The evening falls.
Bird calls
Gradually fade.
The woodland glade
Resounds to the owl’s cry.
I sigh
And read on.
Another day has gone.
And now tis poetry
And me.
(The birds of the day are, to my mind, very different from the owl. As day ends, the night bird resumes his throne, and the birds of the day are silent until the morrow).
I awoke to ravens cawing.
Their voices sawing
Through my mind.
No peace can I find
From the bird of ill omen
Who mocked the Roman
As he withdrew from these shores,
The bird’s caws
Lost in sea and oars.
Walking home
The birds
Are content.
And me
For a while.
I have lived in Upper Norwood since 1997. Upper Norwood is one of the greenest parts of Greater London and I am fortunate that my home overlooks an historic park. The prevalence of greenery leads to a diversity of wildlife, including foxes and owls.
From time to time an owl’s mournful cry reaches my ears. I like to think that he (or she) is the same owl. However given that I have resided in the same spot for some 20 years this is impossible.
Below is my poem “Owl
“Owl” can be found in my collection of poetry “Refractions” https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01L5UC2H2
I knew a man who sought
The wild bird
Who’s song he heard,
And once caught,
Oh, how he wept at the damage wrought.
What does it matter that you sing,
High up in yonder tree,
For your song is not for me,
And to sing
Is such a temporary thing
Soon baubles and toys
Will intrude, while the day’s noise
Will wrap me in petty care
Yet, on awakening there
Where
The birds, as they always are
Drowning out lorry and car.
My hair is barely wet
At all
And yet
The rain did fall
As I stood
In yonder wood.
The yammer
Of a hammer
Reached my ear,
While the birds free
Sang to me
As I touched the flowers
That know not hours.
The traffick noise momentarily fades.
No words,
Just the singing of birds
And a yearning for woodland glades
The bird’s call
To man, who’s fall
Brought
Him knowledge. Now caught
Up in his thought
He hears words,
While the birds
Sing,
Welcoming the spring.
K Morris - Poet 