Poetry by Clare Best

Last time I was at Woodlands, in November, I saw the first batches of organic Black Rock chicks newly settled at the farm. They were five weeks old then; now they are fully grown, productive members of the team! Their rapid development is another reminder that life is just a quick sprint, for all of us...

Black Rock chicks

Their universe is infrared
with deep wood shavings -
CDs hang low like private winter suns;

the birds peck, stop, peck-peck
and scuttle, see with feet, eyes, beak,
scraps of purple cauliflower,

and under lamps like dishes
slung with dusty cobwebs,
they tilt at chicks just like themselves -

feather meeting feather
as one after another, they discover
who's who, what's what.