Interesting Link

http://www.paulgbaker.co.uk/

The Smile on the Face of the Fox

I strode the length of Cobbler’s lane,
Over Flashers Field I crossed,
Lush green gave way to rust and ash
From Ironworks sadly lost.
I scaled the grey embankment there,
My way a metalled rage
Of drams enmeshed in twisted rail,
Ditched by a long gone age.


Arriving at the arid ridge
I sensed an acrid smell,
A fox had climbed the other side,
We froze, both in a spell.
As close apart we calmly stood
With glistening eyes of gold,
He deeply searched my fragile soul
For mercy to behold?


I raised my gun, but took no aim,
He was, by far, too near,
He dropped his head, but stood his ground
And showed no sign of fear.
I could not kill that noble beast
And that he knew so well,
It was he who was in full control
As he sauntered down the dell.


Later as I tilled the dell
I saw him waiting there,
Reclining at the place we met-
Not a grave, I’d no cross to bear,
I leapt down from my iron steed
And climbed the ashen hill,
But making no attempt to move,
He tried my strength of will.
As I took his dare and moved on him,
His face curved in a smile,
As if to say farewell my friend,
Then loped down Lover’s mile.


That evening, late, I checked the yard,
I could not hear a sound,
Then I saw my twelve white hens
All Strewn about the ground.
Mangled guts and severed heads
Lay in a slime of blood,
Feathers floating in moonlight,
Phosphorescent in the mud.
Then I saw him standing there,
Grim form against the moon,
That raised its head, howled high to heaven
A deathly dirge. …... A terrifying tune.


Next day I cleared the sorry waste,
And closed the silent run,
I pondered why a man or beast
Considered murder so much fun.
With heavy heart I turned away,
And looked towards the gate,
There, to my surprise, he’d come to gloat
Or, maybe, my anger to inflate.
I raised the gun but aimed above
The cruel destructive brute
He stood still awhile….. then flashed a smile
Our bond betrayed …..its end….. absolute.

Al Queda, the Insensitive, inhouse,resident Cat

Then there was Al Queda
The insensitive, in-house, resident cat
Who, chased by a dog at least two feet tall,
Found itself vertically spread-eagled
On a rug mat suspended in Polly’s front hall.
Oh why did he take that treacherous trail
With such unwavering pace?
And why did he chance his fragile paw
To confront the brute-whisker to hairy face?
These were the thoughts of the delectable Poll
As she daintily tripped through the length of her hall
And who, with shock and surprise, was heard to cry,
“Al Queda! Get down!. Get down from that bloody wall!
Singularly scared to his sensitive core,
Al Queda, felt that it was time to go,
So with the consummate skills of a circus artiste,
He landed on the back of the waiting beast.
With claws dug deep in the sad creature’s hide
The dog, the cat, set off on a hell bound ride.

The Pre-emptive Blackbird

Blackbird flew out of the sun,
Small boy corked his plastic gun,
Blackbird taking aim from high
Blithely shat in small boy’s eye.

At early dawn the chorus sang
To praise him for a job well done

The Green Fuse Blown

Arrayed in springtime apparel,
Blackbird, confused and constrained,
Struts his waking nightmare through
A season of mellow fruitlessness.


Robin sporting his prim waistcoat,
Signals red to cry
In confused ferocity,
“Stop! Enter not this territory.”


The tiny crocus in modesty
Dances with chill breezes to bloom
Alongside nature’s seasonal error,
The inconsequential Nerine.


Alas. Green nature can but stand aside and groan,
For Dylan’s green fuse has sadly blown

Melodious Robin

Never still seldom at rest,
Eye aglitter cold as ice,
Melodious robin, welcoming guest.

Boisterous bird, bright red of breast,
Miming songs, gentle and precise,
Never still seldom at rest.

Men with you toil, but don’t molest,
You a tenant of paradise,
Melodious robin, welcoming guest.

Fluted notes, fluent, trilled with zest,
Perfected musical device,
Never still seldom at rest.

Beneath that throbbing chest
A heart of steel, powerful vice,
Melodious robin, welcoming guest.

Was it on the cross that Jesus blest
You with his blood of sacrifice?
Never still seldom at rest,
Melodious robin, welcoming guest.

One for Sorrow (The Misfortunate Magpie)

Chattering, checkering, hideous din,
One fretful magpie, acrobatic on wing,
Hard out of hell, arch devil at dawn
Relentlessly made claim to my innocent lawn.
From that moment on there was no peace or rest,
No creature safe on ground or nest,
‘til splat, entrails arranged on the welcoming mat,
Was cock magpie killed by al Qaida,
The insensitive, in-residence, terrorist cat?


All the birds of the air
Danced and jigged when they heard
Of the timely death of the meddling bird,
The welcoming death of the tiresome bird.


Then high in the elm was clearly heard.
The imperious song of a wise old bird,
”That mire on the mat you plainly see
Could well have been you or even me!”

And this promptly closed the bird-brained spree.