First time I have tried to draw a dog!
Beauty is fleeting-
traded for brief affairs.
Women’s hair attracts men,
less so their inveterate chat.
A powerful man
can become a girl’s plaything,
manipulated by tears.
Like fierce rutting stags,
men pick up the scent and fight,
to out-do others.
One year they’ll be old –
antlers broken – and banished.
(Photo: Edible Dormouse: Michael Hanselmann;
Have just won 3rd Prize with this at The Buxton International
Festival and Book Weekend, Nov 24th, 2017…..
We’re Die Siebenschlafer – The Seven Sleepers;
the fat, Continental cousins let loose
on Tring, from a Rothschild menagerie.
(Yes, we broke out of his glilaria
and formed menages ad infinity.)
A Mad Hatter invited us to come,
but we were the wrong sort, right from the start.
Delicacies, we are quite edible,
not like those pink, or white sugar rodents,
but are establishing our own Empire,
while the Romans, who ate us, are long gone.
Those deep-fried insults are deep-dyed in us:
an elephant never forgets. It’s said
that we mice are its closest relative.
We estivate and hibernate: that’s true.
And we sleep (dormir) hidden from your view –
remove your kitchen kickboards and you’ll see!
We appropriate the nests of others,
or a box some tit has tied to a tree.
We power nap under duvets till Spring.
Fermented fruit gives us a boozy snooze.
At three weeks, our offspring will see daylight.
We chuck them out before they’re a month old
and we don’t suffer empty nest syndrome.
If The Border Police catch us by the tails,
we slough them off and go back underground.
We furry refugees from Hungary
are hungry and upwardly mobile too,
aspiring to lifestyles arboreal.
We have no respect for native culture
and will gnaw away at your church candles.
This is immigration on a grand scale.
We can’t be stopped, as a Protected Species.
Invasion is just a fact of Nature.
The world will have a rude awakening.
Wachet auf! Don’t drowse to your extinction,
for the meek/mouse may inherit the Earth.
today I am sharing a poem which I found on a postcard
at an Anglican Retreat Centre. I have never forgotten its
sensitivity- and I have never yet seen the kingfisher, nor
the answer to some of my prayers. Yet, I still hope.
DISCLOSURE by Ann Lewin
Prayer is like waiting for the
Kingfisher. All you can do is
Be where he is likely to appear, and
Often, nothing much happens;
There is space, silence and
No visible sign, only the
Knowledge that he’s been there
And may come again
Seeing or not seeing cease to matter,
You have been prepared
But when you’ve almost stopped
Expecting it, a flash of brightness
(Wikimedia Commons. Chen Xianzhang Plum Blossom; Hunan Provincial Museum)
Crimson plum blossom
often shelters bush-warblers,
as the poets claim.
But The Ninefold Enclosure
never attracts birds –
and I have listened for years.
Yet, in many peasants’ yards,
they trill (but not overnight.)
a lowly designation
for a divine bird.
Though diminishing in tone,
its call deserves more respect.
…based on the opening paragraphs of ‘The Pillow Book.’
(Wikimedia; Quit007, 2007. Nuremberg forest)
Oh, the summer nights!
Moonlight can be so spectral;
dark evenings so alive
with the darting fireflies’ gleam.
Even if it’s pouring,
an ebony sheen mirrors
every wet surface.
A toted lantern
attracts moths to its caged flame.
In a dry l’heure bleue,
walls radiate fading heat;
seduce you to sit outside
much longer than intended,
drugged by Nicotiania.
(LittleJerry: photo montage, Sept 1st, 2015. Wikimedia )
Look up and see, between the extant and
the dead, suspended, a Cetacean.
Hunted to nigh extinction by man’s hand:
whaling nations versus Leviathan.
‘Earth’s sustainability’ is our phrase;
her skeleton shows strength; fragility.
And still these awesome creatures strand in bays –
plastic, noise, our responsibility.
Across oceans we cannot hear their groans;
schools’ codes of subtle communication,
but in two hundred and twenty one bones,
can we detect syllabic salvation?
If ‘Hope’ becomes a symbol of respect,
destruction of our planet may be checked.