Wednesday, 16 December 2009

Two Magpies

Two magpies in the lime,
a coaster in the bay,
white painted window frames,
linear roof decay.
It all stays much the same,
declining through the day.
Dull slates take shine with rain.
Slow minutes measure time.

A cuckoo in the yew,
two merchants maritime,
the paint has cracked with heat,
a dormer spoils the line.
We never hold a beat;
we lose at beating time.
It's cold on easy street,
I tire of this view.



c. Marc Woodward

Sunday, 6 December 2009

Rough Shag

Cold and early at the grey lake
the Canada Geese have flown in
marginalising the mallards
to float with coots in reeds.
On a dead branch
sits a dark, bedraggled seabird
a long way from port,
battered wings outstretched in the pale sun.
"Fancy" I said "a Shag.
A bit of a rough one..."
The twitcher next to me,
bearded, bellied and bald of pate
said "Not my kind of thing, mate.
Try Gerry over there".
He gave his mouth a wipe
then sucked again
his aromatic pipe.





c. Marc Woodward