All is cyclical.
In Autumn, bronzed leaves descend,
but you could say that
they are pushed by forming buds.
Energy will sprout
and as old people die, new
to take their place in the world.
Bearing this in mind, one should
live Life to the full,
for no one knows when Time’s up.
Nature calls the tune,
but what comfort to know that
we’re part of the scheme of things.
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.
(Image Todaiji Buddha: Wikipedia)
When a child is crushed
in a terrible earthquake,
even a samurai sobs.
The after- tremors:
they are quite terrifying.
It was bad enough
when the Todaiji Buddha’s
head fell off, so long ago.
But, what did it signify?
Anything at all?
Man’s vanity was rife then
and it exists now.
What is the point of trying
to analyse it? No point.
(Pear tree blossom by Ruslan; Wikimedia Commons ; uploaded to Flickr by Pauk)
The pear tree’s blossom
seemed of little consequence
to my casual glance.
I would not have fastened it
to a love letter;
but when I scrutinised it,
I noticed something
quite remarkable, in fact:
its petals have a blush tinge,
right around the edge
and so, I then understood
why Yang Kuei’s face,
dampened with tears, was described
as a rain-streaked spray of pear.
(Photo by Meneerke Bloem. Wikipedia, 2008)
Its leaves don’t move me,
but when I think the phoenix
chose to dwell in it,
fore-telling the Emperor’s
advent, then I bow
before its magnificence.
Many a zither
gains fine resonance from it;
it makes good boxes
and produces gunpowder,
its bark a fast dye.
Regeneration from its roots
links it to the bird legend.
(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