Back from the brink.
Whilst driving home from a harvest festival I’d attended at church I noticed a Kite being chased by Crows. A not uncommon sight where I live due to the increase in the Kite population and the threat they pose for local wildlife. This leads to the local gangs or should that be “Murder” of Crows taking action in defending their manor.
Rising on the Thermal,
Looking for the flight,
Crows on the chase,
Aggressive for a fight,
Gliding and rising above,
Tail control the lift,
The ground disappears beneath,
On that air to drift,
Parliament now to act,
Back from the brink,
Common in Shakespeare’s day,
Numbers not to shrink,
Risen like the lord,
Now a common site,
Of all they survey,
a twitchers delight,
Of the beauty and grace,
A dark streaked rufous frame,
Wings cavort with pale windows,
On which to play the game,
Of deep fluid beats,
A magnificent site,
Not controlled by string,
For a different type of Kite.
James Findon © December 2025.
The Barometer falls.
We are being battered by storms this winter, not uncommon but can be quite terrifying if you live near the coast and the damage experienced recently to the shoreline defences and properties facing the sea due to storms “Chandra” and “Ingrid”. The village of Torcross and the Slapton line being an example which has seen its fair share of coastal erosion over the past years. Also inland we face the problems with flooding especially if you live close to the many rivers we have in this country. So with these events in mind I have put pen to paper.
The waters spiritual cleansing,
For the cycle of each tear,
Of convective process rising,
With storms producing fear,
Covers the level of the plains,
For the low-pressure assault,
And named with a personality,
Flooding in as a result,
For this force of nature we receive,
We are drawn to this awesome sight,
Turns the sky to black from blue,
Witness of earth’s natural might,
Dreams to be taken away,
The storm surge now to rise,
Coastal erosion into the sea,
Bricks and mortar it will prise,
This atmospheric condition,
Precipitation vast,
A south westerly depression,
Of the weather fore-cast,
With the wind rising,
A decrease in pressure,
The barometer falls,
Millibars to measure,
Onward to the ocean,
The deluge drains away,
Swollen then meandering,
Pouring into the bay,
Protect from the flood,
Defence of the homeland,
Storm water to breach,
Barriers built of sand,
Storms come on again,
Giving life to the Hydro rise,
Of the tragedy occurring,
Creating havoc before our eyes,
Harvest this water and the wind,
Provide energy for all,
But at what cost do we yield,
For Global Warming to call.
James Findon © 2026.
And away.
I always enjoy watching TV programmes on fishing and we have one as such in the UK called “Mortimer & Whitehouse, Gone fishing”. Paul Whitehouse (Fast show, Harry Enfield and Friends) and Bob Mortimer (Comedian, Author and TV show host) present a show that discusses the merits of fishing but also reflects on their mortality following health scares they’ve both endured during the recent past. When they catch they always return the fish to the water with “And Away”. This poem is based on a recent episode about the Perch and whilst sat watching I had a pen and paper to hand.
Very obliging,
Wait for the tip to bend,
In the fast-flowing water,
Bang on trend,
Beautiful blood red fins,
Predator and prey,
A heron glides across the water,
Release and away,
Since prehistoric times,
Visually striking tiger stripes,
Rough scales and sharp gills,
Eyes forward social types,
Kingfisher’s, Eagles and the Osprey,
In ponds, lakes and low-lying brooks,
Perch is on the menu,
For those with talons and hooks.
With acknowledgement to “Mortimer & Whitehouse, Gone fishing”.
James Findon © January 2026.
Morning General.
One thing we love to do all year round is feed the birds in the garden. The different types that frequent our garden even though it’s small is amazing. Everything from Sparrows to Sparrow hawks. We do get a lot of Corvid’s especially Jackdaws and Crows but my favourite is the Magpie. A scrounger they maybe but one who clears up the things others won’t or don’t want to touch.
He is a thief,
Is that bad or good,
Taking from others,
An assumption that he could,
Easy as he goes,
Eyes on the feast,
Others to be weary,
Of the black and white beast,
And the first one you see,
At the beginning of the day,
A salute of “Morning General”,
Is what you will say,
Too bring good luck,
Or so you believe,
But we still do it,
Tradition to receive,
The beauty in this bird,
That can cause some strife,
Smart in his uniform,
Sharp as a knife,
Ever the opportunist,
For all that is free,
And the road kill that abounds,
With death we shall see,
They follow all the ladies,
With whom they will breed,
Cavorting in gangs,
A mischief to feed,
Of a scavengers resolve,
Pica-Pica as an omnivore,
Of their Latin identity,
In tales of folklore,
For a woodland resident,
A tail green and blue,
To grace our gardens,
For things to accrue,
Of the gleaming and shiny,
To lay on their nest,
Bling up the hub,
Bring out their best,
So, we salute the Magpie,
With rhyme and a word,
And a cautious tale,
For this opportunist bird.
James Findon © 2025.
llustration by kind permission of Amy Rose Geden © 2025
Amy is a free lance artist who’s work can be found on Facebook, Pinterest & Instagram.
