The Mayans and the Scarlet Macaws

The Mayans revered the scarlet macaw
As a symbol of beauty and power
They admired its feathers of red, blue and yellow
And its voice that could echo for hours

They believed it was linked to the sun god
And the rainbows that followed the storm
They carved its image on temples and stelae
And wore its plumes as adornment

The scarlet macaw was a sacred bird
A messenger of the divine
The Mayans cherished its presence and grace
And its spirit that soared in the sky

This was my first attempt entirely within Microsoft’s Copilot which popped up on my laptop today! The poem is a bit simple compared to other models, but the illustration is wonderful.

The Mole and the Trabant

In the heart of Czechia, where snowflakes dance,
A mole embarked on a journey, a trance.
Behind the wheel of a Trabant, so small,
Through winter’s embrace, it bravely crawled.

In tunnels of white, the countryside unfolds,
A mole in a Trabant, courageous and bold.
Fields of frost, a pristine delight,
As the little car cruises through the night.

Snowflakes whisper secrets in the cold air,
The Trabant and mole, an inseparable pair.
Through hills and valleys, a magical ride,
In the Czech countryside, with snow as their guide.

Headlights cutting through the wintry veil,
A mole at the wheel, leaving a snowy trail.
Furry chauffeur in a world so divine,
Driving the Trabant, a masterpiece design.

Through the Czech winter, a whimsical chase,
The mole and Trabant, a picturesque embrace.
In the snow-kissed landscape, a tale to be told,
Of a mole’s adventure, in a Trabant, so bold.

Chill! It’s Still November!

In November’s embrace, where autumn leaves dance,
A tale unfolds, of Santa’s sweet chance.
Chill in the air, not a snowflake in sight,
He lounges by the pool, bathed in sunlight.

“Chill! It’s still November!” Santa declares,
As penguins serve cocktails, tending to his cares.
No sleigh bells, no reindeer, just a calm reprieve,
Sat bare-foot, he’s loath to leave.

The sun kisses his cheeks, as he sips with delight,
A reminder he whispers, “Christmas is out of sight.”
No need for the rush, the hustle, the race,
December’s on hold, let’s slow down the pace.

Penguins waddle, mix drinks with a flair,
Santa reclines, the poolside his lair.
Tropical tunes, not a carol to play,
“Enjoy the warmth,” he nods, “it’s still a long way.”

So let’s heed his wisdom, unwind and unwind,
No need for the frenzy, no need to be confined.
In the November breeze, let’s savour the weather,
For Christmas is coming, but not till December.

The Flying Horse

Deep in the plane’s hold, a horse confined sighs,
Dreaming of meadows, under sunlit skies.
As the altitude climbs, and the stall is breached,
A comedic twist, the horse the cockpit reached.

Hooves clickety-clack on the metal floor,
In the pilot’s seat, the steed explores.
Eyes wide with mischief, a gleeful spark,
Navigating dials, flying like a lark.

The control panel, a puzzle to be solved,
The horse, the pilot, problems to be evolved.
Ears flicking back and forth, like radar on high,
A four-legged aviator, touching the sky.

The captain, bemused, at the horse in command,
A partnership formed, above the clouds so grand.
With a nod and a neigh, an unspoken decree,
The horse and the pilot, a duo in the sky’s decree.

Wings of whimsy, on this airborne escapade,
A hoof on the throttle, a serenade played.
As laughter echoes through the cockpit’s space,
A horse and a pilot, in a mid-air embrace.

Through the firmament, with humour and might,
The sky’s vast canvas, a whimsical flight.
Above the clouds, where dreams take wing,
The horse and the pilot, an aerial spring.

Invasion of the Great Tits

In gardens lush with green delight,
Where nut-laden feeders stand in sight,
Imagine if, with joyful tweets,
Great tits arrived in grand fleets.

They’d flutter near with vibrant wings,
A chorus of enchanting sings,
Around the feeder, a lively crowd,
Their melodies both clear and loud.

