Due to some let downs with the Tuesday Guest Feature, not being fulfilled for one reason or another, I thought I’d share my poetry sequence Survival of the Lesser Flamingo which was inspired by David Attenborough’s, A Perfect Planet (BBC One Series) and Huw Cordey’s book, A Perfect Planet. The poetry sequence was published with Dreich in 2022.
I hope you enjoy it.

Survival of the Lesser Flamingo
Patricia M Osborne
Inspired by David Attenborough’s ‘A Perfect Planet’ (BBC One Series)
1.
A cloud of pink specks
becomes a ballet of birds
as they dance
down
to bright-red
volcanic Lake Natron
in groups of ‘Vs’ passing
Tanzania’s Mountain of God.
The flamboyance of flamingos congregate
in soda crust rafts. They march in unison,
turn their heads
from side to side
seeking a mate.
Standing behind a female,
the male flaps his wings
to balance his spindly limbs
as he mounts.
Barks and snarls fill the air–
crouching hyenas bare
bone crusher teeth
at the out-of-reach prey
guarded by a burning liquid ring.
Scooping wet clay with their bills,
parents-to-be build a concave
salt-brine mound to keep the egg safe.
She squats in the hollow,
lays an oval egg, stands, preens,
spreads her wings
and makes space for the male
to take his turn to incubate.
2.
A short pale beak peeps out. Azrael,
the chick, grunts. Shedding the cracked
vessel, he reveals soft downy
grey feathers and swollen pink legs.
His parents lower their scarlet bills, drip-feed
‘crop milk’ into Azrael’s opened beak.
When he bounces around the nest, his parents
know it’s time for him to leave and join
the ever-growing chick crèche.
Speeding to a sprint, Azrael trips, falls
on his head racing fellow flaminglets.
He flaps grey-plumaged wings, runs,
kicks his feet off the ground, stumbles,
tries again until lifting himself at last
into the air, flying high.
Feeding on Spirulina blooms
in salty Natron borders, Azrael’s
plumage and eyes turn deep pink
from the rich protein, glucose food.
The middle of the lake dries out,
pushing the chicklet colony to move.
Azrael follows the procession,
marching on foot for miles, as chicks
of all sizes seek freshwater springs.
Trekking sharp soda surfaces
and sticky caustic mud,
Azrael keeps up with the crèche,
stragglers left behind.
3.
Azrael peers up at the clouds,
a muster of storks hover, forcing
the young colony to move faster
out of danger’s way.
Tiny chicklets linger at the side
of the crèche to avoid being trampled,
but Azrael pushes to the centre, hides
from the phalanx of marabou as they sweep
up dawdlers and swallow them whole.
4.
A parade of flaminglets
prance in formation
into the freshwater spring–
millions of flamingos
greet their young.
Adult flamingo pairs dive,
claiming individual chicks.
Azrael grunts. He lingers.
One couple detect Azrael’s
call, fly down to the flaminglet.
He squeaks, opens his small beak,
they lower their dark red bills
and drip-feed Azrael ‘crop milk’.




I could see the flamingos’ flight in your poem, and catch a glimpse at their life. Babbling. Just busy being alive. Beautiful.
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Thank you so much, Patricia. I’m glad you liked it. And thank you for reading.
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Love this Tricia. I remember you talking about your Flamingos ages ago and wondered what had happened to them – great job 👍👍 !!
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Thanks Brian and thank you for reading.
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