The Hammerhead Bird Poem by Gert Strydom

From the dark-grey when the fog hangs
with a white vapour in the early twilight
and the coots do long for the hot sun
in the marshland the hammerhead bird is busy
where he stands in the marsh like a heron
where deadly still he is stately and brown like a chicken hen
while there is nothing that passes his eye.
At the back of his head is a quiff that stands upright
where into the muddy-water he pushes his bill
where it seems that it's so long under that he is lost
and he swallows frogs, tadpoles and small fishes
before at ease he pulls out a bigger wriggling frog
and with a beat of his wings he flies to the twigged-nest on a cliff
when the sun do sit low like a red ball in the late afternoon.

© Gert Strydom