Monday 14 March 2011
This is a poem about two skylarks I saw on sunday morning as I walked the Thames shore near my village in Hoo.
The poem is also referencing the wars in Libya and across the Middle East, the 'Arab Spring' as it is known, with Winter as the tyrants who freeze their ground - in other worlds who refuse to relent their grips on their people and allow spring to come.
But note that the skylarks undertake 'dark, angelic games' for they fight for life itself, for the territory in which to breed and protect their genes.
The sullen Thames tide lapped the shore,
Whilst we crunched the brittle hoar,
A wolf wind whistled o'er the marsh,
As we walked the lonely winding path.
Cruel had been the winter, hard and long,
Each day bereft of sun and jocular songs,
As tyrants attacked the groaning ground,
Turbid clouds above became their crowns.
Then faring forth from sedge and rushes,
On fragile wings which delicate fluttered,
Two duellists arose to stake their claims,
And commenced their dark, angelic games.
Each fired forth a salvo to begin their fight,
Their thrilling trills, flights of pure delight,
Higher and higher each warring maestro flew,
Serenading the sun amidst the infinite blue.
With blurring wings as slashing blades,
Each note became a sonorous enfilade,
Then counter parrys, fleches and feints,
As they slashed the wind to win their bout.
Amidst golden sunbeams flashing forth,
On and on the duellists in raptures fought,
Until with a silent, surrendering plunge,
The distant victor banished the losing one.
Oh sweet spring what joys you bring,
The gushing green and wars awing,
Glorious battles and a sacred rebirth,
Sunlights soft grace upon dying earth.