Monday, 5 October 2009


Outside a ring-necked dove is cooing, Strong

spurs of sound bubble like a growling flame

guttering out. She rests and calls again,

less than my jumping mind, her simple same song.

Once more she gently calls and arcs around

with all singing now and here the same

until it fades and dies, vibration losing aim

but now and there again and never wrong.

Somehow I know my body-soul needs this

longing for the sweetness of her inspiration

and if inside my straggly lines you miss

a rolling rise and caroling creation,

at least you’ll not be trapped in mindful lies:

at least she calls without an explanation.


  1. I do not understand why this has only one comment. Responses to poetry are so random.

    Doves do seem to settle things down for you, and other birds with simple calls like that - and you said it well, what you wanted to say. Sounds like what you needed that day.

  2. Excellent John. You've captured the mystery and wonder of the dove very well with this. Thanks so much for sharing it!!

  3. Profoundly beautiful...thank you

  4. Comforting extends an inner rhythm to my soul that I need right now. Thank u.

  5. love this one - hauntingly lyrical, fine use of rhyme and half-rhyme, with great rhythmic integrity. & somehow, for me, evokes the poetic spirit of JohnSkelton ;-)