Ramblings of a much published New Zealand author

17 August 2009


I am the jackal of the skies.
Leisurely I sweep the broad spread
Tussock, plough, forest, pastureland
And highway (slab for the new dead)
Seeking the flesh of passive prize.

Mine is the world of silent flight;
Seeking, on thermal pillows poised,
Pulsating frog, sinuous lizard, mouse and
Skid-red pulp of ‘possum new destroyed:
Victim of the violent night.

I shun the drama of the stoop;
Cut not the substance of the air;
Decline to emulate those falcons grand
Who from their craggy eyries, ledges bare,
Launch their displays to loop their loop.

If joyfulness I ever feel
It lies in freedom, free to slide
On wide stretched wings, with finger feathers fanned,
From ridge to ridge while valleys glide
Crosswise their bounty to reveal.

And joy again in mating cries
When tumbling vernal courtship flight
Lures me with heedless ecstasy across the land,
Blinded by breathless, high delight,
Brief lust and then the passion dies.

The scavenger Man may despise,
(In Nature only Man has pride)
But heed well: I was fashioned by God’s hand
To take my place all else beside;
To be the Jackal of the Skies.

© DON DONOVAN (text only)


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By Don Donovan