WILD WORDS

Blind the bat was.

Aware of his surroundings,

He was.

Tells his friends to watch out,

He did.

Sounds he makes cannot be heard

By the humans . . .

But the dogs will hear it.

Full of movement,

And gentle current,

I glide on and on.

Full of creatures,

With fantastic features,

Graceful as a swan.

Full of everlasting silence,

Not a ripple, all suspense,

Calm and quiet and still.

Bits of weed floating about,

The rippling trail of a trout,

Behind the reeds, a duck’s bill.

However changing my banks may be,

I’m always the same, down to the sea,

All the same, however far I go.

It’s all the same down to my pit,

Whether dark or whether lit,

The sunset uses me for its show.

Sometimes as calm as the summer’s sky,

Sometimes with rough–topped waves I lie,

Sometimes perfect images are reflected.

Little homes in my sides,

Are sometimes washed by the tides,

But mostly they’re protected.

Dear forest, how did you grow such lush trees?

Their flowers are so magnificent and bright,

Calling from a distance a swarm of buzzing bees.

The tall, brave guardians protecting all the animals at night.

Dear forest, I love the scent of your pine.

The refreshing smell that fills the whole forest with delight,

Gives me the warm welcoming feeling of Christmas time.

This delightful scent will rock all the animals to sleep tonight.

Dear forest, I can hear the leaves crunching under my feet.

The soothing tunes of sweet–sounding birds,

Finally make my heart complete.

A special feeling that I can’t describe in words.

Dear forest, thank you for the treasures I found.

While I was walking along the stream,

I tasted the sweet, delicious blueberries from the ground.

It felt like a wonderful dream.

Dear child, I’m pleased that you feel this way.

I’m the most beautiful forest you can find,

Please bring your dearest friends to play.

I trust you because you are caring and kind.

The wind is whistling sweetly through my soft, smooth hair,

I’m in a world of benevolence,

Full of love and care

I sit down on a dewy carpet of green,

Listening to the verdant foliage swaying tranquilly beside me,

How our world urges and beseeches and yearns to be respected and seen

I’m feeling calm on a sea of serene,

Connecting with the beauty of the world,

I can hear nature’s voice talking soothingly to me

Billowy clouds racing and running in the sky,

Trying to reach the skyline,

Why must you run so rapidly, why oh why!

Every day you travel our beloved Earth,

Do you never get tired?

Come, and sit with me by the warm, comforting hearth

You are a large, fluffy shawl

Loving and cherishing the blue, gleeful sky

And when the weather gets bad, you begin to bawl

All your cloud friends begin to miserably cry

Your ubiquitous presence reassures me,

That I’m safe from all harm,

That I will always be in your invisible arms

No matter what the world will do,

I will always be on your side,

Do not fear as I will always be open to hear,

In me you can confide

I cut through the air, flapping and hovering

Like a kestrel, so man calls me hawk.

He also calls me elephant, for in my formative days

I bore a trunk, but I crawled and didn’t walk.

I am both, I am neither.

I am deilephila elpenor:

I am a moth.

You’ll see me seldom for my domain is the night,

But as I cut through the silver lunar ray

Admire my gorgeous coat of olive green and pink tourmaline.

I work as hard on the night shift as the butterflies by day.

I am a midnight pollinator,

To a greener world a contributor:

I am a moth.

I strive for the light and aim for the moon,

But tethered just feet from the earth, I fail too soon.

Just as my friend the Poet pens my tale black on white,

I too am a poet producing art on an inky canvas through the night.

I’m an ornament of darkness,

I am an Elephant Hawk-moth.

Yes, I am a moth.

The blackbird’s amber beak sings

Until it starts to flap its wings.

Down from the nest it soars to the ground

Until a juicy worm can be found.

It goes back to the nest to feed its young ones

Then goes for its own snack: the frogs in the ponds.

Whether you’re a sneaky blackbird or an elegant swan

A place in nature is where you belong.

In the kitchen, isolated, there sits a little bee.

A bouncing black and yellow shiver, a terrified ecstasy.

The queen’s command, a mantra, an echoing cassette.

The bee indoctrinated, wanting nothing else instead.

The kitchen door swings open, hanging there ajar.

A bald man walks in squinting. He sees him from afar.

Their eyes lock like marksmen, a Wild Western hippodrome.

The bee a form of colour, the man is monochrome.

The window is swung open. The war horn rings out true.

The bee is struck with all the might and flutters down confused.

It looks up to the man, his master he’d met his match.

The bee dodged another swing at him, yes, avoids a sweeping snatch.

The bee shatters in realisation, it knows its final plight.

A sick Machiavellian gambit, it’s time for one last flight.

He gears up for the charge, he brandishes his joust.

Enough to make anything quiver, a mammoth to a mouse.

He launches his attack, warfare at its most brutal.

A mutually assured killing blow and it fractures, landing truthful.

The bee decays to the ground. The queen’s words still in his ears.

A loch to soften the fall. A tiny sea of tears.

