Tuesday, 17 June 2025

THE MOODY, ALOOF FULMAR... (My new poem about Fulmars nesting at Mousehole, Cornwall...)

 The Moody, Aloof Fulmar…



Barely moving, the Fulmar lay on the cliff face,

Which rose from Mousehole’s early summer tide.

Moody somehow, aloof on a ledge and righteous,

There was no sign of emotion, or even a trace

Of irritation at crows, which busied at every side,

Hustling, scavenging and being irritatingly raucous…


The Fulmar’s large black eyes were indecipherable,

Whilst the seemingly fractured pale blue and yellow bill,

A stubby tube, resembled a discarded crab’s claw.

The settled bird was clearly avoided and unapproachable,

Due to the foul smelling oil spat at interlopers at will,

Its privacy protected by a discharge obnoxious and raw… 


Pete Ray

16th June 2025…   



Fulmars have weak legs but fly superbly and are believed to have a sense of smell…




Watching them on a cliff face, they seem imperturbable…





Love them…

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