The lapping waves
Knock around moonlight:
Coalesce, ripple;

Kestrels in their nests,
Reflected faces; bodies still ring
-ing

Gazing into the bright dome of the sky
Through veils and drifting continents of cloud
Suspended lost dimensions travel by
I hear the universe dreaming aloud.

Infinity reflected in a lake
Deep mirror to the heavens far above,
Where reeling kestrels fly for flying's sake
Where breezes sigh like whispered words of love

Love lead me to infinities of blue
With endless depths of cloudscapes on all sides
To ride with kestrels; oversee the view
Which hitherto I'd seen with earthbound eyes.

For always with us, high above the crowds,
They glide; shape-shifting monuments of clouds.

Like Falcons, Kestrels and Hawks
They swoop low to look and stalk
Holding breath for silence sakes
Looking for gullible easy prey
Talons around the throats of the genteel and shy
Uncaring of flowing tears, they make them cry

Recalling a sunny day so bright
When clawed and swooped in delight
Not knowing the heart that would break
That day, piercing ties did penetrate
Learning others spirits would wound
As the Falcon made his way around the night for doom
As his blackness did loom
All were hurt, tears were shed
Face after face he did skim
Heart rending cries that were abhor
For them no tears no more
Never spoken to again, they might
the evil kin do they despise
Torment and cruelty they do throw'
Gnashing one's teeth thinking about ado,
Bruises of blue they carry, bleeding of heart
A cold sweat trickling down the spine, apart.

Take away the face oh please
leave life alone, let all be in peace
Pain and heartache that  created, O' bemoan
Saying and caring, oh no just want to be left alone ...
For the uninitiated, lonely hearts
Lending tears of sorrow, leaving soul debased
Romance here, a wild goose chase
Holds so many as the Falcons swoop again ...

Debbie Brooks 2014

there was a little kestrel he was very sad
he couldnt see to hunt his eyesight it was bad
he couldnt see the rabbits or the mouse and vole
everything was blurred the poor little soul.

he met his friend the owl and told him of his plight
to see if could help and try to fix his sight
owl was very wise and knew what do
owl he made some glasses and restored his view.

kestrel he was happy he got back his sight
now he could hunt again wether day or night
he  could catch his prey when he began to soar
he could see again just like he could before

the drama in a ****** of crows
the clueless jive of the chickadee
the serious expression of the phoebe
hide and seek flickers
overly dramatic plovers
sleek kestrels, scanning the meadow
gulls always headed somewhere
the mystery of owls
robins, Art Carney-like
nuthatches that waddle through the air
an advertisement of goldfinches
vile, surly winged jays
waxwings, safe within their clique
ospreys, fat on minnows
snapshot herons always posing
patient vultures, ever on call

the perfect beasts to rule this world
they reveal personalities
to this lifetime observer

Part One - Missing presumed dead

Apparently Alec was missing presumed dead
at least that was what the obituary said
how then he got married is still a mystery
life after a very dark period of history

               Jane plodded head down through another long day
               solitude complete in a strange kind of way
               while Kestrels are tacked to an untamed sky
               she screams "Dear Lord wont you please tell me why"

young Alec stood well over six foot tall
legs full of shrapnell disfigured and all
willing to give all for a meagre days pay
a young man with half of his face blown away

                Shepherdess Jane sat under sad twinkling stars
                it was plain to see she had her own mental scars
                the Ferryman's Daughter, she was so kind
                different from the others, Jane was blind

when the bells of victory began to ring forth
it was too much for Alec, he headed up North
up to the North where the bronze fields shone
but Alec's old personality had gone

                 there in the North a young Shepherdess called Jane
                 did dry Alec's tears and soothed his deep pain
                 Her voice rolled over hills in a plaintive wave
                 as they assumed Alec lied in an unmarked grave

In time they married, Jane bore Alec a Son
but talk about the war, Alec would have none
all that he said was "between you and me..
I've seen things that no man should ever see"

                 flashbacks in his mind of the dead still ringing
                 offset by his young Wife's ethereal singing
                 somewhere around the Somme young Alec lay dead
                 at least that was what the obituary said.


