WHEN HUNGER OVERRIDES FEAR...

 When Hunger Overrides Fear…

Yes, it was a breezy early evening 

And I was upwind of the badgers.

Yet still they began to emerge,

A pair at a time.

They were though, discerning

Feeders, not like pets, or cadgers.

Several of them seemed to surge

In twos each time…

Yes, the evening breeze hissed

And several aircraft roared overhead.

Yet still the badgers foraged,

In pairs it seemed at the time.

They were however, listening

For unfamiliar sounds to dread,

Like cars or cyclists which encouraged

Retreat, often two at a time…

One cub though, already wily and cute,

Heard threats early and rushed back to its sett

Before the others reacted and disappeared.

Then quickly and I must suggest, cleverly

The cub instantly reappeared,

Snapping up morsels, even the minute, 

As if fooling other members of the cete,

Grunting as it snatched at the food hurriedly…

Pete Ray

29th June 2022

Temple Balsall…

One growing cub seemed to display fear and would rush back to its sett before an approaching car was even heard by the other six badgers. 

Its defensive action affected the others, which usually retreated too but the cub was quick to reappear, thus having the scattered food all to itself for several glorious moments until the other members of the cete also returned to the feeding trail…

A ruse perhaps…

 

THE RED KITE & THE SUDDEN FUSS...

 The Red Kite & The Sudden Fuss…

There was a rare fuss,

A flurry, a scurry and a hurry

Above the garden, as 

Black-headed and Lesser Black-backed gulls 

Rose and circled, banked and hurtled

In panic, it appeared and in some distress.

It was a rare sight:

A gliding, dodging, yet threatening

And regal, sun-flecked Red Kite,

Fork-tailed, with pallid face alert.

It rose, circled, banked and hurtled,

Panicking much smaller birds into evasive flight…

Pete Ray

28th June 2022      

Over the garden in Solihull this morning…

It was unusual to spot a Red Kite this far north of the Oxfordshire M40 but this one certainly spooked tits, finches and magpies into disappearing and forced a surprising number of gulls and crows into what almost seemed like an aerial dogfight to warn it away…

I was lucky to get a small video clip of the predator and from that I was able to take some screenshots…  

NEWLYN: WISH YOU WERE HERE...

 Newlyn: Wish You Were Here…

Such endearing publicity,

An enhancement, an idyll.

Such a becoming, welcoming simplicity.

A quiet, neat haven.

Such an advertisement, an attraction,

An alluring, coveted sanctuary. 

Such a lustrous, sumptuous impression,

A sunset in daytime from an artist’s palette,

Wishing you were there in its sanctity…

Such enduring identity,

A statement, a spell.

Such a teeming, looming oddity.

A crowded, tight haven.

Such an advertisement, a distraction,

A compelling, working fishery.

Such an arduous, vexatious expression. 

A harbour for all time from the artist’s palette,

Wishing you were there in its industry…

Pete Ray

27th June 2022

After acquiring the coloured postcard above, I wanted to compare it with images taken by me recently and others which survive from the 19th century.

Strangely, the old image in black and white seems to have been the inspiration for a watercolour by Edward Hailey, from which the colour postcard was produced…

The Newlyn artists from the 19th century, such as Walter Langley from Birmingham, captured the delights of the harbour and a number of local folks as models too…

Newlyn often looks untidy and in need of some restoration but it really is a compelling place and it draws me back to walk its harbour walls every time I travel to Cornwall…

Love it there…

CHICK ON THE BEER... (A BOOZY HERRING GULL YOUNGSTER IN NEWLYN...)

 Chick On The Beer…

It lay witless,

Helplessly inebriated

Upon a corrugated roof.

The beer consumed,

Patiently it waited,

Quite possibly totally legless…

Prone, it sprawled,

Hopelessly ravenous

Alone on the roof.

A feed expected:

Tarrying, vexatious,

Its parent perhaps appalled…

Vacantly it glared,

Curiously positioned

On the stark roof.

The stupor clear,

Languishing, oblivious,

Its behaviour impaired…

Pete Ray

24th June 2022

Loved the scene: one herring gull chick lying next to an empty beer bottle, looking a little the worse for wear, probably wondering when the next fish, or human chips would be brought by an adult…

A FISH BUT NO LOAVES... (YOUNG GULLS FEEDING AT NEWLYN...)

 A Fish But No Loaves…

Alighting upon the corrugated roof,

An adult herring gull brought breakfast

For three chicks, which squealed

And snatched at, grabbed at and wrestled 

For the treat.

The parent watched aloof, 

Then intervened, to allow sharing, perhaps,

Although the youngsters noisily appealed

And competed with their siblings for the treat:

One at the tail, one at the head and one at the fleshy meat,

Tearing at and scrapping for the delightful repast… 

Pete Ray

24th June 2022

Newlyn, early morning, 23rd June 2022…

MOUSEHOLE IMAGES, 24TH JUNE 2022...

 

WEARING AWAY... (A POEM ABOUT THE SEA AT MOUSEHOLE...)

 Wearing Away

Still warm. Late afternoon.

Sea-wall. Tide slowly creeps.

  It worries, sucks at and returns again and again

To untidy ageing boulders and rocks, limpet-strewn.

Weed, debris and human detritus cling

To the harassed shoreline, which takes the strain…

My life. Late afternoon.

Sea-wall. Tiredness slowly creeps.

It harries, bucks at and aches, time and again

Into worn, ageing joints and limbs, arthritis strewn.

Like driftwood, human detritus clings

And I am one with the shoreline, taking the strain…   

Pete Ray

22nd June 2022

Sitting on a sea-wall in late afternoon at Mousehole and seeing the shoreline being worn away by the sea, just as I felt I was being worn away by life’s ageing… 

THE DRIFTSTONE DOLPHIN OF MOUSEHOLE...

 Driftstone Dolphin

Sculpted by storms, sea and gales

 And by time, tumult and rockfall fractured

To become driftstone upon a beach of boulders,

The dolphin, over many decades weathered,

Lay on the uneasy Mousehole shore.

Its knowing, small eye prevails

And its mouth smiles, as if manufactured,

Unbecoming for mere driftstone amongst boulders.

And its bulk seemed wedged like a broken sea-wall, tethered

By its own weight, against an ocean’s furore…

Pete Ray

24th June 2022  

A huge rock form beyond Mousehole’s harbour reminded me of a dolphin…

SHORELINE SHAG...

 Shoreline Shag…

It appeared to be snorkelling, somehow, 

Moving in the extreme shallows

With an occasional, 

Purposeful

Dip of its dark head with lemon gape

Into the weedy shuffles of moving sea.

Then suddenly, as if tumble-turning in a swimming race,

It disappeared,

Resourceful…

It reappeared again from the tide’s flow,

Thrashing wildly in its wallows

With a seminal,

Artful

Whip of its black neck and yellow gape

Into the murky swirls of an eddying sea.

Then suddenly it held prey which flailed at its face  

And appeared

Revengeful…

It reappeared several times,  

Tussling in its attempts to swallow

With an irrepressible,

Terminal

Grip by its lurid beak with the corn gape.

Into its keen throat the fish slid, all at sea

Then suddenly the catch with minimal grace,

Had disappeared.

A mouthful… 

Pete Ray

23rd June 2022

Mousehole, 23rd June 2022…

The shag was fishing very close to the shore and lifted out a large struggling fish, which the bird really struggled to hold onto, constantly dipping it into the sea in its tussle.

Eventually the swallow was made and the shag hunted for more… 

  

SENNEN COVE, 23RD JUNE 2022...