Literary Vegan

Contour feathers were growing over the stardust down of the chick,  tiny on the hillside copying the hen,  digging. Woken to the world, it was exact same pale gold  as its mother's tail, the tips of her wings. They moved together;  but one was assured and sharp,  the other a sweet disciple.  From this distance, nothing seemed more precious  than that palm-sized soul, delicate of the earth, imitating to live. I whispered over and over: protection  for this one.  And maybe, being a passing stranger, my prayer was small. But maybe it could grow strong wings too, long and waterproof, over my tufted feather-words.  LJ Ireton, 2024

It thundered unkind across the island like a tithe taken in the dark for seeking sanctuary. The force was roaring on beauty - why blow on stone already smooth, scatter water with water? Yet the dawn was an empty lung, a casual sun strolled across the sky the stray cats stretched into the light, Unnerved. Your turn , the towers of palm said, rustle-less; to leave your questions with the storm, the thoughts that bite each other. A white dove flew from a terracotta roof, the sky a fire blue  neither were thinking about rain. LJ Ireton, 2024

The Grecian sparrows have discovered  the shallow ledge of water  where pool meets tile but doesn't drop yet. They land in a row, following the bold one; who tested a beak and toe first on this not-ground,  and now they sit, or dip and shimmy feathers  at their own pace, liquid drops slipping off sand-brown, ruffled chests. There is no more hard stone edge - only the soft outlines of resourcefullness: a man-made armrest a sanctuary quenching teal thirst for seed-sized hearts. Take what you need little birds - may no-one ever stop you hopping in curious peace over our designs.  LJ Ireton, 2024 

Gold trickles down my hands, dirt and ash, sparks at the lifelines - stars on storm lines. Lightening explodes along my bones in call or answer I don't know - my skin a cloak to crackling blood - flames adding up the questions I didn't ask.  LJ Ireton, 2024

I hesitated - unwashed, in sleep shorts unpresentable to humankind. But it is not with humankind I wanted to be; I needed earth-grown memory under the soles of my feet, creatures appearing. Like Mary Oliver said: it is impossible to not want the wild - so I went out dirty to the blackberry bush clearing with dandelions: solid and ghost, dried lavender, ivy in the shadows I imagine part of the Trinity as a butterfly cresting a little mound blessing the things I found with my toes. Why do people pave over their gardens with stone? I leave the meadow with the shape of me welcomed and folded into the uncut grass; horizontal in the daylight, it was sparkling.  LJ Ireton, 2024

My spirit was swung low like a string hammock so I lay with it,  sunken under the hottest star to meld or fuse what it could.  I opened my eyes  to the sure, steady mind of a Red Kite, cutting through  finger-smudged clouds and all uncertainty - an ever-winning coin.  Under the relentless energy of the Sun And the set red bend of bone and feather, one strand pulled taut, alert again. I thought of poetry; the beautiful things forever flying fierce: star stripes, bronze birds, truth - all these strong lines  in the sky  are under my blood; my tired self is still singing.  LJ Ireton, 2024