(At the end of each 100 posts I've collected together all the silly poems I've put on here ..often under ridiculous fictitious names like Wavely Newt etc. So.... here's the ones that appeared from 200 to 300..) This was at the end of post 202 .... it was triggered by my hearing some Curlews calling as I tripe-tapped away in the attic ... The curlew has a plaintive call especially just before the Fall don't try to set your watch by it its timekeeping is utter shit It doesn't mind, it doesn't care it has no need for underwear unlike us, who, in wintertime wear it almost all the time we're not designed for cold, that's why but live in it, and then we die .. we should have stayed in Africa where we'd perish much less quica.. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This next one's from post 222 ... rather a long one, this, but it rattles along pretty sharpish .... I think I can safely say that this ISN'T by Wavely Newt. He's been very quiet lately. Good lad ! I would imagine that he's found me to be stiff competition. Anyway, this is a truly gripping verse version of a Long-Ago Bit Of Bird-Spotting, or LABOBS to you, or not, as the case may be .... you'll see ..... We went to see a THRUSH It was really rather RARE We had to race and RUSH As we didn't quite know WHERE The stupid thing could BE So I got out the MAP And scanned it DESPERATELY But I was in a FLAP And I hadn't got a CLUE So we stopped and asked a MAN He was a birder TOO And he drew a sort of PLAN On a crappy bit of CARDBOARD With a lump of Gannet POO Then he walked off to STARBOARD Leaving us all thinking, WHO ? Could he possibly BE ? Maybe he's "Ticker" STEW Or Millington, or LEE ! That map just made things WORSE And we drove into a DITCH So we commandeered a HEARSE But we still did not know WHICH Would be the road to PICK As the plan was total CRAP And the suspension made us SICK So we stopped and had a NAP As all of us were KNACKERED Then we continued TERSELY And this time we went BACKWARD As it would only go REVERSLY But that was SERENDIPITOUS Because we found a straggly LINE Of twitchers, all quite CRAPULOUS But of the bird there was no SIGN It buggered off an hour AGO If only we'd not been so LATE We thought we should give it a GO And wait and wait and wait and WAIT It seemed like years as we waited and WAITED In the cold and wet and sludge and SLIME It's true to say our breath was BATED We could have been there till the end of TIME But at last, at last, I saw the BIRD It was miles away, the size of a FLEA Up the line, we spread the WORD And everyone was so happy to SEE Something that vaguely looked like a ZOOTHERA "Vaguely" isn't really a strong enough NAME For the way we'd ID'd it (by trial and ERROR) Any rational person would say it was LAME ..... Of course, it "had" to be the BIGGIE But we "knew" it didn't look the PART It was long, and slim, a bit like TWIGGY But us lot didn't give a FART We were all very quiet on the long drive BACK We stared out of the windows without a WORD That sighting was a load of CACK It was less like a tick, and more like a TURD So, what is the moral of this TALE ? Why is "that sort of thing" so COMMON ? Here's why ...it's the way of the adult MALE To be at the top, not down at the BOTTOM ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This next one is from post 230 ... it was triggered by the "Alcyone" myth ........ Back in the depths of history, there was a myth that there were times when the sea was so calm that Kingfishers could nest on it ... and as the Kingfisher is named " Halcyon " , periods of calm weather were called "halcyon days." That feeble picture up there is the only one I could find illustrating this ancient myth. You couldn't make it up. So, I made this up .... the rhythm is a bit galloping-horsey ! (?) In times gone by, they used to think that on Halcyon days, the sea sat calmly and so beautifully flat, that nothing would sink so Kingfishers , being be so gormless and barmy would try to build their nests on the sea and lay their eggs, oh, that's very likely and then chicks would hatch , oh joy, oh glee ! but here's the problem, here's the thingy where did the Kingfishers get their sticks ? and suppose the nest's squashed by a passing canoe ? or engulfed by those numerous oil slicks ? or snapped up by a wandering Manitou ? then there's gulls and auks and the deadly gannet and Fairy Petrels and giant squids and the chance of predation was something chronic not to mention the threat of stick-eating pids ! Yes, pids are the problem, and don't you know, there's hundreds and hundreds of them to the litre they can chew up a nest in an hour or so they're famous for being the fastest nest-eater That's why the kingfisher nests in a tunnel well out of the way of those eaters-of-sticks otherwise, even a single one'll smash their eggs, and feast on the chicks So, what is the moral of this ancient myth ? Is there nothing at all we can learn from it ? No, it's all a stream of rancid pyth And all of those myths are a load of shit ! I'm sorry to be so scatalogical But in the past they hadn't a clue Their ideas were depressingly dodgical And amount to no more than a heap of poo. