New Year Thoughts
Cats on a window ledge;
death by degrees.
A Murder of Crows
Desperate, disparate, perched in a rough crowd;
redemptive souls, Buddha-like in new costumes.
Shiny feathers, slickered by sleet, sheathe them
against the cold, unfettered irony - their gang
self-deluded, Lords of the Road below
know nothing of their world beyond
a day’s flight. Bordered by night, the copse
is all their universe. Mighty crows -
pathetic carrion-eaters. Our brothers.
Xmas Afternoon
The cardboard box,
its sheer, echoing walls
once harboured owls
and, below, shaded among the boles,
furred, dappled trout, their ears-aprick,
maneuvered on tiny, cloven hooves
dodging wild, green-eyed death.
Now, it grows a cat.
New Year's Day
The polar bear club gathers.
Blue-lipped, red shoulders steaming,
they flounder loudly, no fur.
With scarcely enough blubber,
they plunge, wannabe seals
out of their element, daring death
to feel alive. They beckon me
to experience the gradient.
I jump in by degrees.
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