When badgers sleep, do badgers dream
of honey robbed from bumble bees?
Or household chores on Summer nights,
with bedding made as we just might.
Of warm sett dwelling, snoring loud,
a calm dark haven underground.
Of sleepy winters, spared the cold
and pathways shared with young by old.
Of sniffing fresh Spring air at dusk
and scenting lovers, trails of musk.
Of rain to draw the worms to air
or garden berries grown to share.
Of wafting silent evening breeze
and yielding earth, to dig with ease.
To sate a dusty thirst you run
for cool clear water on the tongue.
Of Mistress Badger, out at last,
as babies slumber, full and fast.
Alert and wary, eyes askance,
a skitty mare, she hops a prance.
Of high pitched warbles, rat-a-tat,
as playful cubs seek this or that.
They push their hinds to win some ground,
relinquished at the slightest sound.
Of peaceful neighbours, red and sleek,
aggressive stink but battle-meek.
Of moonlit nights and tawny hoots,
of lemon grass and parsley roots.
Of frenzied nightmares, deathly fear,
invading dogs and shovels near.
The licensed sniper’s culling smote,
spills badger blood for farmer’s vote.
Of hedgerows free of snare and trap,
where only yellow dragons snap.
Of sanctuary in bramble shards
and luck on roads of killing cars.
Of being left alone to live,
respect is all you ask I give.
I hear you say of human rights,
‘You have the days…leave me the nights.’
The night sky here is beautiful,
not a cloud to be seen. Filled with stars that burn like wildfire
a picturesque view, this could only be a dream.
Because you are never kind enough,
to let a moment like this be true
to give me such pure solemn joy
to provide me, my picturesque view
All I want is for you to show me
that things like peace & love are true
And that I can find them in my own life
That I can find my picturesque view.
Last Fall, cherishing hands wrenched free from mine;
Found the gap where I’d sealed sky from sorrow
to glimpse underneath the shadowy line.
Mummy shortened with the breathless incline;
My feet less steady on the static stone,
The Fall cherishing hands wrenched free from mine.
Steely words obscured the squall from the shine;
When you tore my cover and fled alone
to glimpse underneath the shadowy line.
The collapsing sky veiled the blooming vine;
Flurried fine views with the forgetting you’d shown,
The Fall when cherished hands wrenched free from mine.
The con of smile concealed the willing whine;
As I watched your youth spring as mine had flown
to glimpse underneath the shadowy line,
The Fall cherishing hands tugged free from mine.
And every now and then something comes along which is just dippily fantastic. Like an idea for spreading more poetry round the world. That idea is Poem Pigeon and it's like a pigeon for poems. Just write your poem and give it wings.
There's no money involved. Just love, and the occasional rhyme. Good, innit?
Mid-way fevrier blossomed,
the fervour for o-sweet love,
shimmered like a drug,
in the cold red wine,
glistened, whereas on the warm red lips of the beloved.
Moments lived forever,
as the felicide mother of time,
was the most miserable,
murderess of 'em all....
The debonair mars arrows,
canoodled the venus cross;
Who at times as such,
remembers the saints of Terni and Rome,
cos all got replaced by,
a pair of turtle doves,
and a blood red rose.
A heavy snow, and men my age
all over the city
are having heart attacks in their driveways,
dropping their nice new shovels
with the ergonomic handles
that finally did them no good.
Gray-headed men who meant no harm,
who abided by the rules and worked hard
for modest rewards, are slipping
softly from their mortgages,
falling out of their marriages.
How gracefully they swoon—
that lovely, old-fashioned word—
from dinner parties, grandkids,
vacations in Florida.
They should have known better
than to shovel snow at their age.
If only they'd heeded
the sensible advice of their wives
and hired a snow-removal service.
But there's more to life
than merely being sensible. Sometimes
a man must take up his shovel
and head out alone into the snow.
hush in jungle forest deep
rain drops drown, leaves
damp paw treads
peers out at liquid day
mists hang,palm fronds dangle
bright plumage quiet in
blue/grey/purple clouds drift by
doe huddles in clinging coat
plant rot thick in nostril
lies sated, slit-eyed, docile
curled question marks on damp
tree top silhouette,
white butterfly hangs,
wet leaf above
rivulets run down
dripping blanket of cloud
The Elder Scroll
by Ursula von Ziegler
“ The dike has fallen
Hidden deep into the sea
The newborn's cries, taken by the keen winds
Awaken an old, ancient script
Written long before the man's first kin
Came into the lands of the northern peaks.
She came along
Brave and faithfully
Shattering the foes at her feet
Longing for the reason of her dreams
For she was the last dragonborn
Slayer of the elder fire-breathing steel.”