Bird Songs Poems by David Francis
PEOPLE’S PARROT PRESS
Bird Songs Poems by David Francis
PEOPLE’S PARROT PRESS
All poems © David Francis, 2018. All Rights Reserved Enquiries to: davidfrancis99@yahoo.co.uk Illustrations & design by Erica Smith
The Blackbirds The blackbirds fanned their tails and fought Under and between the hedges Scrapped and scattered twigs and dust and caught The tyres and bumpers and the edges Of the kerbstones in their feathers and their beaks. The two girls wrestled on the mossy grass until it rained Then ran for shelter, laughed beneath the massive cedar tree One is an informal patient, the other is detained For psychiatric treatment under Section 3 The two have been best friends again for weeks. I sit on the wall and I wonder Why they’re laughing, wonder what they’re after Then I smile, for I remember I am glad Glad to hear these two girls laugh out loud And just to be here with their courage and their laughter Makes me proud.
I can hear the blackbirds singing And the patient’s laughter ringing Out across the rhododendrons And the ancient rabbit walk Into the secure gardens Thick with cigarettes and pardons Coughing secrets, bitter truth-tinged smoke and talk. Oh forgive us all our awful curses Hand us tender over to the night shift nurses As you pass your hourly observations With your radio, your belt and key. Let the duty doctor travel Swift and smooth across the broken gravel Looking for a space to park her car And one day, one day, One day set us free.
The Bird-Wish You’re like a bird next To me in the car pecking And flapping your furious Feathery wings pecking And picking so I do The bird-wish I close my eyes And I am a bird I fly Out of the window away from the lay-by Over the ring road and up Up up to the tops of the trees At the top of the hill over there Leaving you trapped in the passenger Seat-belt flapping And pecking the satnav and maps And flapping and pecking the kids in the Back of the car. You’re like a bird next To me In the kitchen lurching And perching Flapping Pecking and
Picking at everything that I do. Your great feathery wings are too Big for this room. Flap flap rookery rook I open the window but you just Bash your wet black feathery eyes On the back of the cookery book. I’m scared of your beak and your claws And your scratchy feathers and wings And I find myself flapping and folding Myself and starting to cry But it’s you scared You trapped You wounded and you who Might even die If you stay here in this room with me If you aren’t able to fly.
Saturday Night Murmuration 1. It’s magical. When night comes on The hours between the end of day And settling down to sleep we change The way we behave. Different rules. Fewer rules. It’s mad. You can dress Differently. Say and do Things you’re afraid to say And do by day. Drink and dance and talk to strangers. Breathe in and out and relax. Get excited. Hysterical Shout and laugh with each Other at shit till tears run down your cheeks. Stand close to people you don’t know. Let them blow smoke in your face and Touch your shoulder and tell you Secrets they just thought of. Mess doesn’t matter and what’s a
Piss in the flowerbeds When you’re with people who love you Like this. She asked me her name three times All serious, and then ran from the Nelly With her friends and her sister and mother All singing different songs together Loud not caring that we’d roll our eyes and Swap smiles and frown Behind their backs as they danced Down the road and into town 2. Over and around the pier The birds are wheeling round in clouds; Being the thing I’m proud to be able to name: A Murmuration. They do it at the end of every day. And it dawns on me I know what they’re doing. This is the dancing And touching
Happening in birdland at dusk. Those bird clouds, those Smoky changing shapes Is them Doing the same as us. The time between the daily grind of Scratching round the hedges and the streets Of the pecking order struggle for survival and Settling down to some warm place to sleep Is also Their magical time When anything can happen Flying so close to one another That they become almost a single thing, Feather to feather, wing to wing, Sod the pecking order But fly and sing Together with happiness and hope that Tomorrow will bring a better day. And all those birds Look back at us As we gather in our crowds and throng Outside the bars
And on the promenade all Dressed up in our Sexy best Loving and fighting, smoking And shouting and singing along And they wonder how nature Could have made anything That looks and sounds so sublime. That’s why they fly together Over and around the pier at dusk, Congregating in the fading light; To watch the beautiful breathtaking Sight of us, Out On Saturday night.
Black Headed Gulls At Pett Level When the tide goes out the water lets A beach of sand and mud and rocks Breathe and glisten in the sun Tickled by the little waves that wets It’s edges and you and I take off our socks Stuff them in our shoes and run And run. Black headed gulls with lowered heads Peck and step with care along the shore Rabbinic bird; the humble scholar of the beach Reading every ripple, every worm cast, treads Thoughtfully across the surf for more Knowledge of what lies beneath And, deep beyond our reach, What it may teach. Other gulls are over by the bins The saveloy and fish bar grills With the worried mums and dads And their disappointed kids And for all their noise and swagger Everything they eat is full of shit. They scream and shout, put on a show
And yet, like you and I, they seem to know Little of what lies below The surface of the world. Later on we dry our feet and look about Quiet now, both sorry that we ever hurt The other with our angry indoor words And, in the car, we didn’t mean to shout Only now we’re happy, tender and alert Only now, we see the birds We see the birds.
Blue Tits It is very warm and overcast Little yellow birds with purple wings Daydream in the branches of the trees Whose great green leaves keep Our back yard cool and shaded. Out on the streets wading birds With beaks of every shape and size Some like spoons and some like scythes, Some like parasols, aerials and spirals Treble clefs, cocktail straws, champagne bowls and bayonets Peck, scratch and shit on the paintwork Of any car, even mine, Parked on a double yellow line Annoying but a great deal cheaper than The county council’s £35 fine. Over the road at the breakers yard Penguins and pigeons argue over Which of them’s the hardest while The parakeets and cockatoos fight About whose turn it is To buy the booze tonight.
Me and my human neighbours, We just mutter and snap words About how much the area’s changed. Especially the birds. How we don’t see nearly anywhere as many Sparrows as we once saw And why the demise of the blue tits Means you don’t see any milkman any more.
David Francis has been writing songs since 1978 and poems since 2016, all celebrating the life and struggles of common people. This little chapbook of poems about birds was produced for the Light as a Feather show at Stade Hall in August 2018. If you like David’s work, you can seek him out at spoken word nights around Hastings.
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