Pheasant Poem by Denis Martindale

To some, it was a future meal meant for each table plate,
To me, its beauty was the deal because it was first-rate.
The red-faced pheasant held my gaze. That's why I barely moved,
While it seemed it could pose for days, with photos then improved.
I try to do the best I can. No matter what I do.
My coloured close-ups then began for plumage brown and blue.
A mix of colours in plain sight, for pictures I could take,
With precious plumage to delight that only God could make.

The camera clicked from one to ten to capture frame-by-frame,
So I took pictures now and then before late twilight came.
The bird had black shapes on its side like none I'd ever seen,
That's why I stared, mouth opened wide, then asked, What could these mean?
Two tiny grey legs made me look and made me look once more,
Since each leg had a backward hook in likeness to a claw.
The pheasant perched upon a fence with its long tail raised high,
And that, to me, made perfect sense, with so much snow nearby.

House rooftops and tall trees looked bright, as if like pearls aglow.
The field behind was covered white, as was the fence below.
The pheasant seemed to pay no heed as Winter's chill took hold,
As long as it had time to feed. Regardless, warm or cold.
But I must soon get on my way. Hot coffee soothed my mind.
And that's why I called it a day and left the bird behind.
That bird gave all I could receive, so homeward I returned,
Since live and let live, I believe, proves best for all concerned.


Denis Martindale, for the 24th of February 2024.


The poem is about the magnificent original painting by
UK wildlife artist Stephen Gayford called Pheasant.