Kingfisher by Gillian Byron Smith

Kingfisher

Today I saw my first kingfisher;

a bolt from the blue, a lightening strike, a feathered dart.

Hooded Cormorants, darker than shadows,

stand guard over this vital place;

street lights, made jagged with broken glass, their stanchions.

Ghostly grey heron make small, deliberate steps,

returning to their hiding place amongst flotsam.

Today I saw my first kingfisher;

a bolt from the blue, a lightening strike, a feathered dart.

Buddleia blooms, besieged by butterflies,

turning this place a haze of purple.

Ripe fruit bursts from untamed bushes;

food for those in need.

Today I saw my first kingfisher;

a bolt from the blue, a lightening strike, a feathered dart.

Amongst tawny waters,

the riles and bubbles that prove life.

Battered gates harness the unstoppable force,

eager to continue its travels.

The buzz of bees, the hum of trams,

mingle with mixed-up aroma of pollen and rich earth.

Today I saw my first kingfisher;

a bolt from the blue, a lightening strike, a feathered dart.

But this place is overshadowed by concrete and steel,

glass and greed.

An island in a metropolis;

Arcadia in dystopia.

This is Earth’s breathing space;

her heart beats here.

Gillian Byron Smith