Sunday, 29 March 2015

Squashed Frog Rondeau Redouble

I hopped along the stoney road at night.
This was my whole raison d'etre, all I'd planned.
The time had come and everything seemed right.
I saw my love hold out his tiny hand
He swore his love,"I'm yours dear to command."
"Then climb aboard, I love you at first sight."
I crouched down low and rested on my feet, outfanned.
I hopped along the stoney road at night.
For spring, and love were here for my delight
And underneath my toes was mud and sand.
I felt no fear beneath the silvery light.
This was my whole raison d'etre, all I'd planned.
I knew my duty though I did not understand
How urgent was the need to act: inspite
Of all my instincts, time slowed down and nature's scheme was grand.
The time had come and everything seemed right.
Then on an instant all my skin felt tight
The weight upon my back was more than I could stand
And then I burst. This was my final sight:
I saw my love hold out his tiny hand,
I saw the look of terror which I could not stand,
I saw a car retreat into the night,
And then no more and time seemed to expand,
And then my soul took flight
I hopped along.

Saturday, 28 March 2015

Squashed Frog Villanelle


I hopped along the stoney road at night
And waited for my little froggie man.
The time had come to spawn. The moon was bright.

I waited in the eerie, silver light
I knew he’d come, for this was nature’s plan:
I hopped along the stoney road at night.

He climbed up on my back, I felt no fright,
He was so thin with such a tiny span:
The time had come to spawn.  The moon was bright.

Some other girls close by started to fight,
I wasted no more time, I almost ran;
I hopped along the stony road at night

And then it seemed that something wasn’t right;
My love had gone:  the shit had hit the fan.
The time had come to spawn.  The moon was bright.

He laid squashed flat beneath a bike, his plight
The same as many fellow men.  Oh damn!
I hopped along the stoney road at night.

The time had come to spawn.  The moon was bright.

Squashed Frog Sonnet

I hopped along the stoney road, the dark
Black night was silent and I knew that soon
I 'd see my love beneath the crescent moon.
I sang a little (something dull by Bach)
And listened to the other frogs remark
Upon the season's weather as my tune
Chugged on and grew quite riveting, 'no lark
More blithe than me.'  No lark more deaf and blind.
I thought it was my love at first, but no
What touched me was not his amphib'ous hand
He did not speak nor climb up from behind.
It was a car that mounted me and so
I lay, squashed flat and ground into the sand.

Saturday, 14 March 2015

Libertarian Cat

My first life was nasty,
I didn’t live long.
My second was brutish,
I did much that was wrong.
My third life was short,
But not sweet, like a song.
My fourth life was better,
I was fed and grew strong.
My fifth life was hasty,
The sixth was quite Pooterish,
As I grew self-important,
Eating all that was tasty,
And came to ‘belong’
To some well-meaning people,
Who still couldn’t prolong
My existence, and so,
I was squashed by a moped,
Or something else scooterish.
My seventh passed by in a blur in Hong Kong,
Where the people themselves were not really free,
And seemed rather jealous of pussies like me,
My eighth was no blessing, as I lived among
People who had their ideas all wrong.
But the ninth is a wonder,
The best of all worlds,
I have shelter, protection and food and small birds,
And yet I can roam, far away from my home,
Pleasing myself like a Dong,
Without a luminous nose.
And although I suppose
That this life is the last,
I have learned a great deal from the ones that have passed.





Saturday, 7 March 2015

On Anger

Is anger really worse than the cold drip
of constant criticism from a calm
voice seemingly with patience filled? Words trip
away to thin air, all of them. Is harm
that is a greater harm, caused when, they're sent
upon their way with blasts of heat, or when
they're baseless, cold, and carping and incessant?
Does gentle rain in its relentlessness then
not erode in time the hardest stone?
Does ice not gouge out valleys where it crushes,
its temperature not bring pain into the bone
of those exposed to it?  Fire where it rushes,
though it scorches as it passes, soon blows out:
better then, than carping, is to shout.


Wednesday, 4 March 2015

Don’t Let Reason Win In Every Case

To reason is our highest human gift,
to let our lesser qualities have reign,
and to promote our intuition, lift
and elevate our instincts, is to stain
our characters by giving vent to thought
that is not thought at all.  And yet we’re made
with instincts for a reason, they’re not taught;
they’re reflexes, to keep us safe, displayed
to us in crises when the mind is weak
and reason takes too long.  So when they shout
inside your head, do not delay, don’t speak
to them with patience; act and hear them out.
And panic when you see the swirling vortex,
ignore the rational cerebral cortex.