With plumage bright, a feathered show,
A symphony amid the boughs would grow,
Around the nuts, a fluttering dance,
As great tits joined in sweet romance.

Among the blooms and leaves so green,
If sparrows transformed, a sight unseen,
The garden’s tale would take new flight,
With great tits perched in soft twilight.

Don’t Fear the Orb Spider!

In the garden’s gentle web, she spins her art,
A giant banded orb, both bold and smart,
With stripes of yellow, black, she weaves her grace,
Don’t fear this spider, know her rightful place.

She hangs with patience, watching from above,
Her purpose clear, to feast on insects, and to love,
Not people, never them, her gentle plan,
To keep our world in balance, nature’s hand.

So when you see her, don’t retreat in fright,
Her gentle nature shines in morning light,
Respect her space, for in her web she’ll dwell,
A guardian of our garden, we must tell.

Embrace this orb, resplendent in her grace,
A helpful friend, she finds her rightful place,
In nature’s tapestry, her role is clear,
To keep our world in balance, never fear.

Van Sloth

In a forest grove where time stands still,
Lives Van Sloth, with an artistic skill.
Brush in hand, so patient and slow,
Paints like Van Gogh, with colors that flow.

His strokes are deliberate, his pace so serene,
Every masterpiece a languid dream.
The stars in the night, they twinkle and gleam,
On his canvas, they dance in a cosmic stream.

With each stroke of his brush, a story unfolds,
A world of wonder, in hues of gold.
Sunflowers droop, in the sun’s warm embrace,
As Van Sloth captures their languid grace.

His art may be slow, but it’s worth the wait,
For the beauty he creates is truly great.
Van Sloth, the painter of tranquil delight,
In his unhurried world, he finds his light.

The Iridescent Beauty of the Carpenter Bee

In gardens bathed in golden light,
A carpenter bee takes its flight,
With wings of sapphire, shimmering bright,
Iridescent beauty, a wondrous sight.

Its body carved with nature’s grace,
A velvet touch, in colors’ embrace,
Amidst the blooms, it finds its place,
A ballet in air, with elegant grace.

From petal to petal, it gently weaves,
A tapestry of life, as the day conceives,
In pollen’s bounty, it joyfully receives,
Nature’s secret dance, the bee achieves.

Oh, carpenter bee, in the sun’s warm glow,
Your iridescence makes the garden’s show,
In your flight, a symphony, aglow,
A treasure of nature, we’re blessed to know.

The European Bee Eater

Oh European Bee Eater, grace the azure skies,
In vibrant plumage, you’re a feast for our eyes,
With iridescent feathers, a rainbow so bright,
You dance on the wind with sheer aerial might.

In southern lands, your summer home you find,
Where warmth and sun, your heart and soul entwined,
With precision and grace, you take to the air,
In search of buzzing prey, without a care.

Your beak, a masterpiece of nature’s design,
A swift and deadly weapon, a jewel so fine,
You catch the buzzing bees in mid-flight,
With elegance and skill, a true aerial knight.

Your colony, a bustling, social affair,
In burrows dug deep, with tender love and care,
A family united, in harmony you dwell,
In your underground haven, a story to tell.

So, European Bee Eater, in colours so grand,
You enchant the world across the land,
In the realm of birds, you’re a true treasure,
A symbol of nature’s beauty and boundless pleasure.

Fish Curry

Fancy a fish curry tonight, my dear?
With flavours that dance and bring us cheer,
In a pot, spices blend, a culinary delight,
Let’s savour each bite by the soft candlelight.

The fish, tender and bathed in a golden hue,
With coconut milk, it’s a dish to pursue,
A hint of chilli, a touch of lime’s zing,
In this curry, our taste buds will sing.

Aromas waft through the air, so divine,
As we sip on some wine, our hearts entwine,
Rice on the side, naan bread to share,
In this moment, my love, nothing else to compare.

So let’s dine in this cosy, candlelit room,
In the flickering glow, our love shall bloom,
Fancy a fish curry tonight, my sweet,
With every bite, our love story we’ll repeat.