The Singers Tale- Recordings – Sparrow

London Tales A Sparrow. © A poem I wrote turned to song. Recorded in Minnis Bay Kent & produced by Jennifer Maidman, who played hands drums and Guitar, with Annie Whitehead Trombone myself, vocals. A film by Margaret Kemp.

A London Sparrow. A metaphor for the migrant, fleeing the dangers of Flood War Famine Poverty.

He is a torn and tattered thing – a tiny bird, with broken wing.

A beating heart which flutters in his breast.

He flies, he tries to reach the stars.

His body has no strength 

His throat is full – no song upon his tiny tongue,     

spinning in circles, adrift in a silent flight.

Night sky,  scorched orange, urban light- obscuring the stars.

On winters icy winds a vertical descent – wings split-

eyes blind, voice mute above the city,

a tiny unseen bird, amongst a million seeking refuge. 

A tiny bird, without a song.

He longs to sing, to fly on wings as delicate as ancient lace, 

with the strength of an eagle, a fleeting flight in grace.

“I have always plucked at feathers. Picking at them with my fingers, inside a cushion or a pillow, and in childhood, I remember the occasional Eiderdown. I cannot sleep without a feather in a pillow, however small, it must be there. If I find myself without, sleeping in a hotel of someone else’s home, it is a sleepless night. If I sit anywhere, and there is a feather nearby, I am at it. Pick pluck pick. And I am comforted. Now, I live amongst the Birds in my garden. Maybe back in my long-ago DNA History, I was a bird?  A sparrow? A Starling? I don’t feel as If  I was anything as magnificent as an Eagle or a Stork. Anyway, I love the little birds.”

cg ©

Winter 2021 February. Home alone… for a long time. Feeling strange today.

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