Time For The Fox

Photo: WHB 2015

atop the coop
waiting
always waiting

watching
constant watching
a lifetime of watching
and waiting
sleeping too
but always wary
wary
and cunning

on that
my life
their lives
their deaths
depend
catch them off guard
find or force an entry
feather whirlwind
blood so red
sound abounds
then escape
back to my den
prize in my jaws

cubs satisfied
another day survived
one more day alive
to thrive
before I start again
one more fox
one fewer chicken
scales swinging
a sort of balance
 is kept

for now

 

 

TATT

brown tabby cat in white knit hat

Photo by Maria Sanchez on Pexels.com

TATT

Feeling exhausted is so common that it has its own acronym, TATT,
which stands for “tired all the time”.

Tired All The Time,
That’s me, it is, you see.
You’ve got it, Summed me up,
Down to that final T.

Why am I so idle,
Indolent and lazy?
It’s as though I am half-drugged,
Bush-whacked, spent, stir-crazy.

Is it just a phase,
Or am I going barmy?
Am I on the way out?
I know I’m full of blarney.

One moment I am drooping,
The next I’m sleeping soundly.
Either I’m wide awake,
Or else I’m snoring loudly.

Do you think that I
Should be on medication?
Do you think the weed
Would bring me consolation?

Maybe my malaise
Is entirely symptomatic?
I suspect it’s just my age
Makes me so problematic.

IsThisReal

On Waking Up

black ring bell alarm clock

Photo by NEOSiAM 2020 on Pexels.com

ON  WAKING UP

Waking, this morning I said,
I don’t think I’ll get out of bed.
There was no concealing
I had hurt her feelings,
I’d spend the day sleeping instead.

Waking in fear and dread,
I regretted those words I had said
I’d not meant to hurt,
Just meant to assert,
I cried crocodile tears when I bled.

Waking and wond’ring what’s next,
I decided to send her a text,
To tell her I’d lied,
Our love had not died –
Just sulking because I was vexed.

 

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Lost In Dreamland

silhouette of tree during golden hour

Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Pexels.com

LOST in DREAMLAND

Often in my dreams I’m lost
Searching for a far-off home.
No great tension, but unease,
As through those endless streets I roam.

Not knowing where, on earth or heaven,
This aimless wandering is taking me,
I trip and stumble, vaguely sensing
There’s somewhere else I’d rather be.

Pressure builds as worry mounts;
Unrest and trepidation rise.
Strain and traction build with tension,
As with my terrors I fantasise.

I always wake both tense and sweating,
No resolution ever reached,
Leaving me, instead of rested,
Stressed, still tired, my fears increased.

 

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To Sleep … To Dream

sleep

To Sleep … To Dream

 

Sleep drifts across my consciousness
as I enter that make-believe world
where reality sees through a muslin mask
draped damask silk obscures truth
and a samite screen falls across my past

The difference between then and now fades
as a haze envelopes my senses
featureless clouds descend
and my dream-world begins

Reality now hijacked by myth and legend
a new world
untried
untested
a concoction distilled from my history
as unlike my waking world
as noonday is from midnight
as I am from my shadow

SLEEP

Life’s parade ground

Death’s practice ground

 

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The Old Insomniac

Sleep1959

‘Sleep’ – WHB … pencil

The Old Insomniac

Old age has its delights, 
Its pensions and its freebies, 
But, oh, the restless nights
Give me the heeby jeebies. 

My pleasures are so various, 
From playing cards to skiing, 
Some dubious, some precarious, 
From lawn bowls to sight-seeing. 

But at night I still can’t sleep;
Perhaps I am too active? 
Instead of counting sheep
I need something more distractive. 

Maybe I’ll take up yoga, 
Or write another will, 
Decamp to Saratoga
– Or just take another pill! 

 

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Night Fears

night television tv video

Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

 

NIGHT  FEARS

The night has its fears,
It is fraught with mistrust;
I lie in a mist,
My mind swathed in dust.

When sleep will not come,
When rest is denied,
My mind is a playground,
Sense cast aside.

Struggling with thoughts,
Unbidden, intense;
A barrage of cares
That hardly make sense.

Then fears invade, 
Not something I sought.
What happened to reason,
To logical thought?

So I wait for the morning,
The return of the light,
To banish the tension 
And put fears to flight. 

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The Dawn

EnglishDawn1991

‘An English Dawn’ … WHB – 1991  ©

 

THE  DAWN

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THE HAIKU

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Nature’s steady hand
Its season’s sure permanence
Gives respite from doubt

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THE POEM

As the dawn broke
In the pregnant East
And beams of burgeoning day
Stretched across the yellowed sky
The songbirds’ treetop threnody
Broke into my dream

Sleep giving way
And all too soon replaced
In that initial gentle awareness
Of life renewed once more
Its promise and its worries
Suddenly looming large
Within my newly unlocked consciousness
Potently recalling life’s commitments
Compelling acknowledgement
Of my obligations
And accompanied by the knowledge
Of decisions to be made
Promises to be met
Expectations to be fulfilled

Only the guarantee of Nature’s steady hand
Of each day’s new dawn,
Of the cycle of each recurring season
Promising a prospect of its permanence
Thus bestowing respite from our doubts

 

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