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Mr E Writer Mar 25
pied wagtails seek food
rare quiet times suit them best
pigeons rule the roost
These little birds go about their day happily seeking out morsels of nourishment but sadly the trait of shyness goes against them with the adversely more adaptable pigeons around town.
Eager to grab a meal
It rushes for its ****
Fast as lightening strikes the ground
It grabs onto its neck
With all strength endowed
It tears it's flesh
And as the prey lies helpless
It starts to feed
With the African Cheetah, hesitation means a lost meal ushering in hunger which dooms survival in the wild
Lilythesnake Feb 19
We wait
It is February
It won't be long now

Winter brought us the Robin's song
Sometimes the blackbird too

Spring is near
They will arrive soon
And sing us through the summer

Chiff-chaff, chiff-chaff
Oh Joy!
Waiting for the voice of spring
Douglas Balmain Dec 2020
I sunk my fingers down
into the loam of an ancient
buffalo wallow and the
land that had quietly
prepared for their species
untold millennia before me.

I held the buffalo’s
mourning in my heart,
and felt the Buffalo Nations’
cry rattle against my ribs.

I opened myself to the
Earth and it spoke
sorrowfully to me
of its broken home.
Red Nov 2020
Soft footsteps echo through a starlit night
Leaves rustle underfoot, where a lone rabbit watches
Is the dark freedom born or chances few?
A cricket considers the melancholy.
Or neither? Something new?

An engine rumbles on a road a distance away,
Brittle twigs crunch under four slow wheels.
Waving goodbye, or merry greetings,
or something else, in between?
There! The golden arm of beech leaves dance in a breeze

an appreciation of the moment,
as moments, come to be.
a collection of seconds and fragments
from so many eyes
strung together,  as priceless as pearls
or an unknown prize.

will you see what the world offers in true solitude?
when it thinks you won't see what it can offer to you?
or will you pause, like the deer
to truly observe?
quiet nights, moonbeams,  and lone beech trees.
all that the universe believes we deserve.
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2020
Constant instars
Exiled metamorphosis
So quiet you can almost
Hear the sun go down

Valle de Las Hamacas
Vista Hermosa
Spheres of Paradiso
Seismic dewdrop points
Listening to the night
Fall with the rain
HTR Stevens Aug 2020
Born of freedom, wild birds that rule the air!
Have I but a view of earth just as fair:
Of impassive mountains, of golden sand,
Of vast continents that link man to man,
Of seas their depths human eyes cannot reach,
Of beautiful islands, oh, what a treat!
Of grass stretching like a green carpet wide,
Of worms, snails that across green grass glide.
Can I but feel the playful gentle breeze
That ofttimes I see kissing leaves of trees,
That dancing in suspended gaiety
Do free some of my earthly cares from me!
To see these birds flying is ecstasy -
To think not of my inability!
Birds, fly on! my heart make light, my soul lift!
At least mankind share the joy of your gift!
Denis Barter Aug 2020
In the forest, there’s few things I find more to please
Than to walk woodland trails, strewn with fallen leaves.
But by their rustling underfoot, they sing a sad lullaby
Which serves to remind, that autumn, in the short by and by,
Brings closure to our delights, now summer’s passed.
Though it too, as do most things in Life, will not last.

My walk under branches, when bared of all leaf cover
Allows an observant eye to search for and discover
Abandoned nests of last spring’s long flown brood,
Or a squirrel in his lofty drey. This agile and shrewd
Forest dweller, is ever prepared to take instant flight
Should an untoward move of mine, cause him fright!

Moments later a ruffed grouse takes off in panicked flight
Though its presence was sensed, I’d glimpsed no sight
Of this woodland denizen.  At home within the forest scene
It haunts the undergrowth but often goes, sight unseen!
Next a snake, sunning, poised alert, quickly slithers away
Having sensed intruders were abroad and coming his way.

Unexpectedly from overhead, staccato sounds startle me,
As a busy downy woodpecker, intrudes upon my reverie.
Whilst a roving shrew, in never ending search for tasty prey,
Snuffles through the leaves: pounces, then scampers away
Replete with a fat slug delicacy for its brood of young.
Though its actions benefit man, they frequently go unsung.

The leafy paths of forest floor are bustling alive this day
With various sights and sounds.  When time allows, it’s my way
To fill hours that all too swiftly pass. But reality encroaches
Upon my walk.  I hasten my step, for darkness approaches,
So with one last lingering look, I take my leave and steal away
Determined to visit these arboreal woods again, another day.

With the virus pandemic restrictions followed faithfully by my wife and I, a small forested area close by my garden, is the perfect place for social distancing. Hence my poem.  DHB.
T Inkpoem May 2020
There are highways on the cliff tops
On the short grass amongst the bog pools
Made by rainwater and salt sea spray

Much used they run through
Crowberry and low grown heather
A world wide web of lines

Picking our the dry ground
The high ground by a hares breath
Flattened by the passing of pounding paws
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