The man stands over the bee a giant, there he towers

the bee wasn’t meant to die,

he was just meant to help the flowers.

Wings on the wind, beak in the air,

Soaring along the sky without a care.

Green grass meadows and fields with flowers,

Swaying trees with large leafy bowers.

White cotton clouds and bright blue sky,

Looking down below as I fly.

Buzzing bees and fluttering butterflies,

Flying along without hows or whys.

The world is a calm peaceful place,

With space for every animal race.

But … what happened? What changed? To the world I knew.

What changed it into a place of cities anew?

What made it into a grey world of gloom?

What changed it into a place of animal doom?

Humans.

They came along with their big machines

And flattened all our lovely trees.

With nowhere to perch but their big towers,

Us birds began to hide and cower.

We fled to places green and wide,

The beautiful, healthy countryside.

But slowly there was less of this,

And our population began to go amiss…

But there were some humans who still cared,

The nice ones amongst – the kind ones who shared.

And they helped us spread our wings,

They gave us lots of lovely things.

Like food and baths and perch stands that were ours,

Mini houses to hide in during rain showers.

We found hidden gems like forests and woods,

And we began to increase like birds should…

We need your help – your strength, your power,

And give back to nature who helped you to flower.

We need the people who made this pollution,

To give back and help fight for a solution.

Lovely leaves fall off the trees.

Ellie likes hard conkers.

Are there any more flowers in the garden?

Very rainy weather is good for the soul.

Every lovely, large cloud shadows the autumn weather.

Singing amongst the dry leaves.

Here on this grassy hill, children often run up to me, and climb me.

Oh, my bark is shattering from all those children.

In autumn, my leaves go red and orange,

then wind blows, and it seems that I’m on fire.

Conkers fall off me, and I watch children tear off the spiky green shells that protect the round, shiny, brown seed inside.

I see dirt rumble, then a plant sprouts,

like revealing the bones of a newly discovered bird.

Birds?

I love the woodpecker that makes sweet music by tapping on my trunk, and the ants that shake while the woodpecker taps.

The worms run through tunnels in soil below my roots,

and the grass sways this way and that.

Then in winter I love the sound of my leaves dropping off one by one, landing on the floor.

I love feeling the blossom grow in spring, how it changes to pink, or white, like a firework show.

Then my leaves turn neon green,

and I enjoy my clothes being back on.

That’s the life of being a tree.

A beautiful tree once belonged to the meadows.

Its beauty parallels the highest goddess in the lands, exceeding the beauty of life.

It would catch one’s eye from afar, drawing them in.

Yet only once you were close, would you see its scars.

Its flaws littered its face.

It did not have a smooth trunk, but rather one covered in spikes.

Rather it being a beauty, it looked as if it was a bush missing its leaves.

One could no longer hug the tree, or search in its stump for fairies.

The tree was lonely.

Pushing away what it loved so dearly, touch.

It began to grow leaves, hoping to catch the searching eye of beauty.

When one finally came the tree readily cleaned themselves up.

Its happiness at finally not being alone could compare to the brightness of the sun.

The tree looked down and found its spikes missing.

The branches that once shielded them from hands now lay bare on the ground, no longer mesmerizing one’s eye with their enhancing movements.

The leaves that once covered its harsh exterior, that would devour consciousness with its dance, lay upon the grass, brown and dead.

A caterpillar can be seen crawling across one.

The dark wood flowing from its roots to tip once hugged millions of times, bare to the eye.

The scars embedded into its trunk from little ones who laughed and smiled while creating memories on its arms and legs.

The tree smiled as it took its final sway.

Regret began filling the empty stump, all that was all that was left of the tree once known as the goddess in the meadows.

The once–shaded and quiet grass was now filled with sound and light.

Sun beaming across a face sitting atop, the stump thought, ‘I am no longer alone, I have a purpose’.

I’m an old tree at the withering age of 93,

My height is the strong inside me,

The thickness of my trunk stabilizes me in the face of the wind,

My leaves give up hopelessly whooshed up by the gusts.

Worms tickling my roots,

As I see my family,

It reminds me to feel free,

And enjoy life with unlimited glee.

A human admires me below,

A gale blows,

Then falls a leaf down below,

The human trod on the leaf crunching it into pieces:

The human says ‘Oh my,

Why is nature so beautiful?’

The tree creaks in response,

‘As long as we are undisturbed,

It will continue on that way’.

The Echium stands tall, towering above the garden

Its flowers giant columns with bees buzzing around them

Harvesting the nectar from the flowers

Its roots anchoring it in place and gathering water

The massive leaves shield plants from the sun above

And also harvest its rays

Echiums protect us as well

Helping our heart, brain, and skin stay healthy

Sadly, they’re not good for all

Harming horses with their toxins

The Echium’s height can be compared to a giant

Looming over the garden

Its stature is immense in the summer

But in winter they fall

Dying by the frost–ridden winds

But if they survive the cold snowy winter

The sun will come out and the bees will come back

And feast on the nectar of the determined plant

Echiums are a plant of determination

But when the time comes they perish

Falling to the ground forever

Echiums live a short life of only two years

A life filled with ease and joy in the summer

But sadness and determination in the winter

Before finally falling silent.

