WILD WORDS

Have you ever wondered while staring into the sky,

What’s beyond that giant swirl of blue and white?

That thought is big, so large, you’d let out a sigh,

But never stopped thinking about what’s hiding above our homeland.

‘A castle of clouds’ some people may think,

Others would say ‘A ship soaring through the sky, but which would never sink’,

‘A God’s paradise’ most would declare,

None are right but none are wrong either.

Birds can enter this bewitching spot,

Even though we’ve tried helicopters, planes, spaceships, and more.

Of course, we’ve entered space, but there’s a place in between, which we know nothing of,

There’s a sort of energy not letting us through, like a giant knot,

Holding us back and not letting us pull through.

Though the only difference between the birds and we,

Is that they are free, and we’re held hostage in our own souls.

Birds are free,

But as free as them,

We only can wish to be!

The sun beats down

Parches lush land

Burns green grass brown

Scorches white sand

The wind blusters

Uproots tall trees

Smashes shutters

Sets free light leaves

Torrential rain

Soaks one and all

Gorges the drain

Drenches the mall

Snowstorm coats white

Roads and rooftops

All within sight

Even hilltops

Brilliant lightning

Dazzles the moor

Thunder rumbles

To a fierce roar

Heatwave blazes

Degrees rocket

Cold snap freezes

Celsius plummet

Extreme weather

Wreaks much havoc!

No more dither

Act now, don’t mock!

The river of calm creeps

Below the waterfall of wisdom

Like a strand of hair flowing in the wind

The river of gossip glides

Towards the library of lies

Like a comet burning through the sky

The river of friendship flows

Under the bridge of beauty

Like a rainbow’s curve

The river of thought turns

Past the school of success

Like a moth to a flame

The river of tails twists

By the theatre of talent

Like an arrow to a bullseye

Weaving varnish of watercolour; streaks of sandy, synthetic texture

layering coarsely, foliose phantoms amalgamate unto a pulpous, crude oil;

its bronze caricature conceals the chronicling webs of interlocks

beneath its sun–baked, flaky lobe; windswept by a reverberating howl.

Fibrous remains enclose the optical senses.

Timbered fragrance deafens the verdant incense.

Distant crumplings conjoin, contour, condense,

camouflaging the coal–black carapace adorning

the beetle. Its herculean maw slits the interweaving

leaves and sprig. Its insurmountable legs pushing

against the frigid tar. Antennae drawn, the Beetle

waits, as ripples of crinkling tapers unto needle.

Sporadic throaty squawking, the sudden basso

squelching, with every pause the gash gets deeper.

The earth now shakes. Before the beetle yields,

seismic waves of blazing light burn through the veins of litter,

crashing against the reverent beak, unyielding to the winding ramparts;

the ascension of crackling infernos suppress, entrap the beetle.

Collapsing intertwining sinews bow down to the Crow’s rearing snout:

embellished by the radiance the Crow rotates its crooked beak,

its single wide–eyed lens reflects a shrivelled silhouette

and with a single strike the beetle was cut down.

Mires comprise these depthless

walls. Smoothen utter ruination

encapsulates the near horizons.

Far–off monuments stay breathless,

With bruised and rotten gelid flesh.

From these speckled cracks, death

succumbs, as ashy, pulsating worms

erode, remould, revitalise the monoliths.

As weaving varnish of watercolour shifts, new textures are stitched.

Networks of speckled fungi enshrouded by a mass of poison ivy.

A fainthearted hare, a gargantuan oak tree, a foxy weevil, an owl.

Countless portraiture, each stroke evolved from a previous painting,

make up the chronicling webs of interlocks found within the litter.

The brown of a leaf in autumn was such a shade,

That no paint could replicate.

By morning sun it caught the light,

And dulled it down to gold.

By night a silhouette drenched in pearl,

Lined silver by the stars.

One morning, while the clean–cut grass,

Sat limply under dew.

A jagged corpse, scarred by saw,

Protruded from the mud.

Twisted roots clutched at dry soil,

Splintered bark scattered.

And the leaf, now bleached black by mud,

Sat neatly swept against a wall.

If I had fins

I would notice an octopus skuttling soundly like a mouse on the floor, darting all around.

If I had fins

I would listen to fish crunching coral noisily, like walking on autumn leaves at sunrise.

If I had fins

I would taste transparent salt quickly jumping on my tongue, like bubbles popping in my mouth.

If I had fins

I would stroke the fish that whirl around me like a piece of seaweed spinning in the ocean.

If I had fins

I would smell fish that are like a rainbow of scents dancing all around me.

If I had fins

I would dream of walking on a sandy desert with lots of dust powder all around me as I stroll everywhere it lies.

