Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
You came to me
Feathered steps
I turned away my eye
Ignorant being
To Ignore you, I never meant to
Busy, routine, you see
You wouldn’t, as you left, the same
Feathered steps
Why do you visit only once
And visitors you’d allow, almost none
Please answer
.
.
.




Dear thought :)
Just
A
Thought
Oh yes, the elusive thought missed the words
Birds on the wire line
In a poetry session sweet
Perched one feet apart
In spring morning haze,
out of a red brick council house
window a bothered standing hawk
borrows wide eyed Wonder from a radged lad who reaches upwards
with pudgy hands to grasp
her silver underside and blue head.

Wonder bawls as it arcs in her claws
over grassed over pit heaps of Finished
Work and Help's call centre natter
to a high perch in **** racked ruins of an Old Hall.

Wonder refuses warm carcasses
of mice and voles,
desperate feathered mam returns
with scavenged chips, naan bread and pizza.

In noon summer shimmer
she pushes Wonder to fly,
but it falls out the cup,
grasps stone wall in its drop.

Soon, a cuckoo, Wonder heaves
the other nippers, fat Loneliness and scrawny Grief, or is it scrawny Loneliness
and fat Grief, out their home,
into an autumn mid afternoon
of burnished fallen leaves,

or, bored at mam's twitter
Wonder cannot garner,
breaks its fellow fledglings bones,
ragged Hunger and blistered Wishes,
or is it ragged Wishes and blistered Hunger.

Soon too big for home,
Wonder falls to earth,
and snaps its spine.

Kestrel mam covers Wonder's face
with her wing in winter night
gust, then abandons it
to foxfood and worms.
I live in Barnsley and was shocked at the death of Barry Hines who wrote what Ian McMillan calls the "Defining Myth" of the area, in the book "Kestrel for a Knave". This post is a kind of tribute.

— The End —