Part Two - The Ferryman

The Ferryman vowed he would find his girl
he picked some roses to place in the top room
searched high and low to find his precious lost pearl
swore he would have her back before the flowers bloom

treated like a slave, a young girl in her prime
the Brothers got away Jane was left behind
her body it did whither through the passing of time
She was different from the others, Jane was blind

worked as a Milkmaid her hands would get so sore
under constant threats she still searched for the spark
work never done a family waits on the shore
although Jane was blind she could see in the dark

the moon shone bright on the path to the Ferry House
the gusts picked up on the night Jane ran away
salty wind and sea shanty's awakened the grouse
as Jane finally gets her break from the play

He scoured every square inch of the land
yet couldn't ask why? Or search into his past
at the Wayfarers Inn they'd got it all planned
released from a cruelty that could no longer last

the night the Father died Gaelic psalms they sang
a lonely house still stands like a watch to nature's will
when they buried the Ferryman the church bells rang
the flowers in the attic, they stand there still.


Part three - The Inn (recapitulation)

The Ferrymans lantern swung in the pouring rain
he heard that his Daughter had made it to the Inn
the audience sang to the Drovers refrain
midst discarded cigarettes, rolling dice and gin

Jane had long picked brambles from thorn covered vines
lived an intoned existence yet she had her plans
though Jane was blind she could read between the lines
a chance to escape, she grabbed it with both hands

the Inn's cosy light shone at the end of the lane
to Whiskey Jack, Jane's elopement had come to light
she had nothing to lose and everything to gain
Jane's now with Alec and has recieved her respite

see him dramming away yarns, bereft of what's true
then screaming his lies to the starry sky above
but tidal subtleties are demanding their due
his heart had long died to the trueness of love

the landlord played the piano and felt every note
the Ferryman's lantern swung in the pouring rain
given up his search, now in want of his boat
regular at the Inn but never seen again

he knew that yesterday would never come back
sailing aimlessly like a throw of the dice
he knew there would be no-one to take up the slack
the doomed Mariner paid the ultimate price.

There is room, here, on our winds, for the wings of Sea Eagles to soar
and flitting Butterflies, around the garden flowers,
Barn Owls, white as snow, like ghosts, appearing and disappearing,
Kestrels and other birds of prey, quick as a bullet,
all the wild fowl down the shore, those that stay for winter, and those coming back from Africa, to fish the seas and tides
Finches, Jenny Wrens small like a Bee, and Bees of every family
and of course that lazy bird who lays her egg in another's nest, the Cuckoo, Cuckoo, who we listen out for to welcome spring.

i love to watch the kestrel a lovely bird is he
flying in the wild with his life so free
hovering overhead very calm and still
looking out for prey swooping for his ****.

swooping with such speed landing on his prey
with his mighty talons taking it away
high up in the sky to his nest above
just to watch the kestrel is something that i love

Rain dapples in fens of the marshland brooks,
Among the rue hillocks of the sapling woods,

What little peace may fall to drop the shivering
Leaves, rood of the sun, a crop, kestrels quiver

In midair, to keep as they sway into the stations
Of all minions moused who faulter in formation

And bright is birth, when night clothes the day,
As all the mornings long, song of hope, in May.

the kestrel is a lovely bird i love to watch him fly
high up in the air as he hovers in the sky
looking for his prey as he flies around
then a mighty swoop as he takes it from the ground.

with his mighty talons his prey between his toes
holding really tightly back to his nest he goes
such a thing to watch and such a sight to see
this hunter of the skies brings so much joy to me

watching birds of prey i just love to do
kestrels falcons owls i just love to view
flying in the sky i watch them everyday
hunting  all around looking for there prey
looking out for moles mice and rabbits too
for a tasty meal something they can chew
flying with such grace in the sky above
watching birds of prey is something that i  love

Rain dapples in fens of the marshland brooks,
Among the rue hillocks of the sapling woods,

What little peace may fall to drop the shivering
Leaves, rood of the sun, a crop, kestrels quiver

In midair, to keep as they sway into the stations
Of all minions moused who faulter in formation

And bright is birth, when night clothes the day,
As all the mornings long, song of hope, in May.

Rain dapples in fens of the marshland brooks,
Among the rue hillocks of the sapling woods,

What little peace may fall to drop the shivering
Leaves, rood of the sun, a crop, kestrels quiver

In midair, to keep as they sway into the stations
Of all minions moused who faulter in formation

And bright is birth, when night clothes the day,
As all the mornings long, song of hope, in May.

