April 23, 2014

 

 

No aggressive nature.

No competitive streak.

The runt of the litter

being far too meek.

 

No facial expression.

No eyes that speak.

No glimpse of life,

from one so weak.

 

Perhaps one too many;

this darling afterthought.

But only God alone

knows how hard he fought.

 

 

 

 

 

That watchful wren

stared long from the tree,

as if to goad me,

because he was free.

 

That stare stayed with me

all evening long

The way he looked;

his menace to prolong.

 

And in the morning

sitting on the gate,

he was waiting and he’d

brought his mate!

 

So I threw to them

bread and porridge oats,

and was rewarded with

high pitched, singing notes.

 

I took this to mean

‘we’ll be coming around,

same time tomorrow,

now a new diner we’ve found!’

 

 

 

 

 

April 18, 2014

 

 

The understanding owl.

The smartest of all birds.

Always the last to speak

with the wisest words.

 

 

 

 

 

April 10, 2014

 

 

 Oh, Hamish darling

I have heard that Sandy

has developed foot rot

and may finish up bandy.

 

It’s just a rumour

I heard it too.

It’s the latest trend

to paint trotters cobalt blue.

 

Sandy picked it up

from her cousins kids

when acting the goat

on a night out on the skids.

 

So don’t fret over her hooves

of bright dolly blue.

It’ll never catch on, and

gives her something to do.

 

I have to cut her some slack,

on her Ewes night out.

I keep my mutton chops shut,

if I know what I’m about.

 

Oh, Hamish darling,

you wise moorside herald.

Did you inherit your tact

from great uncle Gerald?

 

You hack these hills

like a satellite,

yet no mobile network

is there in sight!

 

You flatter my wisdom

but when the swamps came,

I had little choice,

other than, to up my game.

 

And those wind turbines

still a constant pain.

If they fell on our heads

we’d all become insane.

 

Our loyal shepherdess

and chief hill protector,

ever watchful too

with her metal detector.

 

patrols these woods

knowing a little prick

from her magic wand

will do the trick.

 

She also zaps the poachers

who quake with fear,

becoming a tasered melt down

from her lethal spear.

 

It gives us peace of mind

knowing too that the deer,

also our trusted friends,

have nothing to fear.

 

So all things equal

life is pretty good.

We coped with the floods

and the wretched mud.

 

And lambing time

has brought the sun

which for Sandy and I

as grandparents is fun.

 

And with human hikers,

again in our field, we find.

To ‘mint sauce’ jokes once more,

we’ve become resigned.

 

 

March 28, 2014

 

 

To lie down without a pillow

is the best position for the spine.

But it’s really jolly difficult

when you are a porcupine.

 

 

 

February 4, 2014

 

 

Each night I pray

that they will come

and tip-toe on my bed.

And give me solace

like once they did.

But sadly, they are dead.

 

I pray that they will

come to me, with their

deafening scream.

And say ‘me-owwww,

we’re back again’.

But it’s a far off dream.

 

I pray that they will

sit on me, forcing me

to keep still.

Or be my constant shadow;

tripping me endlessly,

when I turn around at will.

 

I pray that they will

think of me, as now

in heaven they reign.

If only the years I had

with them, could come

around again.

 

 

January 29, 2014

 

 

It’s hard for me to speak,

just as it is for you.

I nurse your heartache

and feel so helpless too.

 

No pearls of wisdom

ever seem right,

at this sorry time

of unforeseen plight.

 

No words of sorrow

can I at this point convey,

without a lump in my throat,

though, for Merlin, I pray.

 

Your hurt runs deep,

your suffering is raw.

No more can you stroke

his soft, gentle paw.

 

So alive was he,

and then within a week,

he rendered us all,

unable to speak.

 

And although you know

you must carry on,

and love those still needy,

left behind, now he is gone..

 

And though your heart is huge,

and there’s a special place,

where Merlin lives on forever,

as his memory you embrace.

 

And in time when your pain

will be easier to bear,

as you sense his presence,

near to his favourite chair.

 

 And just like all the others

who have gone before,

you’ll feel enriched by the knowledge,

he’s laid to rest near your door.

 

But all this doesn’t help you now,

for your tears refuse to dry,

and even when mourning’s complete,

you’ll still ask the question ‘Why’?

 

Merlin didn’t deserve his end,

he’d been full of life at seven,

But God needed him by his side,

so took his soul up to heaven.

 

 

 

 

 

He was a cat who voiced his opinion.

He would screech to show his dismay.

The most bossiest of cats in all the land,

was the one who once came to stay.

 

He patrolled the house like an army major.

He had all our nerves in disarray.

A more disgruntled cat was there never,

than enchantingly gorgeous Mr Dubonnet

 

 

 

January 12, 2014

 

 

A cat; a crutch

in times of need.

A dog; a walk

when he brings his lead.

A parrot; a copy

of the wife.

A  goldfish; a pal

who gets on with his life.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s gone. It’s dead. It is kaput.

In a careless moment it got under my foot.

I heard it crunch, it was half asleep.

But it didn’t suffer, so you mustn’t weep.

 

 

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