Hi everyone, here is some more fantastic work from Nick Hallam. Enjoy!
KingfisherNock and….stripe!No twang – Cyan, halcyon, God’s bow;River, silver droplets hang,Tumble, quiver, falling slow;Welland minnows,Cyan sang –Arrow, gold the memory.20 September 1995ProspectorA Kingfisher comes to a fountain bowlWorking his claim at the water’s lap – Panning and sieving, all seems fool's goldAs, under the birdproof mesh, close fit,Now wobbles a bubble up through a gap –Koi, so coy, enspangled, sit;A young one, slight of his safety, throughUp to the, under the licheny poiseOf the stone lip’s coolness, dark green recurve,Slivers this stiver, of gilden glim ….Rim, sudden of sun, of a shot, turquoise,Spliced orange, too blue, of volts, of verve –Whence, back to the fountain-head,His head (with the look of a forty-niner now)Juggles, now gobbles a nugget, full gold-Sits, cyan, halcyon, all old day dim.11 September 2002Forty-niner- so called for the prospectors of the 1849 Californian gold-rushBangerA smoke of starlings, lapwings, roarsAll of the blue fire of the air,Above my stalling, flop-wing car,Too care-tyred nowTo evoke much more than a falling-off,A fizz, a deadstick rocketryMore suited to salads than to touch-papers.Near CranwellNow, silence, aircraft gone,Gone, their smoking blare;Here, Summer’s name in lazy scrawl,In daisy garlands down the wall,A garden wall too warm to care;Bees drone the heart of guelder,Whilst, from the elderA blackbird peels his juicy throat,Strings pomegranate beads upon the air.
Why not check out the news from the wildlife enquiries team?
Tom: They are wonderful! What bliss! - thanks so much for posting them.
Thank you Tom. Nick is so gifted. They are such a joy to read. I still go back and read the first poems which you posted on here and introduced us to Nick's work.
Hi Tom
Heaven is the word
Lovely to read literature that have such depth to it
The author is an inspiration to us all {big smile}
Regards
Kathy and Dave
Some more excellent poems that appeared on my desk, ST BOTOLPH’S BOSTON is my favourite, I believe its about Peregrines from reading it, possibly nesting in St Botolph's church, in Boston? enjoy.
TRILL
Where did that plastic bird go,The yellow one you filled with water –That blowing through its tailMade a wheezing whistle, of the sort aBird with asthma might have made?I feel now, something close to guilt – Reminded of its strident dribblingBy this skylark’s lilt.
22 March 1990
WATER LANE – STAINBY
Its arms about the whiling brook,Geese, goslings, frothy in the shade,A willow leans, that keeps vouchedsafeA corner free of worldliness;
Kept free – that some might sully it,I grin, a dogged cry I hear – Comes, clanking, watch-goose goster now,Wry, orange, how the sward is green
18 August 1997
REVOLUTION
Sweet skylark, fount of Englishness,Hairspring of early morning clime,Fond summer-up of hopefulness,Most loved beginner of a day;
Benighted, fallen to excess,Some E.U. memo’s faceless crime – Some de Farge, knitting busily,Has rough-and-tumbrilled you away.
8 November 1997
STATISTIC
Doubled, treble-creased he lay,Impotent, that potentate – A man of farthest orientCast victim on an alien way,Of occidental accident –Car-careless, feckless pharaoh, done;
Askew – green-gold and coppered blue,Charm-necklaced, reckless reign so run –Eyes closed, mine open, I who rue,Creased, crescent pheasant, lord of sun.
3 May 1994
KESTREL
Three, four times out, she came to sitAs on a feather, steadily- Had only thorns for eyes it seemed;
Beak nocked upon the wind, she swung,An almost loose, half-flapping stripOf sackcloth tacked there, hazardly;Stood riffle-feathered, hap and chance,Full heartedly, half fell to free – Scrawled grey, dun-rusted signature,Drew squealing half-thing to a tree.
3 October 1999
TYTO
Windscreen-wide, headlight-long,Rain’s hangnail and wind’s dew-claw,Upflies, friendless, wits on song,Owl aloft astride the moor;
Sleet-slight hedgerow, huckback-wall,Wipers’ squint-asquinted gliss – Down-leaps, loveless, brief snowfall,Wings embracing, gape – no kiss.
14 September 1996
ST BOTOLPH’S BOSTON
Sailing, abseiling, cries jackdaw with crow,Railing at angels, past devils they go – Scorning all overhangs, gargoyles, lead-spouts,They fall, overhauling their own falling shoutsDown precipice faces full sheer as their zest –By North col, by South col, arêtes East or West,Come corbel, come cornice, from bell-tower flung out – Ropes, pitons, descenders, karabiners, they flout,Soar thermals, now hymnals, wild praise in their jest;Until, tilting at weather-vanes, come guiltless to rest.
Forget, climbers, your tackle:Friends, walnuts, French chalk,Come, step from this window and hang like a hawk.
Thanks for those, Tom - I only just noticed them on here... I like the St. Botolph''s one, too.
Hi Nick - are you still around! I adore your work - so clever and perceptive!
Jan
Poetry helped me emerge from my Chrysalis - but my wings are still drying - so much more to learn.www.janscreativewriting.co.uk updated - with endangered animals category & new animal/birds illustrated poetry book!