Piercing cackles shatter the dawn
As the roughnecks wake and gather in the gods
Defending the cheapest yet the best seats in the house
Seagulls shout with forceful laughter, their heads thrown back in glorious abandon
For all to hear their throaty heckles fill the silence,
Wild and determined, impossible to understand.
Just rude noise.
From that seabird comedy club on the long cold lums*.
As I go out in the early morning these wild revellers are coming home.
The new clifftop where the gulls laugh at those
Beneath their manmade vantage point.
Picking fault through scavenging gaze.
What does a gull find so funny that it needs to wake the world to see?
Have I just fulfilled what they nudged and said I would do as I scuttle bye,
Passing judgement from on high. Nothing subtle or
Kept private as they erupt hysterically for all to hear.
I hate being so predictable and an object of ridicule.
I take heart knowing I am not the only victim, for in
The distance I hear other groups humiliate an unseen sole.
Seagulls have no regard for feelings in the early morning,
Brave and untouchable up high with the intoxicating taste
Of the sea, boasting plump white bellies under throaty laughter
Released through gaping beaks.
* Lums – the north of Scotland word given to chimney pots. The unused chimneys being a favoured nesting site for seagulls.
Clive Grewcock is a writer based in the Scottish Highlands with a particular interest in language and the way it can evoke a depth and emotion through creativity. "Poetry has a wonderful power in our world, not necessarily in a shouting way but also with subtlety and asking others to invest and bring something of themselves to the work. It is good to contemplate and consider through writing."