A Poetry Reading

 

Such a pleasure reading my poetry to the Sisters of St. John of God who once worked in the hospital in various roles as nurses. After weeks of delay due to Covid, the coast was clear on 4th September to read a selection of my nature poetry. We shared pictures of the little creatures that I photograph on my walk. The little Quenda was a hit with the ladies which I revealed that he kept chewing away in the long grass oblivious to me taking a photograph of him. One of the sisters had a photo of an Ibis (bin chicken). They liked the following poem as Willy-Wagtails visit their gardens.

Wagtails

i.
In the mornings, I'm curious as to whether
or not I see one wagtail or two. The last time
I looked the bird motored up my driveway
at 5.30 am.

ii.
At 7.30 on my usual walk
in Swanley Park, another wagtail darts
amid trees and rooftop antennae, talkative
as a bumble bee on hive duty.
It's spring and she's swishing her tail
in all directions. It's her song, repetitious,
and full of warning.
iii.

In the yard, I wonder what causes this bird
to shift from place to place, to rise
for no apparent reason from freshly
cut grass, to hop along the wall on
latticed vines, her nose in the grapes.
iv.

The sun rises its hot ball into the apex
of the morning, and the bird (or birds)
stop their rollicking over lawn
and terracotta. I know that wagtails
or a wagtail will be back tomorrow
under the Melaleuca, on the hedge,
or will tune in with the hum of bees
in the rows of dark trees,
her "tich-tich" moving towards
every bird within reach. ©