Peter Phillips

Diligently
She flies down to the garden,
She selects the ideal twig,
She flies up, twig in beak,
She disappears into the birch tree,
She reappears, and repeats.

They compete for supremacy of the sky,
Two birds together above the trees,
One circling sedately on the breeze,
One haranguing and heckling with hoarse cry.

She welcomed the prophet of God,
She opened her home to him,
She gave him food and a bed for the night,
She built him a guest room on top of the house
For rest and refreshment whenever he passed,
All is well.

A raucous, rasping shriek,
A startling azure streak –
Jay in the birch tree.

At the edge of the lake they stand,
Remote controllers in their hand,
Staring in rapt concentration,
Each to his yacht – full attention.
Through their thumbs the wind strength sensing,
Alert to subtle changes, tensing,
Tweaking tillers, adjusting course,
Trimming sails and feeling the force.

Suddenly, from behind me,
A startling black flash
Darts past my legs;
Sleek pointed wings,
Forked tail, streamlined,
Flying ankle-height,

Great British summer:
Gloomy grey,
Fine rain.
Cagouled damp tourists
Amble about
Ambivalently.

Gulls circle greedily overhead
Feasting on summer’s sudden bounty –
The day the ants fly.