildings, up and down about the sky,
In single file ten thousand go by each day, and no lie! –
(Answer on next page)
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
Anthony Young: These Fowlish Things
Chickens have the worst of luck,
But pigeon, partridge, pheasant, duck,
Goose and turkey meet their fate
And end up on our dinner plate.
Their corpses, short of head and feet,
Their innards gone, are incomplete
And upside down upon the board
Then carved, but what can’t be ignored
Is what they were, their special features,
These feathered fowl, our fellow creatures.
We draw the line at birds that sing
And marvel when they’re on the wing
When starlings meet in congregation
We wonder at their murmuration.
If larger birds were aerobatic
Our diets would be more aquatic.
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
John Cooper: The Magpie
Bold bird is the magpie
Never afraid or at a loss,
Allegedly likes to steal shiny things
And really doesn’t give a toss.
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
Michael Swan: Inside A Blackbird
Many of you have asked
what is it like inside?
You see me hopping about
shiny black feathers
pretty yellow beak
pulling up worms
and you say
yes, well,
the outside is lovely
but what about the essence?
What is it like inside you
black and yellow worm-eater?
I suppose
the best way I can describe it
is
'wiggly'.
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
I.V. Neversere: Don’t Mention The D-Word
To birds that sing let’s tribute pay
From syrinxes to gizzards
And cherish every livelong day
Those little feathered wizards
Suppressing thoughts that, in a way,
They’re really flying lizards.
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
Kelly Scott Franklin: On the Specimen
Of Raphus cucullatus Oxford England.
I’ll tell you why you’ve never heard
the love song of this famous bird:
because one day (so inauspicious!)
when she was hatched upon Mauritius,
some greedy sailors cast their net
to capture an exotic pet
for some eccentric English bloke
who must have thought it quite a joke.
But hers would be a spinster’s fate:
to live and die without a mate,
kept in a shabby London garret
like some colossal flightless parrot.
Her bones were given as a prize
for Oxford dons to scrutinize –
cruel celibates who never heard
the love song of the dodo bird.
♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣
Marshall Begel: Featherweights
Returning for his yearly rite,
The robin picks his nesting site.
This eave-protected understory
Offers splendid territory.
But every day, the sun's revival
Brings this bird a well matched rival.
So, talons out, our little chirper
Targets this would-be usurper.
But in the face of this resistance,
Rival merely keeps his distance.
Our hero battles, undeterred.
(I half-respect this little bird!)
Until the sunlight hits the eave,
And rival robin takes his leave.
Tomorrow, dawn will bring again
Reflections in my window pane.
