written and posted by members of Lancashire Dead Good Poets' Society

Showing posts with label Peregrine Falcon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Peregrine Falcon. Show all posts

Thursday, 27 January 2022

Winging it

I have been a performer  since I was seven, dancing in ballroom dancing competitions all over the UK and overseas. Often during a round of a contest, another couple might get in the way of a routine and we would have to improvise - winging it! Once , my Dad accompanied us to the International Championships at The Royal Albert Hall. He was enamoured by a diminutive amateur couple, Roy Smith and Susan Pedvin, In the final, they were dancing a quickstep when Susan lost a high heel shoe. Dad was thrilled that despite the disadvantage, they continued and completed the dance. He thought she was superb. 

Some of my most thrilling encounters have been with birds. Driving home one early evening I pulled off the motorway onto a country road. Suddenly a white ghostly shape appeared alongside my driver's-side window. It was a wonderful barn owl and it continued along the hedgerow for at least a minute. 

One day I pulled unto a friend's driveway in the countryside only to be confronted by a Peregrine Falcon on the ground, feasting on a felled pigeon. What a magnificent creature it was and how lucky was I to be in the right place at the right moment.

I have had many more surprising encounters during lockdown on my frequent walks through Stanley Park, Blackpool. Recently I saw a Great Spotted Woodpecker. I heard it first, strumming on a tree trunk and followed a flash of colour until it alighted on a another trunk. One especially cold, sunny day. there were two Goldcrests in a fir tree close to the lake, They are really tiny and hard to spot - only their constant chirping gives them away. 

A couple of days ago, my companion and I had close encounters with two pairs of Nuthatches. They are remarkably streamlined birds with very long beaks, Their terracotta and turquoise plumage is stunning and they seem happiest inverted clinging to a tree trunk. 

Bird watching is a delightful way to pass an hour or two and  as I do every January. I will venture out this weekend to record my sightings for The Big Garden Bird Watch. Anyone can join in, all you need is one hour, a pencil and a little patience. Details are available on the RSPB web site.


Supernatural

An almost indistinguishable moment,
A flicker in the blinking of an eye,
Frozen in the seconds in between,
The red'ning and the blackness of the sky. 

In that special space in time that hovers,
Where the setting of the sun absorbs the light,
Before the backdrop curtain starts to sparkle.
Begins the wakening of creatures of the night. 

Furry things in burrows start to ruffle,
Ears and noses poke above the ground, 
Twilight fliers surge from attic rafters, 
bat-wing shadows swoop and switch around. 

As the sky is filled with eerie softness, 
The gentle ghost goes searching for his prey, 
Whiter than the pure first snow of winter, 
The barn owl shakes the daytime sleep away. 

Silently he brushes past the hedgerow
Eyeing tiny movements on the ground, 
A helpless death-cry pierces through the silence 
and peaceful dusk is shattered by the sound. 

In the darkest part of twilight, you may see him, 
slaloming among the bales of hay, 
where he maintains his silent, secret vigil,
in-between the darkness and the day. 

I have posted this poem before but have yet to write about the Nuthatch. Anyway, thanks for reading. Adele.  

Thursday, 25 January 2018

Feathers

I love wild birds and as usual at this time of year I am feeding them, getting them used to coming into the garden in anticipation of the RSPB's Big Garden Birdwatch this weekend. I have recorded sightings in my garden for this project since I first heard about it ten years ago. I enjoy the hour with binoculars, sitting at my dining table, looking out of the window. I am often honoured with unusual guests on the feeders or the birdbath that was a wonderful gift from my son for my birthday last year. He also bought me a clock for Christmas with a garden bird at every hour. It makes me smile.

There are so many superstitions surrounding birds. A blackbird in the house is supposed to forewarn of a death. A white feather in your path is supposed to be a sign that your guardian angel is watching over you. A friend of mine found a mess of feathers in his driveway one day, then spotted a Peregrine Falcon devouring their former occupant a little further away.

I have told you before about my childhood fascination with Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poetic saga, The Rime of The Ancient Mariner, and unfortunate sailor who shot down the albatross who followed the ship and the curse that fell upon the crew, leaving them becalmed at sea with no hope of rescue.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo!

And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!


Coleridge is the inspiration for my own poem this week.


The Feather’s Curse

In Xanadu, great Kubla Khan
A pleasure dome decreed.
He filled it with exotic plants
And birds with plumage never seen,
Of paradise and humming birds,
Parakeets and cockatoos,
Toucans and flamingos,
Macaws and peacocks blue.

And in this song filled aviary,
The Princess Aroonee
Would sing the sweetest songs on earth
In perfect harmony.
She was the purest in the land,
The brightest shining star.
Her true love was her childhood friend,
The handsome Kookamah.

But in the land of Xanadu
There lived an evil man,
A sorcerer as powerful,
As the mighty Kubla Khan.
Darkness crowded round him,
Light perished where he stood,
Vanity and pride possessed him,
He had not one gram of good.

He wanted to usurp the kingdom,
To surplant his bloodline there,
His plan was to seduce Aroonee,
Produce an all-powerful heir.
He knew the princess loved the birdsong,
Came to the dome to sing each day.
Dressed in vivid peacock feathers,
Disguised he waited for his prey.

He preened his glorious feathers,
Peformed a mating dance,
Flashing amethyst and emerald,
Waiting for his wicked chance.
But Aroonee’s love for Kookama,
Was pure as mountain dew,
She rebuffed the sorcerer’s advances,
Declaring her heart true.

The evil wizard was confounded,
Jealousy ripped his soul apart,
From his tail he drew a peacock plume,
And plunged its quill into Aroonee’s heart.
Her dying scream pierced the airwaves,
rippling across the land,
She spoke her breathless, dying curse,
As Kookamae struttedHe strutted held her hand.

Aroonee’s fate became a legend,
Her story travelled far and wide,
The cursed peacock cries her dying scream:
Its feathers never brought inside.


Thanks for reading, Adele.