Stories Sunday: The Bird Catcher

You are currently viewing Stories Sunday: The Bird Catcher

The Bird Catcher


He peaks,

out of withered broke feathers


He’ll jump Mr death

                                           one more day,                                           

sizing up the ripe horizon

where are those shiny pretty things?

in the nest:

Voices  –  stomachs

                             marbled and knotted,                            

their worn out windpipes

blocked with inked tissue

and bottled messages.

He nestles them fondly.


He stands up

bones slotting stiffly

into place

cranes long neck

and reaches it upwards

feeling the crinks.

spreads limbs and



the world is so fresh

green and velvety

all flying beneath Him.


sparrows He watches splinder

blackbirds just battle.

its Pheasants today.

red, golden plumage

jewelled crests

imported game.



net in claw

He swoops, dives and


bundle of dirty feathers

left matted.


exotic tropical.


He likes the feel

of the words in his


adding them all

to his fine collection.


Written by: Eva Reppe-Roverselli.


0 0 votes
Article Rating

Leave a Reply

Inline Feedbacks
View all comments