Monarch

There it is!
The branch startle,
the ice-pick dart,
the plunge and struggle.

There!
The sunset breast,
the test against gravity,
blue-muscled.

There! Oh, there!
Water spray light-caught,
fraught on a sleek line,
defining history.

You missed it.

This piece was written in January 2017, and I honestly couldn’t tell you why. It’s been used by me as a quick piece for the Allographic open mic “Chaos Round” (where, for an unspecified amount of time an unspecified number of poets dash to the stage – physical or virtual – and give us tiny poems, fragments of pieces, mysterious fillips, then retreat) a few times, and, as they say, I just think it’s neat. As a child I did a lot of birdwatching, even had my own binoculars, and I’m still that person who’ll stop on a walk or stare out of a car window at interesting avifauna (sometimes to the consternation of the people in the passenger seats, it has to be said…). I have, however, never seen a kingfisher in person.

A common kingfisher, drawn from a picture by John Bridges

This was a lot of fun to draw, but took me significantly longer to get around to starting than I’d have liked, probably because it seemed so very daunting a prospect to do justice to. However, once I’d got going, it took me significantly less time than anticipated to draw. I’m clearly learning… However, the source photo cropped the tail, so I’m very much hoping I did it justice!

Look out for this and its Lesser Spotted friends in Spectral later this year!

Compound Rhythm

We have tried to fit you in,
lumbering you with familiar names,
shamelessly labelling you:
plodder, late-comer,
wobbly moss-beast.

Sky-divers, galaxy-striders,
depth-riders, you can leap
from sauna to ice bath,
without shrinking,
in the wink of an eye.

And foolishly, we write rules
that don’t apply to you,
radiating cool, defying filing,
to stride, pioneers hitching wagons
to a new star, taking the next slow,
sturdy steps into ubiquity.

Clio of the Depths

I have cast off weight to glide,
lost light in the undersky.
Where my cousins plod,
I rainbow arc,
backlit swiftness,
sleek among the butterflies.

Close to grace, I open,
lotus-like,
a fine fruit,
toothsome,
its bruised flesh threshed
by my winnowing maw.

Gorged, I sheathe my
glass scimitars, and
weave into darkness,
seeking further sweetness.

This piece was written in October 2017, from an Allographic workshop about animal poetry with Robin Lamboll. Sea Angels are, essentially, marine snails that ditched their shells a long time ago to glide through the water with their "wings". (Well, sort of – read the Wikipedia article for more details...)

Look out for this and its Lesser Spotted friends in Spectral next year!

I enjoyed drawing this - the first time I've used colours since I started drawing last year. Source image by Alexander Semenov.