Almanac Poetry: ‘White Owl’ – Tommy Mallet




White Owl


Day lowers into night.

I drag my feet,

making sure of it,

in this,

my kill-time, my telly –

bush work with the dog.


The axe has given way to

a small re-vegetation job.

There are dying ferns to transplant.


An owl takes flight

re-perching just far and high enough to

keep watching.


Only its eyes stay visible.

They fade and glow

with the weaving of clouds and



A barn owl, or mice owl,

or powerful owl,

white owl –

who knows what it’s called?

My brain doesn’t work like that.


It’s the sort of owl that’s always about

whenever I’m out here.

As if they’re the one owl.


As if they know stuff.



Tommy Mallet



More poetry from Tommy Mallet HERE


More poetry from Almanac Poetry can be read HERE


If you would like to receive the Almanac Music and Poetry newsletter we will add you to the list. Please email us: [email protected]


To return to the  home page click HERE


Our writers are independent contributors. The opinions expressed in their articles are their own. They are not the views, nor do they reflect the views, of Malarkey Publications.


Do you enjoy the Almanac concept?
And want to ensure it continues in its current form, and better? To help keep things ticking over please consider making your own contribution.


Become an Almanac (annual) member – CLICK HERE
One-off financial contribution – CLICK HERE
Regular financial contribution (monthly EFT) – CLICK HERE




  1. Nicole Kelly says

    They really do seem all-knowing creatures. Great poem.

Leave a Comment