As any fule no, every 100 posts I "round up" all the gormless verses I've concocted in my ideal/idle moments and put them all in one place ,,, that's HERE. So, this is all the ones between 300 and 400. I'm doing this simply because I know you would not want to have missed any of them..... obviously .... Fasten your safety-belts , ladies and gentlemen ..... This one's from post 323 ... Christmas Eve it was ....... here we go ... This "poem" was partly inspired when I read the list of "eight different sorts of birders" arranged in hierarchical order in Mark Cocker's excellent book " Birders" .... and some of you of older years might come up with another major influence too .... have a think about it .... consider it a very very late bit of the " Mini-Birding Christmas Quiz" .... I want to die in the way a Robin-stroker ought to whilst making some repairs to my home-made Blue Tit box .. and falling off the ladder that I've propped against the lean-to A worthy way, I think, to pop your clogs. I hope to have a dude's death, it's completely up my street, by falling off a cliff whilst Puffin- spotting. As I bounce from rock to boulder, I'll think, how very sweet, that I'll be feeding all those sea-birds whilst I'm rotting ! All us top-rank twitchers, we'd like to kick the bucket tearing down the motorway, at 80 ,90, faster, So, with my mates all in the back, hoping we will tick it I'll crash the car into a bridge,so of our fate I'll be the master ! Maybe I should meet my end the way us birders should Doing something "conservationist" and consequently "good" so I'll make a papier-maché box and then get buried in it then it and I will slowly rot, which will maybe "Save the Planet." [ A worthy cause, you must admit I'd love to contribute to it But maybe not that drastically I might just give "them" 50p ] As an avid birdwatcher I'd really love to die lying in a field whilst logging migrants flying by, and then from out of nowhere, a tractor would squash me flat and in 10 seconds I'd expire, and I hope that would be that.. Now bird-watchers, well, they all have their very special way of taking leave of this sorry world .... on a soggy survey day they'll get swallow-ed up in squelching mud, and step off this mortal coil, and if you're lucky, you will too, which helps fertilise the soil. The Ornithologist has ways most logical, off his perch to fall, these days they're hardly relevant, they ain't no use at all to birders, twitchers, robin-strokers, all the others too... one "breathed his last" last week, inhaling fumes from gannet poo ! ( that's a "scientific" way to go for your normal ornithologist, it was probably at the top of his "bio-logical" ways to perish list ! ) As a lifelong Scientist I feel that I should croak in some way that's appropriate, and fitting, and bespoke and logical and numerical, not as do "other" folk, so I think I'll eat my slide rule, and consequently, choke. ( there's another scientific way.... eating lots of graphs and charts, so I'd expire 3 hours later from my exponential farts !) ( All that peculiar figure-stick munching gives a new meaning to "number-crunching !) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I hope you liked that little verse Despite its morbid topic and you might "me" reimburse with something telescopic ! My current scope's too heavy so I'd really like a light one I can't afford one now because my income is a shite one !! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As always, I thank you .. This one's all about NOT arguing with people about identification. They don't like it, and you're wasting your breath ! Here we go then .... Have you ever tried to tell someone that they've got their ID wrong, It's bill is much too short, and the legs are much too long ? You know it won't do any good, but you really must persist. 'cos if you don't, it's you that's going to have the shortest list. Have you tried to explain to a halfwit, that it's not a Pratincole That's feeding on her peanuts , and eating a sausage roll ? If so, you're a braver man than me, or maybe you like a fight, The best thing's to point out to her that it's much more like a Twite. In a hide at Titchwell years ago, there were Redshanks by the ton, But a smartarse shouted "Spotted", and he was certain it was one. I told him why it wasn't, why he was wrong, and I was right, , And that is why, for the last two years, I've had nightmares every night. ( Worry not, the plaster's off , and I can walk to the canteen but my face is now so ugly, I have to eat behind a screen) And that Black-throated Diver, well, I've written all about it It was really just a Cormorant, and she was half a halfwit And she told me that my binoculars were totally decrepit She said it had been ID'd by a man who knew everything about it for his South American experience was superior to mine ..and his binoculars, she told me, were really mighty fine. I took my leave of the daft old bag, my confidence was shattered and staggered back to my clapped-out car, nothing no longer mattered, and threw my Zeiss binoculars into the nearest bin and decided I would chuck this stupid birding business in. So, readers of this sorry tale, try to keep your hooters out of any birding dispute , whatever it's about. Let the silly bugger make mistakes and get things wrong Just let him think he's got it right, and jolly him along After all, it matters, not two bloody hoots, whatever he wants to call it Because we are the experts, and he is just a nitwit ! By the way, don't worry, I got my bins back right away I picked them up on my way to work, no problem, the next day, There'll be no I.D. arguments from me, no bitter rows Because we always get things right, but they are stupid cows ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I thank you ! If you want to read about that "Black-throated Diver" incident, it's on the other end of this handy link ... and it really happened ... to me .... 50-the-man-with-the-proper-binoculars.html ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ..and this next one is from post 314 ( or maybe 313) .... it was a very very wet day Ell, readers, the ater is hooshing down the indow panes, and ill probably turn to sno any second no, and then ice, and darkness, and the end of the orld as e kno it. So, as I do hen everything is aful, and et, and indy, and my ellys are aash with ater, I turn to verse to ash aay my earisome orries...... My favourite bird is the Sallo But it alks so akardly hen on the ing it hizzes through the sky so very seetly ! The axing's very lovely too inter's the time to see one. I love to atch them hen I can On tigs , especially Roan. And hat about the stately Cro ? It's orth a longer look. hite 'tis not, nor yello It's rather like a Rook. The Ol, the ren, the lovely San The illo arbler too ! The Hafinch and the igeon I kno are dear to you. Ay up, ay up on this ee list The Little Sift and illet The to are rare and onderful And our list, they ill fill it ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This one is about making haiku ...... from post 326.... And here's three of mine as examples .....
