Chattering stopped
as the bird flew past
beneath our feet –
slicing a way
between us and the sea –
that beak a red flame –
that curved beak a blade
to cut the armour
of the sky
black feathers salted
by seaspray, harsh cry
echoing across
the Irish Sea
This bird, making itself
a gift to us, lighting a fire,
leaving us silenced.
A corvid poem for Ingrid at dVerse. Regular readers will know that I have written many, many poems about rooks, and the odd one about magpies, so I wanted to branch out. I’ve only had one chough encounter, at Lands End in Cornwall. They feature on the Cornish coat of arms, but they are now quite rare (though increasing in number) having been lost to Cornwall for nearly 40 years. There are lots of myths about choughs – that they are fire starters (hence the red beak and legs) but – more positively – that when King Arthur was lost to us, he didn’t die but became a chough. It’s unlucky to kill one. They are associated with the Celtic speaking coastlines – Cornwall, Wales, Ireland, Scotland. I had no idea how rare they were when we saw them, so I was excited then, and even more excited when I realised how lucky we had been!