PITCHFORKS AND PAILS:

Rural, yokel, salt of God´s great earth,

Lived on the farm since day of his birth,

Up at dawn & whistling with the birds,

Goes pitching hay & fodder for his herds.

The milking of cows & the feeding of hens,

Grooming horses & mucking out the pens,

Garbed in old dungarees & an old straw hat,

Old farmer Brown, sun-blessed & rounded fat.

His old sheepdog Jessie, never leaving his side,

On tractor, in fields & mud, he´s forever outside,

In wind, rain, sun & all seasons in their weavings,

Old farmer, overseeing all plantings & retrievings.

 His life, boy & man,  born to old pitchforks & pails,

In whispering fields, where winter wind now wails,

He says he has no need of the crazy outside world,

Where the worst of man is seen & so cruelly unfurled.

SHATTERED GLASS:

Shattered shards washed up, upon silica sands,

Crystal goblet tossed in fury, by the hand of man,

Mirror cracked in reflections, of life´s passing time,

Splintered, hard & shattered, but oh what a shine.

MOTHER´S LAMENT:

The lament of a mother losing a child, no matter the species & no matter the reason, is to be lived & felt to be believed:

OF FEATHER, CLAW AND FUR:

Within wintery mists, of her cold belonging,

The bear, through green woods, softly plodding,

Wary of errant hunter & his plot of sorry baiting,

Down to iced streams of salmon, silver & waiting.

Stealthy moved old wolf, in haunting moonlight,

Soft howling, deep within the throat of midnight,

Dodging traps & upright beasts, all with loaded guns,

Down to prairies old, where the sacred bison runs.

Beyond rock eyries & towards thermals in the skies,

Wings wide spread, of talons, plumes & beady eyes,

Watching ever vigilant, errant tracks of greedy man,

And swooping, down deep towards the fauna´s land.

Thinking earth is his alone, is what leads man to err,

It belongs to feather too, claw & to each beast of fur,

Hunter then becomes the hunted, in the fight to death,

Dying, a work in progress, until earth breathes last breath.

I TASTE-SEE-TOUCH-HEAR:

In the salt of your kiss, I taste your saline tears,

In the pain of your leaving, I taste the icy spears,

In night-time uncertainties, I taste the unfound fears,

In the album of my life, I taste their long-gone years.

In the whispering of the rose, I see the sunrise dawning,

In the sunshine of new breath, I see the golden mornings,

In the cauldron of life, I see miracles of life new-borning,

In the voice of man´s sad erring, I see God´s dire warning.

In the passing of the feather, I touch the hallowed plume,

In the unfurling of the petal, I can touch new velvet bloom,

In the spinning of the planets, I touch the opal silver moon,

In the shedding of the soul, I touch death´s cheek too soon.

In the breathiness of breezes, I hear the Angels breathing,

In the irate voices of the storms, I can the oceans seething,

In the silence of dark nights, I can hear the spiders weaving,

And in closing of life´s door, I can hear my loved ones leaving.

SOFTLY:

Her cheek was softly touched by the feather & the dust,

Her tears gently mingled with elephant’s soft wept musth,

And soft footprints of great beasts lay gently next to hers,

Upon their cruel dying, all beasts to her, bequeath their furs.

She breathed in deep at night, sweet-bush-kissed breezes,

Drinking waters, where gazelles, the long reed softly teases,

As she quietly slept, old dreaming baobabs gave her shelter,

Her blood flowed within her veins, as the waters of the Delta.

The Kalahari winds whispered ancient love songs in her ear,

As Cupid dressed in skins, preps his bow, arrows & long spear,

Aiming for her heart & hopefully, her long & everlasting love,

But she turned her back, following insistent calling of the dove.

At night she laid her head, upon the bosoms of desert dunes,

Her dreams strummed on drums, to the beating of milk moons,

Old cicadas serenading, within her last breath warm & sighing,

Then she felt the throb of Africa, within her soft & gentle dying.