NaPoWriMo #29: Herring Feast

A lone spout on the rolling sea,
towering above the surf.
The first signal of a great summer feast
and the first dinner guests start arriving.

The spouts billow out from the waves
followed by flukes breaking the water
like banners for the rest of the pod
directing them to the shoal.

The ring of bubbles rises,
a circle formed in the depths,
a net with no rope or mesh
in which the herring jostle.

The cavalcade of whales erupts,
mouths agape as though calling,
engulfing the school in unison,
gorging on the plentiful bounty

before turning and descending
into the ocean blue once more
to lay their trap anew
and relish the summer currents.

NaPoWriMo #7: Torrent

A trickle of water
on a bed of pebbles

nourished by nothing,
sheltered by the trees,

one drop
to quench the thirst,

the rains descend,
drench the forest

while mountains weep
and streams tumble,

all engulfed in a torrent,
tumbling down the cliffs

barreling its way
down the gorges

till every pebble
lies submerged,

the once deep gully
now fit to burst

with white surf lashing
the undergrowth

as the rapids explode,
lay claim to the soil,

the bushes, the brambles,
the mud, the mole hills,

their veins burst, spilling
lifeblood of the earth

across the soaking forest,
down to the river,

and even the fish
are swept up

and get lost
in the long grass.

NaPoWriMo #5: Heron Waiting

The shadow of death,
the grim reaper on rail-thin legs
looming over the lowly pond
like a feathered crane with cold eyes,

only no fish would willingly
let themselves be carried off
by the heron's yellow jib.
A grey ghost wading through the water
as if walking through walls.

The fish remain undisturbed,
gazing up from the green depths
seeing nothing but the reeds.
Then a blinding flash,
the grey shadow strikes,
takes off on silent wings.

Frynwys Features #3: Return of the Goldfish

It's that time again. A lot has happened in Frynwys since the last installment, although in Frynwys terms "a lot" is often what other towns and cities would call "nothing much". This time around there is more news from across the village; at the ponds, on the roads, in the fields and not too far beyond.

The first thing of note is the sudden increase in the number of people repairing fences in the area. This in itself isn't uncommon; homes need maintenance all the time and so to hear someone repairing a bit of woodwork in their garden isn't a strange occurrence. However it's become such a regular occurrence that I'm beginning to wonder if there's a club somewhere encouraging it. Is there a local group which organises Sunday afternoon meetings in someone's front room, filled with china-laden cupboards and linen-clothed tables? This isn't so much a news item as it a personal grievance, but if I hear another hammer hitting the back of a fence or a shed, I might have to start investigating this phenomenon further.

In other news of the slightly less infuriating variety, it appears that someone did not take the nature warden's warning about releasing fish into the pond seriously. Somebody in the village recently noticed up to thirty enormous goldfish swimming around in it, big enough to qualify as small koi carp. The last time this happened the local wildlife which inhabit the pond took a major blow, especially the frogs which use the pond to nurture their frogspawn. That was just a few small fish. After about a week it seems that these fish are not only thriving in the pond, but multiplying. I don't know if the wardens have spotted them yet, but I've spoken to a few people who live near the pond and they certainly have. What sort of measures the wardens will put in place this time remains to be seen, but if they put up another sign I suspect they might need to rethink their deterrence strategy.

With regards to the local animal population, a few new dogs have been spotted in the area. Not strays but dogs with owners attached, and in particular a black pug has caught my attention. He appears to be less than a year old, and is quite hyperactive from what I've seen of him. He runs around the fields to the south of the village in search of other friendly dogs. Most of the other dogs take little notice of him, but if he meets another puppy then an impromptu greyhound race will certainly take place. He's only run up to me once, and I haven't seen much of him since, but hopefully I'll catch sight of him again in the near future.

And last but by no means least, it appears that a few ravens are making their home in the nearby forests. It's not often that you see a raven (at least as I've found), and they're fairly distinctive compared to jackdaws and crows, not by any subtle difference in their plumage, but in their size. They are as big as seagulls, and seeing them foraging in the fields next to smaller birds really highlights this. Also the characteristic rattling call they make is now becoming a semi-regular feature in the skies above Frynwys. Why I never noticed them before is slightly baffling, but alongside the resident jays, crows, jackdaws, magpies and other birds, they make a nice addition to the local ecosystem.

That's all for this installment of Frynwys Features, with my home village more than living up to its reputation. Hopefully by next time something more interesting will have happened, but until then the wait continues.

NaPoWriMo #28: Walking Catfish Wanderings

As the finish line of NaPoWriMo looms near, it's time to tackle another of their optional prompts. This time, the challenge is to use Skeltonic verse, pioneered by the fifteenth century English poet John Skelton. Put simply, it involves the use of short stanzas mixed with a vague rhyming scheme and two strong stresses per line. Here it goes.

Walking Catfish Wanderings

A catfish goes walking
and without talking
ponders life on the jungle floor
which it has not seen before.

Its pool is dry
and it must try
to search for new pastures
and squirm a bit faster

with spines on its gills,
with which it could climb hills
as it wills itself across
the land of twigs and moss

to find a small stream
with just a gleam
of light through the leaves
and finally it heaves

itself into the flow
where no other fish can go
and submerges below the surface,
having travelled the furthest

of any fish across land,
done without any hands,
a fish with instinct so strong
its journey did not go wrong.

NaPoWriMo #27: Cormorant Gang

It's another animal poem for day twenty seven of NaPoWriMo, and this time we meet a bird which is famous for being semi-aquatic and is found all over the world, including the banks of the River Ganges.

Cormorant Gang

We take to the water in gangs
up and down the Ganges,
swimming in great processions
as we search for shoals.

The fishermen call us water crows,
apt indeed, for with our hooked beaks
and oily black feathers, we are
their underwater cousins.

We find some unfortunate fish,
and flanked by a clan of otters
we surround them and dart
through the mirk of the river.

The fishermen take their share.
We squabble with the otters for ours,
but our gang leaves with silvery prizes
squirming in our beaks.

NaPoWriMo #9: Waters of the Usk

A bit of an unusual subject for today's NaPoWriMo poem, but it fits with the current theme of experimentation so why not? The subject is the River Usk, a river which flows through South Wales and out of Newport, and is famous for having the second widest tidal range of any river in the world.

Waters of the Usk

A slick of mud and soil
drained from the riverbanks
cascades from the hills
down to the wetlands,
the coils of the River Usk.

Cormorants patrol its waters,
diving for fish and eels
along the immovable mud-banks,
while terns and seagulls cruise
above the capricious tides.

Saltpan Blues

Dried, encrusted,
kin of a seabed,

fried fish skeletons,
bones of sea monsters,

snakes slither sideways
across the salt desert

feeding off flies,
dazed and sun-mad,

scales fuelled by rays
intensified.

The islands left behind
in the great retreat

of the waters, stand
as wasteland outcrops.

NaPoWriMo #17 | Kingfisher

As we move into the second half of NaPoWriMo, the days are getting longer and warmer. The rise in temperature has brought with it signs of summer, and I've been seeing a lot of birds in my garden recently. On that note, this poem is about a certain bird I saw in my neighbour's garden a few years ago.

Kingfisher

The fish in the pond
next door are still
and unperturbed.

A loud splash,
a flash of orange,
blue and white.

The kingfisher perches
on a branch, holding
its catch, a small sliver
of shimmering silver.