A May Dawn

The three notes of the collared dove
from the trees behind me.
Whurr, wurrrh: wurh.
Whurr, wurrrh: wurh.
Sometimes two calls together,
antiphonally,
perhaps spontaneous hymn
with the invitation to join in.

Treble notes and chattering,
songbirds growing louder around me.

Some dozen rooks,
with stragglers in their wake,
heading away from the sun,
as though to make the day longer.

A wren appears magically
on our potted azalea
flickers among its leaves,
pauses an instant on a branch,
wings ceaselessly twitching,
vanishes back into the hedge.

At school I scaled the days of the year
onto the biblical seventy –
that’s twenty-four in early May,
no wonder the birds are gay.

Published by davidcookpoet

I am a husband, father and grandfather. I retired from a busy working life as an adult psychiatrist in 2014. My interests are in literature, philosophy, modern jazz and horse racing. I might represent those four fields by Shakespeare, Kant, Charlie Parker and Lester Piggott. Like nearly all of us, I can identify a number of formative experiences, one of which was a psychotic episode in my first year as a psychiatrist. This reinforced an already established interest in mystical experience, and a sense of how little human beings know. My intellectual bugbear is reductive materialism, and I am surprised at the lack of moral imagination of those who promulgate such views. It seems to me they need to consider ,perhaps by exposure, just why totalitarianism is so horrific.

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