A Single Magpie

jwhhobbs22
Jan 10, 2025
1 min read

It skirts past the sky with the wind in my eyes;

And habit and count makes me scan

But its brother or lover are not to be found;

Just a glide of the wings headed earthbound.

No thought of sorrow when it skirts past the graves;

Unruffled at the low trees and gulls

It skates, raking skies then scratching tiles;

And brushing and bright eyed looks back.

Hooked then set flushed on its roof

Against assumption our shared humour is proof

The black and white coat is a joy to behold

And why not be happy with that?

Have a wonderful week,

J.W.H. Hobbs.

Recent Posts

See All

Up in the Morning

Up, hear the odd calls It may be a burble, or the scatter of animal chatter Press your fingers into tools or bricks forming words While grey, then black, then still skies spool ahead. By J.W.H. Hobb

Return to Read

I found this week how interesting it was seeing another person’s approach to an academic paper. There’s guideline suggestions, a CASP paper at the ready, and the normal read is surveying the terrain.

Back of the Throat

Mucal membranes block the throat We lose our air and start to choke With regularity, in dark times Full function is hard to find It will pass, or it will not Each wound, bound and unsleeved thought

Comments