Category Archives: Poem

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The Cape Bird Club Beginners’ Course Outing to False Bay Ecology Park

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A Birding Paradise

There’s a place that was once a sewage farm,

But now the ponds are settled and calm,

And filled with wild and wonderful birds;

A perfect place for Avian Nerds

As you travel along the many dirt roads,

Look out for crabs and occasional toads.

Perhaps you’ll find a mongoose or buck

There will certainly be a yellow-billed duck.

The pelicans swim the swallows they fly

And maybe you’ll hear the fish eagle cry.

There are stilts and avocets, teal and coots.

A purple swamp-hen chews on roots.

And as well as all these waterfowl

You may even spot the eagle-owl.

The long claw with its orange throat

Sings out with a meowing note.

 In rain, in shine, no matter what

You’re bound to see a helovalot.

Come join us at the Ecology Park

We’ll show you more than just a lark.

Today members of The Cape Bird Club took the delegates from Heather’s Beginners’Course on an outing to The False Bay Ecology Park where they put their newly acquired birding skills to the test.  The rain had stopped and the skies were clear – we saw a beautiful rainbow – but the roads were somewhat muddy.  Nothing could dampen the enthusiasm of the beginners though and the ‘guides’ were just too thrilled to show off this amazing place.  We loaded the cars with each one having a window seat and each car set off to separately find the 27 target birds plus anything else that might show up.   When we stopped to compare notes the vibe of excitement was tangible as the beginners shared what they had seen.   Personally I never get tired of seeing the flamingos doing their amazing ballet in the shallows or impersonating ducks in deeper water.   It was hugely rewarding to share my passion with others.

False Bay Ecology Park is next door to Zeekoeivlei.

False Bay Ecology Park is next door to Zeekoeivlei – Strandfontein Beach in the Background

Red-knobbed Coot swim among the flamingos

Red-knobbed Coot swim among the flamingos

Close up

Close up

Red-knobbed Coot

Red-knobbed Coot by Earl

Purple Swamhen

Purple Swamphen

Red-billed teal and Cape Shoveller with head hidden on the right

Red-billed teal and Cape Shoveller with head hidden on the right by Earl

Cape Teal

Cape Teal by Earl

Pelican with white-breased cormorants

Pelican with white-breasted cormorants

Preening

Preening

Jay's Picture

Jay’s Picture

Swimming

Swimming

Black-crowned Night Heron

Black-crowned Night Heron

Pied Avocets

Pied Avocets

A Sleepy Spotted Eagle-owl

A Sleepy Spotted Eagle-owl

Taken with eyes open at another time

Taken with eyes open at another time – wouldn’t open his eyes for us today.

African Black Oyster-catchers

African Black Oyster-catchers – same place but better than the pics I took today

Moorhen

Moorhen taken at another time

Little Grebe

Little Grebe – we saw lots – but this picture taken at another time

Cattle Egret in Breeding Plumage - taken by Earl

Cattle Egret in Breeding Plumage – taken by Earl

Black-necked grebe

Black-necked grebe – on of the many we saw today.

Mongoose taken by Jay

Mongoose taken by Jay

Common Waxbill taken by Jay

Common Waxbill taken by Jay

Longclaw taken by Jay

Cape Longclaw taken by Jay

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Spring has Sprung at Spier

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Spring at Spier

Parents laze on picnic rugs,

Watching children abandon themselves to play

on the wide green lawn of freedom.

White clouds sail in a pale blue sky.

Trees stand tall in shades of green

from yellow-lime to deep olive.

Taste the spring colours.

Smell the vibrant music.

Bongos sound a rhythmic beat.

Wagtails pipe a jumble of sweet notes.

Geese hiss and honk.

Weavers twitter to their mates,

Spring has sprung at Spier

Spring has sprung at Spier,

Weavers twitter to their mates.

Egyptians hiss and honk.

Wagtails pipe a jumble of sweet notes,

Bongos sound a rhythmic beat.

Smell the vibrant music.

Taste the spring colours.

From yellow lime to deep olive

trees stand tall in shades of green.

White clouds sail in a pale blue sky.

On the wide green lawn of freedom

Children abandon themselves to play

Parents laze on Picnic rugs, watching.

