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.
Forget-Full
There’s some things I’ve forgotten
That I know that I’ve forgotten –
That I notice where the hole is,
Where the synapses are rotten.
Yet there’s other things, I swear,
I never knew, were never there –
But they clearly weren’t important
As they fall into the air.
Fiddlesnaps
Fiddlers do it on the bias,
Swaggering about the shore –
They lope-along lopsided
With one pincer too-provided-for.
An asymmetric sexual signal –
Over-big, a pumped-up rig,
To wave it peek-a-boo.
I wonder if they topple when they do ?
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.
When Saturday Came
It’s always one-nil, for or against,
In my memory,
Always four-four-two.
Grandad would take me, shine or rain,
In my memory,
Were we the red or the blue ?
Half-time pies and always singing,
Stripey scarves across the board,
And Grandad smiling, regardless of winning
In my memory,
Espec’ly when anyone scored !
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.
Scurry
Quick, down here !
Over there !
Are they near ?
They’re ev’rywhere !
You take one way,
I’ll go this –
Meet you Monday,
Hit-or-miss.
Best not dally,
Shake your feet –
Up the alley,
’Cross the street –
Don’t stop now !
Pick up the pace –
I’ll see you, somehow,
Usual place.
Roofkeepers
The gargoyles are guarding the peregrines’ nests,
In their makeshift high-rise habitats.
They gurgles-down the gutters near their new houseguests,
As they keep the drainpipes clean, and they trap the thieving rats.
They shelter the chicks when the North wind blows,
Inbetween the buttresses the parapets.
They lure-in the pigeons, they ward-off the crows,
And they scare-back the devils with their gruesome silhouettes.
T-Moth
Tell me, rectilinear thing,
If you’re a moth then where’s your wing ?
When not in ragged, fraying flight
It’s held-out straight and rolled-up tight.
You’re crucified in upper case,
And dressed in brightest white and beige –
No camouflage for any place,
Except, perhaps, the printed page.
Fit as a Fiddle
Violins are slim and light
To perch upon the shoulder so –
They mustn’t pile on extra wood,
Or lose their cinched-in waist for good.
For no-one wants to see the sight
Of a bloated bridge beneath the bow –
Don’t let the fretboard become baggy,
Stop the strings from slouching saggy.
Play less heavy, play more bright,
And never let the tension go –
Work those quavers through their paces,
Else they’ll end up double-basses.
Rhyming Couplets 