The cormorant flies A bright flash dazzles into the sky-world above a hummingbird is floating to eternity. through the fervid air. Wren: a bundle of poking and pestering in each nook and crevice. Haiku can "do" all sorts of things... that "cormorant" one is a sort of "universal statement", the hummingbird one as a "frozen moment", and the "wren" one is just about getting on with things ! Composing haiku can be as deep or shallow as you like. Whichever end of that spectrum you prefer, it's fascinating and fun. And birds make an excellent and vast theme for you to tackle. Plus ... being a creator is good for you. The world is a little bit different, thanks to you. So, think of " haiku-making" as a Christmas Challenge. And, if you want to, you could send them in. And I could make a sort of gallery of them. There's the "comment" thing. Or there's the email thing. [email protected] And, by the way, lots of "haiku" you see on't net etc don't obey the rules. It's not as if they're difficult to understand..... here's my take on them.. This is a haiku it gets it exactly right five seven and five. This is a wrong haiku it makes a right bog-up of it six, eight, three ! You won't get a better explanation than that. Right .. off you go then ! Plus ... if you chuck out all those BIG poetry books, and replace them with the obviously much much smaller haiku books, it makes the room look much bigger ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This one's from post 332.... it's all about bird-related Limericks ..... A few posts ago I set you the challenge of writing some bird-related Haiku. It was all part of my "Crucial Christmas Conundrum Contest" which has enthralled the nation ... well, some of it anyway. OK ... hardly any of it. Now your Haiku ... it's classy. Sophisticated. It's Moody and maybe Magnificent. Deep. Mysterious. Elusive. But your average Limerick ... it's Brassy, Bawdy and Bold. That might be important for you. So....... here's a limerick praising, er, the limerick .... It's Poetry task number 2 You can stuff all your Snooty Haiku We want poems that kick ass and offend and embarrass ... a Limerick ! ... that's what we'll do ! All right then. Here, as they say, are some I made earlier....... There once was an upstart young Gannet who learned a rude song, and then sang it. Its neighbour, a Lark, got into a nark made a trap for it, set it and sprang it ! There once was a male Naumann's Thrush who developed a terrible crush on a Calandra Lark whom he met in Hyde Park but sadly, he got the bum's rush ! The Willow and Marsh Tit are similar, with their features you must be familiar as well as their call .. ( they're not similar at all) to ignore it would be even sillier ! There is a keen birder called Lee Who drives you, for a trifling fee to where all the best birds are in his expensive car ... and all at incredible speeds ! When you're on a Scilly Pelagic Those rare birds, they turn up like magic They'll keep coming and coming As long as they're chumming But the smell of the stuff is quite tragic ! Elite birders must know about jizz ( that's the features of creatures, that is) if you know nowt about it you'll look like a halfwit when you ID a Knot as a Tit ! There you are .... if I can churn them out like soup at a soup kitchen, so can you. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This one's from post 342 .... I was a bit fed up .... my car was in a terminal decline, and we were wasting loads of valuable birding time looking for a replacement ...grrr .......... read on .... As to current issues, my car is still perilously close to terminal collapse, so I've been spending a lot of time simply " car prospecting" while I've still got a car to go prospecting in ! And today, for the first time, we found a type of car that The Significant Otter liked. That's a start ,at least. But as a consequence of that, I've got very little "proper" birding done.... My ♥ is sad, and weak as T My day-list hardly got 2 3 my brain is getting £-ed it's conflicted and ÷d My spirits have fallen by a ½ And l8ely I can hardly laugh From every ¼ problems mount there4 there are no birds to count It really makes me very † My life is now a C of dross I feel as if a giant ♣ upon my head's about 2 drub Perhaps I'll simply buy a ♠ and wander 2 a quiet glade and dig a deep hole just 4 me and lie there 4 eternity ! But no! a ♦ such as I should live life 2 the utmost not linger in a shallow 2mb nor B a h8ful ghost !! