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

moonlight.

 

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

 

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