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Matthew James Friday


Matthew James Friday has had over 60 poems published in many UK and worldwide magazines and journals, including, recently: The Brasilia Review (Brazil), New Contrast (South Africa), and Poetry Salzburg (Austria).  Website:

Boy Again

It hangs in the air
on a string of suddenness,
tiny bat-like wings beating
gasps of evolution. This
Rufous Hummingbird
is beyond any British bird I know.

A whipping, yo-yoing puppet,
fooling the flower, following
invisible air streams owned
by dragonflies. Impossible
imposter beating butterflies
with its fairy act. Its tongue

unfurls from blurry imagination,
its body becomes a puff
of fantasy and thankfulness.
I religiously wait hours for
the resident miracle to reappear
in magical blinks and bolts.

This morning a Black-chinned Hummingbird
is lighting just beyond arms length,
bobbing into yellow buds
bulleting back to
the orange flowers.

A few days later
and my eye is tuned. I can spot
them just from frantic twitters.
Every time I see a hummingbird
now I am drinking nectar, blessed,
a little boy again.

Christmas Rooks

Rooks over Elbe at ten to four
trying out a mumouration,
having seen starlings ooooh
the flocks of 2-legged feeders.

They flow in uneven rolling
arm waves and clumsy cutting
hands. The black birds as big
as hawks as they try to land

on tram line posts but smack
back into the rollercoaster,
bicker the air, snapping at each
others’ flight feathers. After

ten minutes they gather over
the Japanese Palace, clotting
the sky in wheeling, oily drops.
But some sniff out the festivities,

flying low over the old town,
packed Christmas markets,
easy pickings of pork, bread,
gluhwein glued throngs. They

settle noisily on a crane building
an apartment block in mock
historical style, complaining
of food not shared, Christmas.

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