pugilistic hares
exchange hormonal punches
in Wharfedale fields
pugilistic hares
exchange hormonal punches
in Wharfedale fields
Poacher turned game-keeper
A Calendar of Hares
by Anna Crowe.
- At the raw end of winter
the mountain is half snow, half
dun grass. Only when snow
moves does it become a hare.- If you can catch a hare
and look into its eye
you will see the whole world.- That day in March
watching two hares boxing
at the field's edge, she felt
the child quicken.- It is certain Midas never saw a hare
or he would not have lusted after gold.- When the buzzard wheels
like a slow kite overhead
the hare pays out the string.- The man who tells you
he has thought of everything
has forgotten the hare.- The hare's form, warm yet empty.
Stumbling upon it he felt his heart
lurch and race beneath his ribs.- Beset by fears, she became
the hare who hears
the mowers' voices grow louder.- Light as the moon's path over the sea
the run of the hare over the land.- The birchwood a dapple
of fallen gold: a carved hare
lies in a Pictish hoard.- Waking to the cry of a hare
she ran and found the child sleeping.- November stiffens
into December: hare and grass
have grown a thick coat of frost.
Epitaph on a Hare
by William Cowper
Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swiftewd greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman's hallo',
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nurs'd with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confin'd,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.
Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance ev'ry night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.
His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw,
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.
On twigs of hawthorn he regal'd,
On pippins' russet peel;
And, when his juicy salads fail'd,
Slic'd carrot pleas'd him well.
A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he lov'd to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his rump around.
His frisking wa at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear;
But most before approaching show'rs,
Or when a storm drew near.
Eight years and five round rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out all his idle noons,
And ev'ry night at play.
I kept him for his humour's sake,
For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.
But now, beneath this walnut-shade
He finds his long, last home,
And waits inn snug concealment laid,
'Till gentler puss shall come.
He, still more aged, feels the shocks
From which no care can save,
And, partner once of Tiney's box,
Must soon partake his grave.
Ah Yes, as they say "hare today gone tomorrow"
Am Yisrael Chai
Interesting idea for a penance, to be reincarnated as a crow! I could think of alot worse punishments - think dung beetleOriginally Posted by freckle
Am Yisrael Chai
The Dung Beetle Poem
The dungiest of all dung beetles
Is the dung beetle dung dung beetle.
Yes, the dung beetle dung dung beetle.
I said the dung beetle dung dung beetle.
And a dung beetle dung dung beetle
Who eats a dung beetle dung dung beetle's dung
Is a dung beetle dung dung beetle's
Dung beetle dung dung beetle.
Yes, that's the one!
Yes, that's the one!
The author of this 'poem' chose to remain anonymous - I wonder why?
Am Yisrael Chai
a reluctance to become the next poet laurete? tee heeThe Dung Beetle Poem
The dungiest of all dung beetles
Is the dung beetle dung dung beetle.
Yes, the dung beetle dung dung beetle.
I said the dung beetle dung dung beetle.
And a dung beetle dung dung beetle
Who eats a dung beetle dung dung beetle's dung
Is a dung beetle dung dung beetle's
Dung beetle dung dung beetle.
Yes, that's the one!
Yes, that's the one!
The author of this 'poem' chose to remain anonymous - I wonder why?
Probably trying to keep one step ahead of the mental health act.The Dung Beetle Poem
The dungiest of all dung beetles
Is the dung beetle dung dung beetle.
Yes, the dung beetle dung dung beetle.
I said the dung beetle dung dung beetle.
And a dung beetle dung dung beetle
Who eats a dung beetle dung dung beetle's dung
Is a dung beetle dung dung beetle's
Dung beetle dung dung beetle.
Yes, that's the one!
Yes, that's the one!
The author of this 'poem' chose to remain anonymous - I wonder why?
Very enjoyable Hare and Crow related poetry today - thanks all.
A Poem Of Thanks For You All.
The Light of friendship warms me,
Helps me feel strong,
So i can face the day renewed,
I feel one day my dreams may come true,
Cared for by others,
Making sure my first steps are safe,
I know you'll be there in spirit,
Even when i'm alone,
On the fell taking it one step at time,
All together never apart,
I know now because of you,
My strength will grow,
Just as my love for you will too,
Just know that i am,
And always will be your friend.
Love Herakles.
Temporality
I wasn’t ready to come into this world,
but I arrived,
the same weight as a bag of sugar,
so THEY said.
Tiny and beloved by a newly wed ma,
but really I wasn’t ready,
to be separate.
And now,
looking down at my toes,
curling over these 91 year old feet,
my spine in a stupor,
breasts once firm and life giving,
empty sacks dangling from withered flesh,
(I can barely see for goodness sake)
I am still not ready,
to be separate.
I still long for the water,
for the quiet hub hub of my mothers womb,
oh the irony,
after my birth we did not connect,
but now I long for the timelessness
of the tender pool
and the safety of the first unknown.
Instead I flounder,
what do you do when you are terrified,
when you reach the nameless part of fear?
Try and hold on? Grasp at others?
or like Alice
jump in?
Last edited by freckle; 19-03-2010 at 09:48 PM.
Good, postive poem my friend
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