To Lose or Keep?

 

Shape, I find, or line,

are what enchant me most

when I gaze at art …

then colour.

Best, of course, 

when all combine 

into jubilant, or sweet, 

or thrilling, or even fierce.

My dad always said:

if ever told he had to choose 

between sight and hearing,

he’d go deaf quick.

Agreed. But now

(hearing already fading)

I never want to miss

the full rich carolling

of the magpie in the morning

early up the street,

or the kookaburra’s

riotous chuckle.

The whipbird, the bellbird;

the high, celebratory 

trill of the butcher bird;

even the rasp of the crow –

these are the songs

of my friends, in my home.

I’d not be without them.

Please, let me keep all my senses!

NaPoWriMo 2025, Day 23. 

Note:

Aussie magpies are different from those elsewhere, though they 

look very similar (and were named after the Eurasian magpie which 

they most resemble). They are actually a different species from all 

the other birds called magpies – and they have the most beautiful    song of any bird I ever heard.

I'm sharing this with Poets and Storytellers United for Friday Writings #174, where we're asked to consider a time we had to decide between Two Equally Yummy Options. Though not written for that prompt, this almost fits it.

A Crow Calls

There’s a crow calling

outside my front door

this clear, sunny day 

in mid-winter. I look out. 

Oh, he’s a big one, fat

as a lump of coal

but rounder.

He bursts from the tree

at speed, to follow the harsh 

cry I can only just hear

of another, further away.

His bright yellow beak 

shines against that mass 

of solid black.

Then they are gone, both.

Down the hill to other

houses? Or into the near

patch of forest? Different 

birds, more melodious, return 

to my yard; warble. 

(But I like crows.)