Alan Summers
Pulpit to Pipit
I never wanted to be one . . .
Corn Bunting
the wedding rings
in shadow play
I wanted to get out, not feel I was rusting away.
Ferruginous Duck
the city raptors glint
all teeth & smoke
Not just cut to the quick, but the constant emphasis…
Red Kite
I lick this wound
open and shut
I daydream of escape, to a woodland, even with Fauns.
is there a lock
to this wardrobe
Snow Bunting
Ah, to be away from anything monitoring … me
Song Thrush
Siri are you watching,
when you shouldn’t
alexa who reports back about you Greater White-fronted Goose
Those bad habits from school, the redness of brick…
Whooper Swan
the formaldehyde
inhalation
The cookbook of sounds around windows…
Lesser Redpoll the paper cuts in semi-skimmed milk
Comments so harsh, brash, and unforgiving…
the new X
becomes the old X
Marsh Warbler
Spinning, spinning, repeating old yarn into newsworthy stories…
Anas penelope
a glint of camera
from the yacht
There was something about the stark beauty, each one unique, is unique, there is never a “was”…
barely drifting snow the Black-tailed Godwit
Childhood starts us, and goes on a journey, through to its end.
Brambling bright with snow the boy’s room blinks back stars
There was a time, well, I was told, look both inward and outward then make the leap.
Barnacle goose your Old Norse unfurls free
There was always the thought there was something missing: He’d set up a birdwatching sanctuary, below a railway viaduct, gained the nickname Arch Angel Birdwhistle. Then it got shortened.
Fieldfares at sundown the kettle losing its whistle
He’d been a fan of trains too, from the sound, the vibration as they hurtle overhead or slow down to arrive at the station. He’d hear and feel the earth rumble as much as the hot rolled steel. Now all ghost trains and paraphernalia.
Phoenix fowl the use of fingers and silk bookmarks
A choice for a functioning quill, the first five flight feathers, or primaries.He was published by a nephew as The Strange Case of Archangel Birdwhistle.
Meadow Pipit how they hold our muscle memory
About the Author
Alan Summers had two long-listed haibun in the Bournemouth Writing Festival Poetry & Flash Fiction 2024 Competition. One became shortlisted, then a winning haibun in the festival anthology Lines in the Sand: An Anthology of Poetry & Flash Fiction, Caught Between the Tides and Terra Firma.
Dear Alan, something in this—dreaming of escape to woodlands? fear of rusting away?—brought me back to Primary School, to a specific room. I find the whole piece disturbingly evocative—anyhow, whatever about all that, as a result, I have just written a new Haibun. So thank you for your remarkable poem and inspiring me again.
Dear Guy,
Thank you for your response, and yes, you may be definitely on the mark about “disturbingly evocative” as much about the various pasts (official and unofficial, or ‘unreacted’ aspects) and unsettled present day, meet, converge, and look the other way, perhaps.
Delighted that I have been able to be a catalyst for you to write a new haibun, I hope we witness and read in the near future!
Deeply appreciative of your words, thank you.
Alan
I love this.
bewildering life brimming with birds
Thank you, yes, everything is a little bewildering even in simplicity.