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Well, dear readers, you will have to make up your own mind about the theories of our forbears ... I've tried to give you a balanced view there, looking at things fairly from all sides, and coming to a balanced and, I might say, nuanced, verdict. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This one's from post 236 ... there's no birds in it, though there is part of a ferret. It stemmed from a remark I made about how us birders/botanists/lovers of taxonomy/technical terms etc might be regarded as a bit , er, mad. Wannsin, Gwallgof, Fou .... whatever ... and I sort of went with it ... and arguing that my sort of madness was relatively reasonable ... There are different sorts of madness Mine is reasonably benign .. Eating ferret's heads ... that's badness And a quite disturbing sign At least of eccentricity And maybe something worse. Some "see" electricity And "keep" it in a purse. Others never wash themselves For years and years and years Some start to look like evil elves By growing enormous ears Which, of course, go mouldy That isn't so surprising I knew one that got so filthy he Worked for years in advertising Where, if you have rancid feet, or pong No-one will notice, never They're oblivious to right or wrong And think they're very clever. But that's another sort of madness And maybe the most alarming They're the epitomy of badness But they think they're Prince Charming ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This one was the centrepiece (!!) of post 267 ....but it wasn't about a bird at all. Here we go, with a bit of an introduction .... and a picture ! It's at least 25 years old...... ... my daughter, when she was at secondary school, had to do some sort of homework, I think, doing a "shape poem", or something similar, but I finished up doing it, and this was the rough version. Here's it is written out properly ... I roam the seas with feet of rubber I feed on scraps of crabs and blubber eyes have I none, nowhere to go I heed the ocean's ebb and flow. A thousand razor teeth have I a thousand tiny feet to pry and preen, and all unseen I to and fro on foaming dream. Colder than stars, nor like a fish I have no will, nor any wish - you humans know me by this term - echinoderm, echinoderm. As you can see, I took myself much more seriously in those days.... didn't we all ? Did it get a decent mark ? I've no idea. I'm not even at all sure she handed it in. Such is the transience of fatherhood ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Next up ... this is one that somehow got missed out of my previous collection. It's way back in post 151, at the end of a story about seeing my first Golden Oriole .... here's it is, with a bit of context first ... It was about 60 miles or so to the semi-secret Golden Oriole Spotting Spot. I got there. I walked the long track to the top G.O. Spotting Spot. No Orioles. I waited. I strolled around. I increased my radius ( ouch). I even increased my diameter as well. I'm mad me. I waited some more.I patrolled the circumference for a change. But ... the TTGH approached ( Time To Go Home.) With weary tread and shoes of lead I wandered back in deep despair To myself " I'm crap" I said Until a note came 'pon the air T'was t'Oriole, atop the tree And soon I saw the bird in't bins Resplendent in its livery Redolent of those harlequins That prance around on't village green It was the best I've ever seen. I skipped and pranced back to the mini .... performed the special ceremony .... which we must do for every tick .... I must have looked a total dick. But back again wi't'family and having ticked it jammily I climbed a handy Jum-Jum tree that grows in't local cemetery. A Jum-Jum always must be scaled when out of dipping I've been bailed. I hope you enjoyed this little verse and realised it could have been much worse. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Now then ... this next poem, which I'm quite proud of, appeared on post #271 and tells you all you need to know about keeping Rheas ........ Well.. here's a poem about the Rhea ...as you mit have guessed. It started life as a rou draut, and nearly came to nout, but now, here it is .... in the full lit of day .... The Rhea has, unfortunately, lost the power of Flit But, despite his dreadful loss he is a truly awesome Sit We keep ours in the garden, but he comes indoors most Nits It's all because he once was scared by the awesome Northern Lits. One problem is, the cat and him, they love to have a Fit They make an awful racket, and it lasts most of the Nit They're both terrific Fiters, the results are very Tit If they were real professionals, their future would be Brit. (But sometimes, outside in the rain, he yields a mournful Si And we can only wonder, does he think his end is Ni ?) Another thing about him is, his IQ = Nout They haven't really helped at all, all those textbooks that we've Bout We've tried all different sorts of foods, like Jam and Tripe and Dou To Briten up his dinky brain, but it didn't work, Althou, Maybe the quantities we served were never quite Enou. So, if you decide to keep a Rhea, the going might be Tou I've mentioned how he likes a Fit, he really could get Rou So we've given ours to the bloke next door, Norman Barraclou ! When dead, I've heard, the Rhea often comes back as a ost But I never would believe such guff, I would have to be a fool So, just to check I've written to the Saturday Evening Post. And they've told me, reliably, that they come back as a oul ! I hope you enjoyed deciphering that as much as I enjoyed writing it ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This next one's one of my favourites.... it's from post 286 ..... In each and every Cormorant, a Coot is locked inside And a Rhea's inside the Lady Amherst's Pheasant. Each Ashy-Headed Wagtail hosts a Shag, you'll be surprised, And an Owl inside a Yellow Wagtail's sure to be unpleasant ! Meanwhile, each Booted Warbler is fostering a Teal You hardly would believe it, but it's easy to conceal. And the Black-Winged Pratincole hosts an unexpected Kite And the hidden Rail in the Bar-Tailed Lark must be a shocking sight. That Cormorant above, you'll be amazed to hear Also hosts a Moa, her innards must be queer. And Serins can be found inside of all Siberian Thrushes Who, when photographers gather round, must wonder what the fuss is. Yellow-Browed and Yellow-Breasted Buntings , as it goes, Being so very much alike from heads to toes, Have got a tiny Wren concealed inside 'em ... They share their ghosts, and know just how to hide 'em Athene noctua ,the Little Owl, Has a hen within , a tiny little soul, And Aquatic Warblers, they contain a Quail An elusive bird, which barely has a tail. I hope this arcane knowledge has impressed If not, at least I know I've done my best. White-winged Black Tern will end our little list But you must find what's in it, I insist ! Go on ..... you've got to admit it's pretty nifty !! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This one's from post #296 ... it needs a bit of introduction ...here we go .. NATURE NOTES by Sweetie Pie How I love these autumnal afternoons in my tiny, dinky-winky 7-acre garden, with the falling autumnal leaves swirling past me into their winter resting-places, where they will, in the fullness of time, become, once again, part of the wonderful world of Mother Nature's Amazing Cycle Of Being. I'm sure all my dear readers will do the same. And amongst the darling, fallen leaves I glimpse the shy, retiring Snowy Owl, which, as you all know, sifts through autumnal swathes of multicoloured, dazzlingly polychromatic iridescent newly-descended abandoned leaves looking for gentle, kindly, dinky, whimsical nature writers like myself who like nothing better than to pretend, if only for a few fleeting hours, that they are at one with Mother Nature's eternal cycles of being . I'm sure that all my readers will do the same. Ah, here's one of my gardeners,Basil, assiduously cutting the lawn with a pair of nail scissors ..it's so so important not to hurt any of the tiny creatures of the lawn with their little legs and everything. They've also got a pair of little antonys on their heads which they depend on when they start to migrate to Hyde Park for the winter as well. I hope that all of my dear readers will do the same. Some people say I'm rather twee but I am simply being ME! Oh how I love the shiny rook that lingers in the inglenook his silver beak glows 'midst the gloom that fills my sweetie-kins bedroom. I love the dinky-winky flowers and stare at them for hours and hours I wish that I was one of them I'd have a lovely slender stem and petals nodding in the breeze which saunters 'tween the lovely trees. Tomorrow, until half past ten I'm going to be a Jenny Wren and after that, a Turtle Dove till comes the dusk, when I just love to turn into a Firecrest and slip inside its tiny nest. I know that you, dear readers wish like her you could be but there's no room for all of you in the halfwit heirarchy ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I'm not at all sure what the "right" music should be after all that nonsense. Well, to be fair, some of then were OK ... a sort of mix of sawdust and diamonds ... ... if it's any help, it took me ages to understand her music .... but eventually I "got" it. Some bands, like Death Cab For Cutie, you can fall into their worlds right away....
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October 2022
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