It seems that some of you liked my New Year’s Day poem, so here’s another. January is always a gloomy month and it’s good to look ahead to the warmer months of Spring and Summer and this poem was written whilst walking one of my favourite coastal footpaths. It’s not particularly well-crafted, but for me at least it is evocative of the place (Cornwall) and warmer days.

A Dead Bird On A Coastal Footpath

The songstress lies with her

garland of flies,

her mouth pressed to dirt,

her coppered breast still,

still like the Sheep’s-bit

that mourns her passing.

 

A glass eye gazes at

the gilded skies,

where arias were sung,

where she used to dance,

dance on the apron

of her topaz stage.

 

She could only dream

the sweetest verses,

dying as we passed,

dying with her songs,

songs we’ve forgotten

of dusk and berries.