New Year 2019

We cannot see the future;
It’s not for us to view.
It’s hidden in the mists of time
Along a path that’s new.
Though we can learn from past mistakes
Our future is always obscured
By an unknown gulf of wonder
Whose outcome is never sure.
But with hope and heart
And willingness to strive
For what is best
Our prospects can be joyful
Fulfilling; truly blessed.

Happy New Year for 2019.

Verse and photo copyright Englepip©

The Last Rhinos

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This poem is for the rhinos and in particular for the Northern White Rhino of which as of 19th March 2018 there are only two females remaining. In reality both are past breeding age, but I have tried to imagine that one is still small in this poem. The picture is of Southern White Rhino in captivity since so many are being poached out as you read.

Look at me Mum, look at me

Playing in the water with my pal, Jo

You said we were the last, just a moment ago

Females all in a world that’s so

Amazing that the Two Legs want it

All to themselves!

But look what they’ve given us

Water to drink and now a lovely friend, I think,

Who follows me around the waterhole

You know she is so very droll

She’s upside-down and topsy turvy

But don’t you think she’s rather curvy and so

Amazing

Maybe too amazing and the Two Legs will want her

All to themselves.

Mum, mum you keep on munching

The grass they left you for our lunching

But  I really do want you to play

Daddy used to, but he’s gone away.

That night we heard the bangs and the groans,

Smelled the blood and the horrible diesel fumes,

Smelled the Two Legs’ sweaty, animal stench

Heard the babble and squeak of their horrid tones.

Dad was amazing – so amazing!

So smart and so handsome

You said that the Two Legs wanted him all for themselves.

You seem so sad since he’s been gone

And since we were captured and brought to this place.

I know you tell me that we seem safe

We’ve food and we’ve water all provided

But being alone is oh so boring.

Ålone, the last two of our kind on earth today

But we’ll be safe won’t we from the ones with guns?

Fed and watered in captivity

But unable to do normal activity.

Mum, tell me they won’t take you as well,

You’re precious to me and life would be hell

With just me – just me and me alone

And the Two Legs out there

Pretending to help when all they’ve done

Is kill and massacre ’til we’re alone

And they have won and taken the earth

And all it’s animals all for themselves,

With no thought for the future

Just war and destruction against….

All creatures that on earth do dwell

They’ll extinguish all, both great and small

Everyone, themselves as well.

Words and photo copyright to  Englepip©

A magical world in a fairy glen

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Along the lane where we children play

Are runnels in and out the hedge

Where hidy holes and secret dens

Are hid in shadows all the day.   

There birds pick crumbs from under foot 

And feast on berries we have shook

To ground amongst our homes away from home.

We’ve  plucked up grass for a comfy floor

Where we can sit and share our store

And stories tell of dragon times 

And knights and gnomes in times of yore. 

But come the night when we are gone

The foxes creep from out their holes 

And scavenge scraps left from our feasts,

Licking up our daytime treats. 

Then the owl hoots loud and silent swoops 

Across the ditch and o’er our stoop

To our hidden, magic, elfin den

That’s deep within the glen. 

They watch enchantments all night long

Join in the dancing  and sing along

And as morning approaches they leave the feast

And the sprites fly off away from the East.

And as we are slumbering in our beds

Great tales are happening in our heads

Of creatures small and ballads sung

Of animals speaking in fairy tongue.

And tomorrow when we visit there

We’ll sense a presence in the air

And we’ll know more than any adult (wo)men

That there’s a magical world in a children’s den.

 

Idea, poem and photo copyright to Englepip©

 

Stumpy

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I lift, I try, I try to fly
My wings I flex to do those tricks
My mother does, my father does
But I’m still just a ball of fuzz.

I know you’re s’posed to flap a bit
To work those muscles, not just sit
But here I stay, feet on the ground
My wings I think must be unsound.

They’re stumpy, there’s no doubting it
They’ve no real feathers I admit
But maybe if I flex them lots
My wings will grow and you’ll see what’s

The outcome when I grow  so tall
With feathers  great and neck so long
I’ll be a fine fellow with a honking call
And you’ll look at me and be enthralled

And we won’t recall this little bit
When wings are wrong and just don’t fit
Will we?

Verse and photo copyright Englepip©

A rose by any other name

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They call you dog rose,
But could anything
Be more sublime
Than your five pink petals
And your  yellow filaments fine?

Derogatory term for beauty
Here hiding shyly
In the shade of early June.
Dappled light of early summer
But hedges soon to festoon.

They say you will cure
A mad dog’s bite
Your juices potent in the fight
But for me your beauty
Is the simple remedy
That helps heal a heart
Pierced by inconstant love’s dart.

Poem and photo copyright Englepip©

The gun at noon

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With precision and aplomb,
The ceremony’s begun
And the soldier marches quick
Around the gun.
Dressed in military red
With his shako on his head,
He steps around the cannon
To his post.

Then with solemnity polite
He lights the fuse and sets alight
The shot that marks the noon
On Guernsey Isle.

Poem and photo copyright Englepip©

Please read the following link for more information on this ceremony.
via Daily Prompt: Ceremony