Friday, 9 September 2011

Caw! Caw!

Now that the weather is getting cooler suddenly the rooks are about again. Going up to see a friend this afternoon and passing field after field of corn stubble I noticed that every field was full of rooks poking about in the stubble; I suppose looking for insects and larvae and also eating the corn lying around - gleaning in fact. It was a warm afternoon and I had the car window open. The cawing noise from the fields was amazing and it reminded me that a few years ago I wrote a poem 'Rook', so I thought it was time to give the poem an airing again as I am sure some of my blogging friends were not reading my blog the last time I published it. Apologies to those of you who have read it before:

ROOK.

It seems to me the wind
is your friend.
Soaring, tumbling,
playing with the thermals
on a still day.
Tacking, swooping,
cutting along the hedge top
and manipulating a gale.
Chattering, flying high,
sailing home on a
light breeze.

Building your stick nest
high in the bare branches
for it to rock and rattle
round the rookery.

You joyful bird
with your black, lustrous plumage
and your crusty beak
that stabs the ground
for leather jackets.

You can
fill the sky with movement,
write a tune on the wires,
blacken a field with your parliament,
and fill my heart with joy as you
surge past my window
in your thousands
at dawn on a cold Winter's morning.

13 comments:

Heather said...

Your poem is beautiful Pat, and describes the behaviour of rooks perfectly. I always like looking out for them repairing old nests or building new ones in early spring and love hearing them call to eachother as they fly overhead.
Good luck with the drawing - it's not as easy as those who can do it would have us believe, is it?!!

Pomona said...

A lovely poem! I always remember the rookeries in the trees around my grandmother's house - the rooks are no longer there, although there are still trees - I always wonder why. A lot of trees fell in the storm of 1987 - maybe they lost their favourites.

Pomona x

Cloudia said...

how very wonderful to feel this seasonal change through your blog,
and esp your fine poem!



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Mary said...

No apologies required Pat........it's a wonderful poem and I for one will always enjoy reading it. Your words took me back to childhood on our road where there were many rookeries in the trees - noisy birds but always enjoyed, like most of Nature's wonders of the air.

Happy weekend - Mary

angryparsnip said...

We don't have Rooks around here but the poem is wonderful. I can see them.

cheers, parsnip

Crafty Green Poet said...

wonderful poem, it really describes the rooks so well.

ArtPropelled said...

Pat, this is a lovely poem! I could picture the rooks in my mind, manipulating a gale. I was also reminded of Van Gogh's Wheat Fields with Crows

Tess Kincaid said...

Beautiful poem! Caw!

George said...

Wonderful, Pat, and I especially love the last eight lines of your verse. Seeing the rooks composing music on the lines brings a smile to my face.

Nora said...

I had to look up what a rook was and found out that it was a small crow. I'm sure we have them around here too. I'll keep my eyes open for them.

The Weaver of Grass said...

Thank you for replying to the post.

Pamela Terry and Edward said...

Oh I do love this.
I once stayed in an old 16th century house in Cornwall that I swear was haunted. It was surrounded by rooks, cawing and calling all the time. They added substantially to the mystery of the place!

Dave King said...

I enjoyed this very much, and the final stanza is a real cracker! Wonderful.