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This next one is from post 350-something.. And it's a poem about post-death birdwatching .... it's quite jolly actually ... Just down the road a way as they say in the USA there's a land that's full of unexpected birds that we can watch all day. They'll all be bright and colourful like the Jabirus, the Juncos and the Jays and though we're all dead we won't dwell on that, instead we'll scope and bin and tick for all our days ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This one's from post 357 .... it's a piss-take ( by me of course) of William Topaz MacGonagall, the world's worst poet . Here's a poem I found tucked inside an old copy of " Scilly Saunters" ....... surely it must have been written either by the "poet" McGonagall himself or by a clever imitator. But who would do such a thing ? This afternoon I met The King of Bryher and yes ... it is the truth ...I'm not a liar. He wore a crown engraved " The King of Bryher" so there was no need at all at all for me to inquire and throughout the sultry afternoon I called him " sire." Oh how I wish I was The King of Bryher in that role I would never retire from being the The King of Bryher and there's only one way to be The King of Bryher. Your "Bryher list" must be remarkably higher which can take a considerable time to acquire. But to be The King of Bryher is rather grand for Bryher is indeed a lovely land surrounded by the sea on every hand as islands are, as all must understand. He rules the isle, its rocks, its birds, its sand, its hedgerows, outcrops, hilltops, hillocks and some do compare it to fair Samarkand which is truly a remarkable and distant foreign land and undoubtedly surrounded by considerable hinterland. And when I am The King of Bryher when I pass by, the people will inquire who is that man who wears the princely crown ? Surely a man of worldwide reknown who will forever wear his kingly crown till Bryher's sea uprises, whence he'll drown. And on his gravestone, from rock of Bryher made his list of Bryher ticks will be displayed and he, interred beneath with knightly crown flesh gone to dust, resembles most a clown ! You can, if you're mad enough, you can read the whole caboodle at the far end of this link .. I think ... it includes a brilliant parody by The Pythons.... 357-the-king-of-bryher-surely-a-lost-poem-by-william-topaz-mcgonagall-the- worlds-worst-poet.html ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This next one's from post 365 ..... I had a bit of a spontaneous rant ! thank god I'm not an elephant but almost the size of an ant else the damage might have been extravagant. After her, there was another woman telling us that .. .... "women were changing The Rules of Poetry !" I didn't know there were any. And if there are, I certainly don't take any notice if them. She also told us that " Keats was dead." Er ...... yes..... Blimey ... I've just heard That a poem about a bird for example doesn't have to rhyme or scan or any of that conformist and conventional gormless stuff and if you can't find owt to rhyme with gannet stuff it ! But I wouldn't want to do any of that I mean, think what might happen if Linnet don't never rhyme with nuffink, innit ? and anyway why do the lines have to be in line I've no idea, and what if I made shearwater into watershear just so it would rhyme with wheatear suppose I backwards all it write could I but why ? and anyway, who's to say ¿ ♣ s ♦ s ♠ s + ♥s everythingeventuallyfallsaparts ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ..and this one is from post 378 ....... A Ms. Woodnymph of Norton Bedstead has emailed me with that a question ..a question I've asked myself many, many times ... why have there been no poems featuring the excellent Bristlefront.... well, here's one .... Some birds don't rhyme with owt that's useful so poets don't like them, to be truthful they write no poems, no songs we sing of gannets, twites or penguins (king) .. T'is sad that Twite should rhyme with shi** as does the Kite and The Isle of White and gannet rhymes with .... hold on... planet but what on Earth's the use of that ? And what about the Capercaillie it has to live entirely shyly and creep around the place so slyly usually in downtown Filey there's nowhere else it can locate well, not in poems at any rate.... Right up the creek we find the Wigeon he rhymes with pigeon, and religion engine, onion, bunion, gudgeon .. therefore poets such species do ignore ... Even worse off is the Blackbird He rhymes with nerd, absurd and turd That not the stuff that poetry thrives on He's in a worse place than the Wigeon .. And what about the lonesome Pitta A bitter, quitter,and maybe, shi**** he rhymes with witter, baby-sitter and if you know your latin, iter yes, iter, iter, iter iter ... [ that's something of an in-joke for all us latin-learning folk] For poets like me, the Bristlefront is a rather dodgy punt he rhymes with useless words like runt and bunt, and blunt, and punt and stunt their relevance is minimal and the "obvious" one's not practical. But now he's got his name in verse .. (that last verse could have been much worse)(!) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ That's it ... thank gawd ! There's only so much of "that sort of thing" the yooman boddy can take. Although ..... I really enjoy thinking them up ...... once I'd put them all together for this 400th post I read the lot all over again..I'm actually a vain & shallow old Hector !
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