Saturday, November 28, 2015

Woodcock - poem

Walking through my one wood
often at the edges I surprise a snipe or woodcock,
whose jagged path
 defies my ageing eyes.

Every day this happens
but today it's fatal path 
flew towards the house 
where striking the window
instantly it died.

Beautiful plumage,
and most prized game.

Three days it hangs.
I pluck it.
Roast it.
Carve the breast.

And in that flight,
of vulnerability and surrender
we share
the Kingdom of the Air.


2 Comments:

Blogger stone drum said...

Hello John

March of 2016. just wanted to say, "Thanks for coming by to see me."

interesting how we just keep enjoying and doing things in our retired moments.

never know where and how to communicate. have an email on a piece of paper for you.

have yet to try it. after all these years. take care of John. Like it when you drop by

3:23 am  
Blogger John Pendrey said...

Thanks Stonedrum, it's good. I will be using, with an acknowledgement to a blog friend your profound statement, "Don't force feed the penguins". It's just part of my wedding speech as father of the groom.

8:39 am  

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