Nature may sometimes seem cruel – but are we not all guilty of protecting our own?

Amid birch top branches the Cuckoo sits surveying,
Eyes fiercely fixed upon the ‘Chosen One’.
Within seconds she swoops, this brood parasite,
Replacing the host egg with one of her own.
‘The Impostor’,
Marvelously mimicking the discarded one.

Shirking parental responsibility,
She drops the ‘Chosen One’ to the ground.
Shell crushed, this scrawny, unfeathered, yellow beaked monstrosity –
Its frog-like body twitching,
Eyes big, black, bulging,
Tiny heart pulsating,
Lies helpless on the ground.

Thrown out
Life only just beginning,
Too minuscule to move, to crawl away to die.
Even its own mother wont miss it!

Stupid, ignorant mother bird,
Don’t you know your baby needs you?
How can you be so easily fooled?
Surely you can see its bigger than your own.
Even you must feel a mother’s love.

Oh ‘Impostor’, when you hatch
And throw your siblings to the ground
Won’t you feel guilt?
Or are your murderous actions so inbred?

Is it in our breeding too?
Is this yellow-eyed, evil she-monster simply looking after her own?
Is she in fact being strong,
Sacrificing another to protect her own,
Giving the best possible start in life she can,
Turning her back on what she loves
For a better life – a better start?

Who are we to judge?

Mourning Sky

She dances in her silken dress of brilliant blue and smiles …..
Sometimes she adds an over-skirt of intricate patterned, whitest lace.
Different shades, mottled and confused, as tears fill her eyes and gently fall.
Dark, grey, rough fabric, course to touch and stiff to wear are soon replaced
By black, darkness dragged around,
Its hem caked in mud, as she mourns her gown of blue.
Gradually, tiny lights, shy at first, begin to twinkle
Decorating her gown with a thousand jewels!
Slowly her back begins to straighten and her dress begins to change
Into gold, orange and yellow, as her mourning lights begin to brighten –
Until once more she wears her gown of blue.

On a November Morning

Dogs need walking whatever the weather and on mornings when the weather is cold I sometimes dread venturing out. However, when mother nature puts on a display, as she had in this photograph, it is pure joy.

Mist hangs like a brides veil over the field,
I rub my eyes to rid them of sleep, to clear my view.
Trees, some like statues, stiff, dark and bare.
Others, reluctant to let go their fiery tresses
Enjoy their annual moment of golden beauty,
To be looked at and admired as they pose
Like models, displaying their autumnal colours.

Human tracks zigzag across dew-soaked grass
Like a child scribbling upon a new page.
Behind I see my own tracks criss-crossing others,
Adding confusion to the busy rush-hour tram-lines.
My boots squelch under-foot.
Patterns from soles of unknown boots
Create more pictures on the muddy canvas.
Once crisp, golden leaves now lie sodden and blackened,
To be taken down to their resting place,
Nourishing the earth until natures cycle can begin again.

First frost of Winter.

Another of natures shows! 
If you get up late you may miss it!
Mist hangs like a bride’s veil over the field,
I rub my eyes to rid them of sleep and clear my view.
Trees; some standing like statues, stiff, dark and bare,
Others reluctant to let go their golden tresses
Enjoying their annual moment of fiery beauty!
Looked at and admired they pose
Like models displaying their autumn colours.
Human tracks zig-zag across dew-soaked grass,
As a child scribbling across a new page.
Behind I see my own tracks criss-crossing the others
Adding confusion to the busy morning tramlines.
My boots squelch under my feet.
Patterns from soles of unknown boots
Create new pictures on the muddy canvas.
Once crisp and golden leaves now lie sodden and blackened,
Waiting to be taken down to their final resting place
To nourish the earth til natures cycle may begin again.


Hummingbird Hawk Moth
Whilst working in my garden
I hear a strange buzzing sound
Coming from atop the flowering currant.

I see a tiny, delicate, bird-like creature
With long proboscis.
It's furry body and orange wings
Work tirelessly, feeding in a fluster,
Probing every red flower cluster.

He hovers expertly,
Darting from flower to flower,
Drinking greedily.

This daylight flyer
With brown and white spot stomach,
Beats his wings furiously
As he dances daintily in the sunshine.

I hope tomorrow that he might
Return, to dance again for my delight.