Archive for September 10th, 2017

Sunday, 10 September 2017

Fossil Bird by Helen Audrey Beecham

The vital nettle growing next the dock
Is less frustrate than I within this rock,
Whose blunted beak has tried a million years
To breach the prism of my crystal fears.

My fiery feathers are to fossils grown,
My blood-drawn talons sunk in nerveless stone:
A mountain’s weight is heaped upon my wings
While dauntless in the sun a small bird sings.

A changing world fell on me as I slept:
Yet, crushed in two dimensions, have I kept
The pattern of my predatory lust
Impregnable against the earth’s slow rust.


Date: 1957

By: Helen Audrey Beecham (1915-1989)