Grey Heron Blues

By kind permission of local poet and singer, John Turner, we give you the Grey Heron Blues…

Grey Heron Blues

There’s a Grey Heron standing down on Deptford Creek
In his early morning glory he’s looking down his beak
At the scruffy tufty other birds so noisy and so small
He doesn’t even use both legs to stand so hunched and tall
He could have come from foreign lands must have a latin name
As he folds his wings behind his back quite relaxed about his fame
He could reside in designer aviary or Zoo
He’s soon to be the subject of a television crew
He’s no doubt multi lingual in modern and ancient Greek
Yet he prefers the riff raff down on Deptford Creek

Grey Heron tell me tell me your news
I always want to hear about the Grey Heron Blues

How you could have been a tourist blown off the beaten track
By a big wind from Winetka but you keep on coming back
How you’re worshipped as a God in Vietnam of immortal time
You’re eggs are aphrodisiacs mixed with youth and lime
How hunters wear your feathers to keep the blues away
You’re arrival is the signal of the hottest summers day.
You were used to carry messages by Sultans and Emirs
So brave you flew into the teeth of flights of spears
You were once next in line to the throne of Mar el Sheik
Yet you prefer the riff raff down on Deptford Creek

Grey Heron tell me tell me your news
I always want to hear about the Grey Heron Blues

Last time I saw the Heron down on Deptford Creek
I asked him where he came from where he hailed from so to speak.
The Heron looked back at me standing on one leg
As I polished my shoe on my trouser he took me down a peg
He said that I should never ask where a bird hung his beak
Each bird flew by their own wind their flight paths quite unique.
Their flights could take them anywhere where any nest was home
I said that’s true and I have always fancied ancient Rome.
The Heron said all birds of a feather there agree
That by and large antiquity isn’t all it was cracked up to be.

© John Turner 2019

Image: Redstart Arts