Leopard jumps out of the jungle following the young gazelle,

Echoing growl of mighty power suddenly is ready to devour.

Opening the hunt, the buffaloes grunt hoping not to be lunch,

Prey is set, ready to be dead after the signal is sent.

After the hunt, dinner has come just before dark arrives,

Ready to eat, leopard has a seat in his nice cosy banyan tree.

Dark has arrived and night thrives as leopard sighs, and shall say goodbye until the next day arrives.

Yesterday, I was rolling down a grassy hill and found it very hard to breathe.

I saw grass, nothing, sky, everything.

(Grass, nothing, sky, everything)

I saw green, black, blue, white.

(Green, black, blue, white)

I saw autumn, winter, spring, summer.

(Autumn, winter, spring, summer)

I saw wake up, school, home, sleep.

(Wake up, school, home, sleep)

I saw children, teenagers, adults, elderly.

(Children, teenagers, adults, elderly)

It was only when I stopped rolling and stood up, I could see the whole picture, all at once.

All sides to the circle.

A friendly circle.

And suddenly, it wasn’t so hard to breathe any more.

This friendly creature only wants a life

But people are killing them with a knife

Giant or red, treat them with respect

Who knows what will happen next

Old or young, let them be alive

We need them to survive

Bamboo is their main source of food

Cutting trees will not help them through

Only two thousand left

Who knows what happened to the rest

In the winter, they are at their best

Fighting, playing, or having a rest

Mountains are where they live

Endangered by the things we give

Pooping forty times a day

Mating season is in May

Five or six feet, don’t be scared

Please let them be spared

Panda, panda, fluffy like a pillow

Soon there will be zero

Let them live or they will die

Let them survive

Hop, hop, hop,

my ears twitch and flop.

Listening to the autumn leaves rustling on the trees,

my soft fur is tickled by the breeze.

Eat, eat, eat,

the green grass is so sweet.

High above me the colourful birds fly,

as the fluffy clouds roll slowly across the sky.

Sniff, sniff, sniff,

I think that I catch a whiff.

Is there something amongst the moss–covered rocks?

It’s a FOX!

RUN, RUN, RUN,

end of the fun.

Ears upright,

full of fright.

Hide, hide, hide,

it is dangerous outside.

Safe in this burrow that I prepared,

for when I’m scared.

Peep, peep, peep,

from the safety of the deep.

The fox is not about,

it’s time to come out.

Play, play, play,

for the rest of the day.

Listening to the autumn leaves rustling on the trees,

my soft fur is tickled by the breeze.

As I set off on my ride,

I knew this wouldn’t be an easy stride,

The crops whisked,

The wind hissed,

All into a sudden flurry of motion

which spread into the distance.

Further on, I encountered a deer,

Whose face soon swelled with fear.

Trees stood like soldiers,

Looming over like falling boulders,

preparing to fall onto the waving crops below.

Finally, the crops mellowed,

While the wind still bellowed,

Autumnal leaves swayed,

As if they’d been betrayed,

Making all the loafing trees burst into life.

As the sun set,

The land and sky met,

Pink and purple spread,

Closely followed by tints of red,

Creating a concoction of colours

which lit up the ashy sky.

The valley is teeming with life.

Petals are unfurling,

Back from the dead and awash with colour.

Rosebuds are breaking free from the turf,

As the trees yawn and stretch,

Waking from their slumber,

Injecting even more colour into the scene.

Wherever I go,

The birdsongs and faint chirping sounds hang in the air,

Plants of all kinds bursting out of the ground,

It is like nature is being reborn.

Twittering baby birds hatching from speckled eggs,

Feeling their first ever morning breeze,

While tweeting heavenly music for my ears.

Soft white blankets of powdery snow start disappearing from the valley,

Not to be seen again until the next year.

The land is crawling with life,

Sprouting plants from every inch of it.

Candy floss clouds dotting across the sky,

As rays of glorious sunlight burst through them.

The fresh clean air has no curious whiff or putrid pong,

The valley has more colours than any city could possibly have.

It has mint, arsenic and emerald trees, reaching for the sky.

Cool shades of turquoise, teal and sapphire glisten, like jewels in the icy water.

The landscape glimmers and gleams,

Looking like a delicate, creamy chocolate bar.

Twittering in their nest,

Are my baby brothers, feasting on juicy treats,

As I take my turn to watch over them,

Whilst watching the valley of life.

