Sirens and Seriemas: Photographs and Poems of the Amazon and Pantanal

Sirens and Seriemas: Photographs and Poems of the Amazon and Pantanal

With Sirens and Seriemas Paul Brookes explores the wild places of Brazil through photographs and poetry. A former biologist and naturalist, Brooke travelled the Amazon and Pantanal regions of Brazil studying culture, history and natural history. The poems address pressing environmental issues such as deforestation, extinction, overhunting, overpopulation, urbanization and wildness. The photographs chronicle the amazing beauty and danger, the culture of Amazonian peoples and multicoloured landscapes.

Author: Paul Brooke
Publisher: Brambleby Books
Year of Publication: 2015
Format and Pages: Paperback 100pp
ISBN: 9781908241368
Retail Price: £12
Our Discount Price: £10.80

Sample text from Sirens and Seriemas: Photographs and Poems of the Amazon and Pantanal

Sloth and Moth


A bizarre island

drifts slowly, its forests

flowering with algae,


its coastline studded

with spire-sharp

façades of stone,


a peaceful place,

full of grazing

and plenty of naps.


Its inhabitants

live luxuriantly,

not luxuriously,


a gracious host,

ample flesh-pots,

ample panoramas,


a tiny sphere


in equilibrium.


A Charm


Upon finding her on the nest,

name her a living charm,

not hatched in a pocket

or hung dangling from thatch.

Abandon collections,

superstitions, and talisman.

Wish the whole universe

could struggle at first to see,

then lock onto her green

iridescence, and oo and ah.

Whisper so quietly, look

how she’s glued the leaves

like little scraps of paper. 

Her eye, her eye.  Her nest

seems to be a handmade hat.

Or a pistachio ice cream cone.

She’s camouflaged so well

no one knows where leaf

ends and bird begins.




Grabbing more than they

should, never listening,


glistening in the dappled

light, capuchins act impishly,


prankishly, like naughty

children given free reign


at the playground.  Dropping

sticks, stealing my fruitlunch,


scampering behind, above me, 

I whirl and step deep, water


gushing and sloshing boots,

tripping over exposed roots.


The monkeys yap, clap, slap

branches, quickly evaporate.


I am spinning in a tight circle,

laughing hysterically, speaking


to the wind again, scolding

only myself for this foolishness.


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