On a bench, in a clearing, downriver,
Heaven knows I’m in need of a fix.
Will you show through the trees and deliver?
For I’m desperate – like other addicts.
Let ecstasy flow through my senses,
Feed a habit that can’t be denied.
Quicken my pulse and make my heart race,
Leave me all of a flutter inside.
It’s high time to make my confession,
To admit to myself, I can’t cope.
I am gripped by a helpless obsession,
Cast under a spell without hope.
The adrenaline rush of each sighting,
Concordesque in an effortless glide.
Every landing’s so wildly exciting,
Grey-tipped wings spread angelically wide.
As you take up your post in the shallows,
The long wait for what currents might bring.
Statuesque amid silvery shadows,
Oh, so patient, the great fisher king.
It’s the serpentine neck; curved perfection.
It’s the poise of your needle-sharp beak.
Using rocks to hide your reflection,
From the gullible bounty you seek.
When you’re done and I watch you departing,
In your lumbering bid to take flight,
Like a Lancaster’s engines restarting,
But straining, at first, to gain height.
It adds up to natural affliction,
You may think it a little obscure.
Yes, I’m hooked by a heron addiction,
And so happy there isn’t a cure.
******************************************
I love herons – I think they are the most majestic of birds. My obsession with them became a family joke, to the point where our WhatsApp group was named ‘Heron Addicts’.
The poem is a light-hearted celebration of my fixation, with the first verse suggesting I’m a drug addict, before revealing I’m actually a heron addict.
‘Big H’ is a slang term for heroin – and now my nickname for the mighty heron.