The storm is a prowling jaguar searching for prey,

Vicious and violent,

It shows no mercy.

It streaks through the streets, a bolt of lightning,

A dark destructive devil.

The air quivers with the heavy paws of the jaguar,

The dangerous, deadly jaguar!

It tears at the streets with its invisible claws.

With his menacing glance,

He could shatter glass.

Dangerous and deadly,

Completely untameable.

Ferocious, frantic, and fierce,

The dangerous, deadly jaguar!

The trees sway in the soothing breeze,

Leaves muttering, birds singing.

Trees stand tall like proud giants with wild hair.

Some leaves are orange, red, and brown,

Whilst other trees don’t rest,

And stay green all through the long, cold winter.

Many trees have brown but beautiful trunks,

But the unique ones are a silvery white,

As if they are made from silver, they shine in the light of the sun.

Lots of trees are small, new to this world.

But the truly remarkable ones stand tall and grand,

Many years old.

But the young ones will thrive,

And will stay to help this planet thrive,

For many, many years to come.

There is another sky,

Ever serene and fair,

And there is another sunshine,

Though it be darkness there.

Never mind faded forests,

Never mind silent fields,

Here is a little forest,

Whose leaf is ever green.

Here is a brighter garden,

Where not frost has been,

In its unfading flowers

I hear the bright bee hum,

Into my garden come!

I walk down my street, observing the environment

through the crisp morning autumnal air,

I see the muddy tire tracks indented into the mud

by passing trucks.

I see the thriving ecosystem through the thorny bushes,

glinting with the morning’s dew drops,

The pitter–patter of tiny rain droplets dance off my raincoat.

The earthy aroma of wet grass and freshly ploughed fields

infiltrates my senses,

As I wander down our country lane

I take in the relaxing sounds of cooing pigeons in the trees,

Squirrels can be seen gathering their nuts for the winter season.

Later in the day, while catching a breath of fresh air,

I observe the winter hedgehog wandering our garden,

I can also say that I see the fish in summer

sunbathing in the heat of the warm sun,

And how I see them rise to the surface of the pond

to enjoy the warm sunshine,

And of course, their large serving of fish flakes.

This is a poem about a bird,

That you’ve quite probably never heard,

But this certain bird could not fly,

He just drooped and gave a sigh,

‘Oh how I wish to be the best,

Surely I must go on a quest,

Yes that will prove to everyone,

That even I can have some fun,

You know what, I feel like a nerd doing this,

I’ll just go back to my lovely Miss,

Somehow I feel a bit more jolly,

What! Oh my! I’m flying! Good golly!’

So this certain bird flew,

Straight up into the blue.

I sat there in awe,

Powerless I froze,

We stared upon each other,

Nervous I shook,

My suspicious mind was heavily focused,

My body tense and tight,

While I slowly relaxed with breathlessness,

I was wrapped up in an intense trance,

Where I kneeled upon its honour on repeat,

It crept up slowly but surely taking over,

Possessing my whole body,

I was pinned in like a target from a fierce predator,

I felt instantly like I switched to a prey,

Like roles were reversed,

This is hierarchy to the test,

Way to box an innocent in,

How can he tell if there is guilt inside me,

Not every human is so pure.

Spring is here, sheep ready to rear,

the sun glows near to the lush green field.

The farm erupts with bleating,

crunching grass, my siblings eating

their first ever meals, crouched beside our mother’s heels

within the safety of Hemlock Hill Farm.

We love to leap, us little lambs,

we dance and sing till dusk slips down.

Our legs may be knobbly, but they’ll take us far

like springs they fling us, we’ll caress the stars.

And when our limbs begin to tire,

when an evening blaze sets the sky on fire,

the farmer’s dog barks a sharp ‘Goodnight!’

and we snuggle down

in the safety of Hemlock Hill Farm.

We live in such a lovely place,

our field full of buttercups, our trots full of grace.

But there’s something I’ve noticed these past few days

that sets my little heart a–race.

Something’s changing in our farm –

a sinister thing pierces through the calm.

For suddenly the Man who feeds us

begins to visit with a leash underarm.

He surveys the field, strolls past the mothers

spots my prancing sisters and brothers.

His welly–boots bristle the grass underfoot,

his lips flick up in a smile:

Perhaps he’ll give us a nice grain pile.

But instead, the Man looks us up and down,

selects the plumpest lamb to be found.

He lures them in with a treat–filled hand, then ushers them across the land.

This is odd, don’t you think?

It feels as though I’m missing a link.

I miss my dear siblings, though I’m sure that they’re well

and I’m trying my best not to dwell.

So till I meet them again, back to sweet farm life with the cows and the hens.

For we love to leap, us little lambs,

we dance and prance till dusk slips down.

And while we’re young and bright,

our bleats liven up the starry night

in the safety of Hemlock Hill Farm.