I feel calm

Falling can be quite daunting but it’s no harm

To me the world is big

Even a tiny twig

I can taste the trees’ whispering leaves

Sadly, rain showers are brief

You can see us as you waken

The sun is what we have taken

We will drip drip drop

Us, the raindrops, are at the top

We are not only fun to play in

But we make music if you bring out a tin

Leaves fall as we drop

We make calming noises like plop

Your grass grows because of us

So next time it rains – don’t put up a fuss

Flying high in the sky,

Without a care in the world,

Chirping back and forth,

Rhythm by rhythm.

All together waiting patiently,

For the ground to soften,

All day and night playing and flying,

Freely in the sky,

Among the clouds,

How free they are.

Psst!

They would call,

The gentle ushering to join them in the gala,

To express one another

Through the forms of dance and song.

Psst!

They would call,

The temptations they would break,

To lure you to seek the unknown,

Through the forms of fascination and uncertainty.

Some had always thought you were crazy,

But no,

You knew the callings of The Forest.

You had dreamt of dancing with the doe again,

You had dreamt of watching the woodland mice live their little lives –

Stepping in the crisp waters on a fine,

Midsummer night’s eve

Was all you wanted to do again.

You had longed to be transported back to a place,

That had felt like a home you’ve lived in for years,

Even though it is a place you’ve rarely been.

There is a tree in the park

That is very old and wise

It has seen the world change a lot

From wars to peace and back

It sees the sun shining through the leaves

Making shapes on the grass

It sees the seasons come and go

From green to red and yellow

It sees the birds sitting on its branches

Making homes for their babies

It sees the people walking by

Some happy, some sad, some angry

It knows how old it is by counting

The rings inside its wood

It sees the leaves fall and grow again

Like a circle of life and luck

It hears the wind whispering

Through its leaves, like a soft voice

It hears the birds singing

Making the air happy and loud

It hears the people talking quietly

Telling each other secrets and dreams

It feels close to the natural world

A part of the music of life

It feels the roughness of its skin

Showing its age and power

It feels the breeze touching it gently

On its branches, like a friend

It feels the plants and moss growing

On its body, like a coat

It shows its own feeling through touch

Roots deep in the ground, holding the earth

Branches high in the sky, giving shade

It smells the dirt of the forest

Full of life and death

It smells the flowers in spring

A sign of new life and love

It smells the dryness of fallen leaves in fall

A sign of time and change

It links the smells to the seasons

A memory of life’s renewal

It knows its role in the ecosystem

In a way that is hard to explain

As a giver of food and shelter

For animals big and small

As a keeper of the land

Saving it from harm and waste

As a sign of strength and wisdom

Making people admire and respect

It thinks about its own umwelt

And its place in the natural world

It sees, hears, feels, smells, and knows

Things that people may never learn

It says thank you for its quiet life

And the things it teaches

To those who watch and listen

The old tree of the park

We are fluffy, we are cold,

We see the planes, helicopters and wave at the hot air balloons.

We sway side to side, back and forth, and appear in different shapes like hearts, ducks and water melons too.

We send water down to every living thing,

Including plants, trees, rivers and seas.

We let the sunrays through just a little – and sometimes a lot.

We can be heavy, light, wispy or bright,

Grey, black, white, and sometimes low and in full sight.

The most magical part is when our water partners with the sun to make a rainbow.

Water blue

Grass green

you and me:

trapped, stuck, imprisoned, out of luck

yuck, I’m just muck

that’s how I must feel.

Water blue

Grass green

sad face, that’s

the case. I had a

happy start but

a sad end, it’s like

a never–ending bend, why?

Why me, why is it to be?

Water blue, eyes blurry

it makes my brain feel swirly.

Water blue

Grass green

a tear, it represents my fear, like

a wave of emotion pushing me into

a cave, rushing me to worry, not letting

me, be me.

I’ve watched 1,000 people love

And 1,000 lovers die

I’ve watched 1,000 leaves dance through the air

And watched 1,000 lovers dance for the last time

I’ve watched the seasons change

1,000 summers, winters, autumns and springs

I’ve heard 1,000 tears for ringing church bells

And 1,000 tears for wedding rings

I’ve seen 1,000 tears of sadness

And yet, 1,000 more years of joy

I’ve heard 1,000 people sit and cry

But I’ve seen them all heal over time

Then the seasons will change again

And I’ll watch 1,000 new emotions

Soon, my 1,000 years will end

And my memories will become folk-tales

i get high on his love

as i feel our energy move

my breath is his, pushed out

never to return

from the power he exhumes

as my layers begin to open

my skin now paper thin

can you hear me,

need me?

as my flowers turn and twist?

as my dry green eyes look upon for rain?

as i get high on his love

once again –

my follicles sway

and branch arms droop

his love was too strong and the sky is now gone

for you is all i see

i, your queen

to you

the writhing bee,

what could you have done to stop the love he forced upon me?