The Starlings Have to be Fed!

He’d go to the Square each afternoon

And sit on a bench, near me,

The one that stood in the shaded gloom

Of a brooding maple tree,

He’d roll his brolly and doff his hat

And scatter his bits of bread,

Then when the Keeper would tut, he’d say,

‘The Starlings have to be fed!’

 

He’d watch them come in a darkening cloud

And scare the sparrows away,

Then sit and listen to what had risen

At this loose end of the day.

He’d sit and nod, and he’d take it in

As if he could understand,

This Starling patter that passed as chatter

Concerning the world of man.

 

I never once saw him take a note

Or even record the sound,

He didn’t acknowledge the presence there

Of anyone else around,

He totally focussed on what they’d say

And c**k his ear to their cries,

Then nod and smile in the strangest way

And shake his head at their lies.

 

Then after dark he would walk the park

And head for the studio,

That one dim lamp on the outer wall

Would show him the way to go,

And once inside you would hear him slide

On up to the microphone,

Where he’d tell his tales of success and fails

In a drawn-out monotone.

 

But you never felt a part of the tale

You were always shut outside,

Peering in from a ledge or bin

With a window open wide,

Then sometimes you were looking down

On the action from on high,

It could be from the bough of a tree

Or a wing in the azure sky.

 

He must have muttered a thousand tales

Of brooding, joy and despair,

The type of roles that would feed the souls

Of the folk who listened there.

They were light as vim, they were dark and grim

They were sown like seeds in the night,

And at the end, a beating of wings

As a bevy of birds took flight.

 

He entertains through the winter months

With a new tale every eve,

But stops as soon as the Spring comes in,

As the Starlings begin to leave.

They all return to their northern climes

With their tales to their Viking den,

While he will wait on the same park bench

For the winter to come again.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[MomzillaNC]

Interesting. For some reason, this feels like it’s about the souls in Valhalla. They are the starlings and the man on the park bench must be Odin. I don’t know why it struck me that way, but he last few lines seemed to validate my perspective. :D

[Rodger Tunif]

This was terrifically written. Just technically speaking, this was a delight to enjoy. Maybe certain people are pleasant in their delusions while those of us who live in the 'reality' exist in total misery.

[Valentine]

A truly wonderful write that draws the reader into the park and watching the old man. Another great write. Loved it. Valentine

[roarke]

I'm getting a picture of an FM radio host, off hours, not really fitting in with daytime goings on and recluses in the park, tuning into the language and far flung tales of the visiting Starlings, then at night monotones these stories for his listeners, or imagined radio listeners, doesn't matter. Some where the words and stories fit in over the air waves. I don't know, but I really dig the moment. Thanks David.

[Terrence Chang]

Beautifully explained poem and the description of the poem is extremely visually appealing with the word you stated. Well written piece from you David it is absolute pleasure to read

[Lyn Croker Paget]

Growing up in a cooler climate , I experienced the noisy chatter of starlings as they tried to nest in the rooves of our houses. When it came to Seasonal Migration Time, it never ceased to amaze me that their chatter produced such communication and I would watch in awe as they took flight with such coordination, bending and weaving in formation as they departed. Enough said and on track with these clever verses who show us the wonderful affinity this man had with the Starlings. A Whisperer in his own right. A gift which enabled him to pass on interesting tales for all to enjoy. An easy and feel good read touching on affinity with the soul and nature.

[R Smith]

That is an immensely gorgeous write David, I can see myself watching this guy on his park bench, I even seem to know the park and surroundings, your pictures here are extraordinary and the simple tale of a simple man just feeding the birds is a literary masterpiece, absolutely 100% fantastic :)

[Barbz]

I am entirely taken by your tale. Many years ago, two of my daughters visited me on Spring Break, when, while sitting on a chaise around the pool, under a palm tree, came tumbling down next to her was a brand new, featherless baby sparrow. We swaddled it and concocted a watery mash which we managed to get down its throat...with the help of a tweezer. I found a carton which became its cozy home. For weeks, his tiny tweet fed him around the clock. I bought him a cage, and at my husbands urging, I put it out near the palm tree during the day...cage open! He (I decided it was a He) cowarded in the back of the cage and I was one with his decision. We loved and understood each other for 8 years.....Thank you DLP...Barbz

[alf]

Hi David. What a fascinating tale! I had really thought of the birds in a park as being subject matter for a poem before but this works really well. The image of a lonely man feeding starlings then translating the encounter for the human ear is fantastic!!! A nice soft and gentle read from the master of the macabre!!! Your poetry really strikes all the right notes for me, whatever the topic. Love this, alf

[Marie]

The starlings must have many tales to tell...
Too bad we can't all hear them.
I know another writer on here who apparently gets her poetry from the swamp creatures.

Poetry must be all around us if we listen...

[Jane Winters Rogers]

A soul in harmony with nature at home in the Viking den with these strange enchanted starlings, or just sitting on a park bench as he fed them...Who sat near him, watching ? Another mystery hidden there in the park.i enjoyed the character I imagined the man to be very wise, sharing his mic and words,but only from a distance...he lived in his own world, he made up the rules and rhymes....I really enjoyed reading your poem and imagining the scenes you described so mysteriously...I loved this one.