Insomniacs know all too well the sounds of the dawn chorus, in which the blackbird plays a major part. This little  journey of the imagination was sparked off in the early hours of  May mornings. The accompanying poem is about another phenomenon of the spring countryside.

EXPLORING BRITAIN UNDER A BLANKET

OF BLACKBIRD SONG AT DAWN IN MAY

Imaginary levitation, not too high,

Will wing me over hedges of leylandii

And wicker fences (Woolworth’s best)

And laurels sporting hidden nests,

And browning daffodils and cherry trees

With frilly petals at suburban ease.

~

The blackbird baton is passed on

Through roadside thickets drenched at dawn

And fields of cows and trampled earth

To trees that rim the view of earth.

~

Melodious quest may draw me west

To wilderness that knows no rest

From wind that leaves the tussocks bleached;

Still through the hills bird song is leached.

~

And on far shores the phantom sound

Will clash with larks’ and still resound,

Till out at sea the song will cease

And maverick birds now hold their peace.

                                                                   LD 

MELLOW YELLOW

~

Fields of vulgar rape

Offend the eye

With their intensity.

Buttercup meadows, now,

There’s a different prospect:

Yellow with a

Pointillist’s art

And hints of dark green depths

Where beetles browse

And cattle cool their hooves

In the margin of leaf and mud.

                                                LD