The shell rifling through the feathers
buried in its back, the shock, the stunned shock,
the paralysis, the total loss of familiar flight response.
The avian behaviour, proof only
of existence, not of life.
Further penetrating shots.
Giving in, only when barrel tip
brushes feathered head and final shot
lodged inside minute bird brain.
A recollection of flying;
a memory of swooping low
over rural landscape.
Alighting on grass verge,
beak buried, happily pecking for seed.
The sun's rays on downy feathers.
The softer white fluff underneath,
ruffling in the midday breeze.
The light making a play
of blues, greens and grey.
Up-turned and carried,
open wings hanging loosely serve only
to mock the majesty of flight.
In time I am plucked bare, laid out
as naked as the day I hatched.
Cold steel will cut flesh from filigree bones
and meager meat morsels dropped
sizzling into seasoned oil.
Six mainly Yorkshire soldiers who died,
Blown up in Helmand, and on the world press front page:
Heroes gone, to feed endless need for power and pride:
Senseless fighting for a poor, poppy-sown lost frontier land.
Might of Alexander, Genghis Khan, the British Raj, the Soviets:
Failed to figure how those ragged tribes had not kowtowed.
Poetry - It's OK By Jenny Halliday
I push the button, scroll, enter and wait.
Hoping, holding my breath just incase.
Desperate to see a message, praying,
to who? Longing for his return. Safe return.
Unscathed, untouched mentally
and physically by the demands of his job. Read more...
Poetry - Still They Fight The Fight By David Delaney
They walk the shifting sand
like those who went before,
now in that ancient land
still fighting in a war.
They once again defend,
the young answer the call,
joined by their Kiwi friends,
they're ANZAC's proud and tall
Poetry - Walk Away By Shaun Heesom
Walk away, seems it's easy for you
Take our dreams our hopes our plans
And walk away
Don't look back, you might not like the view
Take your words and lies, your nonchalance too
Just walk away
Go hide your face in your hands
Poetry - Bless This Handbag By Helen Burke
At crucial moments of my life
you will find me ironing.
A trick learnt from my mother.
She always smoothed things out.
made peace between warring parties.
Now, the only creases left are around her eyes. Read more...
Poetry A Girls Best Friend By Pamela Scobie
The fatal flaw of Nora Dring
Was splashing all her dosh on bling.
She counted carats, never calories,
Selecting suitors for their salaries.
Hence she was squired about by Joe
(Apostate prostate, but loads of dough),
And when she couldn't stand him any longer,
Poetry - Bikers Homage 2010 By Jan McGeachie
In contrast to quiet serenity
Each time a funeral cortege
Passes from RAF Lyneham
This Mothers Day
Heard engines roar and
Saw the largest ever band
Poetry - Blackest of Hearts By Laurenceaux.
I slew you;
yout life it withdrew.
I own you,
to intone and eschew
all that you do.
I trapped your mind
in a picture I drew
Poetry Swings and Stones By Christy Hall
And if I could go back, if you'd take me I'd go,
back to the parks and fields of our youth.
I can still smell the sickly aroma of rubber-bits
heating up in the afternoon sun,
the recently cut grass, the cheap aftershave
and girlish scents, splashed to impress each other Read more...
Poetry - Save Us By Simon Icke
Save the planet from pollution.
Does anyone have the solution?
Save your soul and find redemption,
Lord deliver us from temptation.
Save our world from the bomb,
Who else has the atom?
Poetry - The Bird That Sings Until The Sun Goes Down By Jim Higo
Unperturbed by traffic nearby, unmoved by lightening in the sky,
No tear filled eye, or fearful frown,
For the bird that sings until the sun goes down.
A soothing song as children wept, vivacious verse as salmon leapt,
No need for sceptre, or jewelled crown Read more...
Poetry - Tshirts, Trainers and Jeans By Dayne Coyne
It's the start of the holidays
We're looking great in our teens
All heading off to the disco place
T-shirts, trainers and jeans
Oh well, Oh well
Tonight's the night that I might discover
Just what all of it means
Poetry - If I By Mark Walmsley
If I where a fish
I could swim away
If I where a dog
By the fire I'd lay
If I where a ship
Into horizons I'd sail
If I where a letter