Rain dapples in fens of the marshland brooks,
Among the rue hillocks of the sapling woods,

What little peace may fall to drop the shivering
Leaves, rood of the sun, a crop, kestrels quiver

In midair, to keep as they sway into the stations
Of all minions moused who faulter in formation

And bright is birth, when night clothes the day,
As all the mornings long, song of hope, in May.

i live in the country with wild life by the score
badgers foxes squirrels and a whole lot more
theres a great big field just outside my door
where the kestrels hover i watch them as they soar.

there are lots of moles and the little shrew
fieldmouse and the vole and a weasel to
there are lots of flowers growing wild and free
many different kinds there for me to see.

its a wildlife heaven a proper wildlife zoo
mother natures gift there for me to view.

A stranger's name on skeptic tongues
A taste like blood and foreboding.
The spice of a new kid.

Foam bleeds through the teeth of my peers
Bile green, it’s words and it’s venom
This thing they call “fun".

A game played with barbed wire fists,
Acid, poison, whips, guns and swords.
No rules but they're winning.

They called me Bluebird
I one short, fat, and sad.
Accurate if only I’d fly.

Raccoons and kestrels
Hunt a bluebird til death.
Dear God how I wish I could fly.

Once I was Bluebird.
Existence encumbered.
Stained life released via knife.

Witness, you hungry young hunters,
The blossom of seeds that you sowed.
Bleeding chrysanthemum.

I carved my name into my chest,
The wings broken and defeathered
Of bluebird now red.

Peace feels like longing and defeat,
But I fly on wings of my own
Pray safe from the world.

I carry the runes of you in my pocket
Smoothed while recalling
Your blank walks

A wash of blackcurrant and
Holly in your hair

Wandering aimless by shorn clapboard
and storm kestrels overhead.

I think of your eyes
While watching Venus blink,
Tiny speck of green popping

Out of the witching hour’s emptiness

Distracted by a sweet orb only daring to show itself
in time-lapse Morse code-

City firefly’s shy hesitant glow
of phosphorescent luciferase
Impermanent tattoos in the humid air

Asphyxiated by the hum
of flowing electrons by wayward wings
Vintage and neon.

I sweep your edda into the hearth
Ashen mingling of myrrh
and incense sprinkles its cinnamon

Onto bare exposed brick.

The lightning-scarred tree
with its bullseye of char
Burned inside-out,
Cindered base,
Reminds me of our concatenated dreams.

I touch the ghost of you
Roaming the paths of King’s Chapel
and Granary Burial Ground

Farsick and windtalking to yourself.

I still taste the ozone on your lips
After you rained all night.

I throw the bait of you into the water
and the sunfish of Northwood Lake nibble the worms
of your toes.

And I watch the sawing motion of your thoughts
on DVR over and over
Hearing the fibers tear

Knowing the damage of blades and friction

How your heart will always bear
All ninety stone
of Hunters Lodge.

it's out there somewhere, hovering
at the edge of my mind as i turn
it's out there somewhere, that haunting
form, a musical note, a flute

it's out there somewhere, in the glide
of a kestrels wing above the moors
it's out there, somewhere it's waiting
just beyond my reach, in light

it's out there somewhere calling me
persistent, it pulls me, always
out to the hills, the woods, out there
somewhere on the blue horizon

it's out there somewhere, I call out
asking it to come for me now
it's out there somewhere, answering
follow me, move, get up, come, walk

it's out there, somewhere inside me
in every dream and whispered sign,
footfalls to follow, blown open doors
i live with it, out there somewhere

i knew it all so clearly once
high on a rock strewn windswept Tor
i saw it spread out across the land
a flying shadow, a glow, a gleam

i heard it in the forest close
tracking my every cautious step
smiling behind my back, laughing
it's out there somewhere, i saw

it's out there somewhere, I know
i smelled that scent of old, ancient,
it's out there somewhere, primordial
lobe, in the depths of memory

it's out there somewhere, alive

watching birds of prey i just love to do
kestrels falcons owls i just love to view
flying in the sky i watch them everyday
hunting  all around looking for there prey
looking out for moles mice and rabbits too
for a tasty meal something they can chew
flying with such grace in the sky above
watching birds of prey is something that i  love

watching birds of prey i just love to do
kestrels falcons owls i just love to view
flying in the sky i watch them everyday
hunting  all around looking for there prey.

looking out for moles mice and rabbits too
for a tasty meal something they can chew
flying with such grace in the sky above
watching birds of prey is something that i  love.

watching birds of prey i just love to do
kestrels falcons owls i just love to view.

flying in the sky i watch them everyday
hunting  all around looking for there prey.

looking out for moles mice and rabbits too
for a tasty meal something they can chew.

flying with such grace in the sky above
watching birds of prey is something that i  love.