Sheep Music
Camping by a field of sheep
That baa throughout the night –
The farmer says each ewe must peep
To check her lamb’s alright.
One wonders if they ever sleep,
Or keep a state of fright ?
But we are hypnotised by sweeping
Bleats by Luna light.
Until the dawn brings cheap-cheap-cheap
That sound too fresh and bright –
At least the sheep were slow and deep
As they camped besides the site.
(G)nus
I don’t know why the wilderbeest
Deserves a second name –
Of all the cattles, he’s the least
From a European frame.
We don’t see herds of wilderbeests
In the hills of Tuscany,
Or sweeping down from out the East
To the beaches of Torquay.
I don’t know why he has a G
That is and isn’t said –
These grammar rules are traps for me,
Like cowpats where I tread.
My tolerance for the dear gnu
Is very nearly full –
So whether with one beat or two,
He’s a very silly bull.
Brass Neck
All mammals can swim,
Or least, can float,
Just paddle each limb
And be the boat.
It may be slow,
And lacking grace,
But it lets them row
To a dryer place.
Even the elephant,
Hedgehog, or bat,
Even the fattest
Or scardiest cat,
Even the kangaroo,
Aardvaark, or aye-aye –
You know why it’s true ?
Cos they’re mammals, that’s why !
All, that is, except for one –
The landlubber giraffe.
Once evolution had its fun,
They’re not safe in the bath.
It’s strange the way that they capsize,
You’d think they’d learn to cope
When possessed of long and mighty thighs,
And a built-in periscope.
But on the land
They look such gentry,
Tall and grand
When standing sentry.
They are the backlash
To the trout,
Who make a splash
By standing out.
Red-Herring Gulls
The sudden shriek of a seagull
Takes me back to the ozone, back to the seaside –
To those Summers of sand and Ninety-Nines,
Where the fish is fresh and the Sun still shines.
From ever since I was knee-high,
Be it Bournemouth, Paignton or Ryde.
The seagulls were my holiday guide.
But these days, the seagulls are ev’rywhere,
Yes, even in Winter, even in the bleak –
When gloomy days in gloomy suburbs
See dozens pecking kebabs from the kerbs,
With ev’ry beak in a mocking shriek.
Well, go ahead, gulls – for a second there
I was back on the prom without a care.
Untouchables
Ev’ryone hates vultures,
Those ugly hulking things –
Bald-headed, blood-stained,
With undertakers’ wings.
Ev’ryone hates vultures,
Circling overhead –
Never flapping, always patient,
Preying on the dead –
Ev’ryone hates vultures,
With necks so long and kinked –
And thanks to us, the good news is
They’ll soon become extinct.
Ev’ryone hates pathogens,
And keeps their quarters fresh.
But once we’ve killed the vultures,
Who’ll clean-up their rotting flesh…?
Online Ovines
When I first heard of what made androids dream,
I wanted to know much more –
Like where are the hordes of electric sheep
All under the crook of a cyber-Beau Peep ?
Yet ev’ry pasture dotted with white may teem
With robotic ewes by the score,
And so well made are these flocks of steel,
They bleat and follow just like real…
Do their eyeballs glow with a laser beam
That the ravens quake before ?
Are their horns antennas, warning of fox ?
Does their wool discharge with electric shocks ?
I swear these sheep aren’t all they seem,
It’s folly to just ignore…
For the folds are filling with a new kind of lamb,
A bellwether seeking to upgrade their ram.
Fowl
Chickens can fly, if they want to,
Turkeys too,
Though they rarely do.
Peacocks can manage the haul,
Tails and all,
When they need to shoo.
So don’t let anyone tell you
That they’re grounded – he hasn’t a clue.
They may be lazy, yes,
And yet these flightless always flew.
Carapace Steeplechase
The pangolin and the armadillo
Are worthy mounts for a knight,
Though they only ever battle ants,
And their snouts are lacking a bite.
With a pingo-pongo-pangolino,
Clanking, swanking, tank–bambino –
Overcoat from head to toe –
Hi-ho for a skin of nails !
They’re faster than the tortoises,
And faster than the snails –
With scutes from shoulder-blades to boots,
In a bodysuit of scales.
But the armadillo and the pangolin
Are secret devils for a thrill –
They curl-up in their tightest balls
And roll full-tilt downhill.
With an armadilla-dilla-dilly-day-oh,
With a three-band-six-band-nine-band-go,
In a concertina rodeo –
Hi-ho for the bonded mail !
They’re tougher than the rhino,
And they’re tougher than the whale –
With clout – from a stainless-steel snout
To a tinplate-tempered tail.
Nest
Home is where the twigs are,
Where the scraps are woven into walls –
From muddy flops to treetop digs,
The nesting instinct calls.
Home is where the eggs are
Where the young are building into birds –
Until it’s time to stretch the legs
And join the roaming herds.
Batteries
The old railway tunnel is gated now,
The trains haven’t run for years.
The bells never chime in the minster tower,
The saints needn’t cover their ears.
The caves are abandoned by hominids,
And the pillboxes carry no guns.
Besides from tramps and adventurous kids,
Then the bats are the only ones.
Rhyming Couplets 