Oh I'm not following the prompts at all this year! I find a lot of them...constraining to be honest.
I've been held up a lot with NaPo this year, second-guessing myself and leaving days run by with no poems. But today has been a lot of fun. Operative word in this monthly jaunt. No critical second-guessing or endless edits, just stream-of-consciousness go-with-the-flow spontaneous writing. My subject matter is the wonderful world of collective nouns, birds especially. Fantastic poetry fodder (see the link above for ideas.)
(I think I was channeling Billy Collins here... hmm :)
(I think I was channeling Billy Collins here... hmm :)
Ornate Ornithology
Imagine a flamboyance of flamingos,
their coral feathered tutus a sensation
ambling by the local river like
Spanish dancers, all frills and thrills,
pink as tropical cocktails.
Or a siege of herons as they descend
on the sea's edge like stealthy aircraft.
Armoured stillness as they stalk a meal
and long-legged patience virtuous,
heads helmeted against the elements.
Picture a pride of peacocks marching
to the shimmy of their own vanity,
all sapphires and emerald eyes,
a pageant of ostentatious beauty.
Bejeweled show-offs that put lions to shame.
Imagine the sound of an exaltation of larks -
Hark! - their wingspans exclamation marks
struck against sky, melodious choral arias
that bid a hearty welcome to morning,
sweet alarm for sleepy lovers.
Or the thrum and hum of a murmuration
of starlings as they swoop, swoon and soar
across the dusk, spectacle of synchronised
sweep and dive, scatter and re-group;
whispers, being told to sky.
Or the prattle of parrots - now that
would be fun: clatter of chatter and natter
and whistle barrage of 'Who's a pretty boy?'
over and over (and much more besides -
especially a word that rhymes with 'duck'.)
Though give me just a blush of robins,
flush of colour in a winter-wearied garden,
little heart-bleeding cheeky beggars
as they hop for crumbs, scald snow
with their flame red tums.
And stay clear of a tidings of magpies:
one for sorrow, never another for joy.
A conspiracy of one, shiny woeful plumage.
As for an unkindness of ravens - well -
I'll leave them to Poe.
But best of all - watch a gulp of swallows
as they abseil an April sky, home at last.
Blue and white trapeze flashes, freefall sassy dazzles -
as if the whole sky is their playground,
the whole day a gift they reel from.
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