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A Drabble

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           Lovers’ dance

At sunset near a gurgling brook
I twirl in orange peasant skirt
He pipes a merry dancing tune
We share a secret look

Releasing feelings gay
We bop in leaping flames
It’s fun to take the risk
We leap and laugh and play

Hot passion burns my heart
Emotions in turmoil
We carry on the dance
And feel we’ll never part

We reach for stars and moon
We soar toward the sky
Our thoughts are telepathic
A sweet united croon

The centre of my life
We are in perfect sync
My partner, mentor, soul mate
A dancing man and wife

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The Night Wind Woman

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A Sapphic is poem with an
unlimited number of 4-line stanzas.   The
first three lines of each stanza have 11 syllables.  The last line has 5.  Rhyming and repetition are not required.

The Night Wind Woman

The night wind woman has become part of me.

She’s a shadow of one who can no more be.

She sails through the house among those she has left.

She whispers to them.

 

She glides over me and caresses my cheek.

Deep in my soul I hear her silently speak.

We are girlfriends giggling and sharing secrets.

But he doesn’t know.

 

The night wind woman guides me all of the time

To nurture her children for now they are mine.

She’s passed on the mantle; I wear it with pride.

She watches and smiles.

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Over the Hill

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Over the Hill

I am getting older, I’m
nearly fifty five.

Over half a century I have
been alive.

I should be slowing down now,
and easing up my life.

I should be getting mellow
like every older wife.

But here I am a-peddling up
this bloody hill.

I hear my grandsons calling, their
voices loud and shrill.

You can make it Granny. You’re
really doing well.

(I do not want to tell them
that I almost fell.)

They think I am their
playmate. They think its rather fun

that Granny takes them
cycling when their homework’s done.

And as they dash through
puddles and do wheelies up the curb

they encourage me to follow;
but really that’s absurd!

They fall and seconds later
they’re back up on their bikes,

a band-aid heals their
scrapes but Granny falls, and  yikes –

She needs a month of physio
to get her muscles right.

So falling off her bicycle
would not be very bright.

Now they’re heading down hill
at a break-neck speed.

Those boys are getting all
the adrenalin they need.

With screeching breaks I
follow at a calmer pace.

“Go Grandma”, calls a smart
ass. Aloof, I turn my face.

I could be baking cookies, I
could be knitting socks.

Instead I join my grandsons
scrambling over rocks.

I could be watching T.V. or
at a ladies’ club.

Instead I join them hiking
when they go  with  the cubs.

I’m glad that I, a grandma
can still do all these things.

Being active with my
grandsons – oh what joy that brings.

We have such fun together out
in the cool fresh air.

And if people think it’s
funny – I really couldn’t care!

October 2007

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Fish and Frogs

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Fish and Frogs

Little Simon and Shannon Bangay,

At the edge of the lake they like to play.

They paddle and splash and look for frogs.

What interesting pets compared to dogs.

 

Simon throws rocks in the blue-grey lake.

Birds flee in fright leaving a wake.

Grandpa and Dad fish out on the boat.

We see them out there gently afloat.

 

Then they call, “Gramps has a trout!

Bring the camera,” we hear them shout.

Si-Si and Shannon run down to see.

They clap their hands and laugh in glee.

 

Mom and Gran, Gramps and Dad,

A little girl and a little lad

Are here together at Lake Naverone

Its much more fun than staying at home.

 

                                 By Helen Fenwick

                                13 October, 2007

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The drone of the drill

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I sit here in my bedroom trying
hard to write

But down the tiled passage I hear
my grandsons fight

Then that becomes all noised out
with the humming of a drill

They’re fixing up my house now and
that is quite a thrill.

 

The girls are sharing quarters,
tiny squashed and hot

They’re fixing up their bedrooms to
a more delightful spot

The pool is fixed and glassed now,
the patio is paved

Its looking just the way that  I have always craved

 

But the house is cluttered up with
boxes of our stuff

I sweep and wipe and clean up all
the nasty dust

So writing down a story or putting
down a poem

Is something of  a challenge while they recreate my home.

 

But soon it will be over and my
house will be a place

Where I can put down words at a
more creative pace

I cannot wait to sit on my
sheltered patio

And let amazing stories from my
pencil flow.

By Helen Fenwick

March 2008