Showing posts with label animal planet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label animal planet. Show all posts

Monday, April 7, 2025

Reading With The Fishes

 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
Reading With The Fishes
 
 
 
For many years I lived
in a hollowed-out book
before I was eaten by fishes.
 
I can't say how
they found me. I thought
I was safe there
 
wrapped in my blanket
of words, deep in the good
leather smell but
 
fish it seems
are surprisingly quick
and genuinely hungry.
 
At first it was nibble and tickle
but soon my eyelids were history,
and I won't be needing lipstick any more.
 
After that, I took my words
and went to live
with the animals.
 
We have an understanding: they
don't write poetry, and I
don't have them for dinner.
 
 
 
 
 April 2025
 
 
 
 
 
 
My second copy--wore out the first

 
 
 
 
posted for the Word List
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Fisherman's Shack, 1994 © Jacek Yerka    Fair Use
Immortal Poems, 2025, ©joyannjones
 
 
 

Thursday, August 29, 2024

Aardvark

 

 


 

 Aardvark

 

"..Don't put on any airs when you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue.
They got some hungry women there and they'll really make a mess out of you..."
~Bob Dylan, Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues
 
 
 
What were you to me back then,
with your tumbled hair and tequila?
Even Dali had his aardvark, led uncomplaining
 
through the dirty streets of Paris,
a glass-globe feast for insatiable eyes.

Impossible to know
what I was to you.
Your face was hinged,
 
a door at times standing open,
cracked to show the arid
 
arabesques of spiders 
smiling in Poe's palace. Others
locked and bolted, bare and flash
 
as clean brass before it's engraved.
All I remember is you held me

like diamonds worked into your arms' ring
there in the tedium of the shelter
among the do-gooders and the riffraff.
 
The cardboard walls flexed with our love
but when I slipped the rhinestone lead
from your sleek throat
 
you ran

and the streets of Paris
emptied.


~August 2024


 
 
 
 





 
Process note: The photo of Dali shown actually is of he and his pet anteater. Poetic license.
 
 

posted for WG Word List at

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
Images: Dali takes his anteater for a stroll in Paris, 1969    Public Domain
The Smiling Spider, 1887, Odillon Redon, Louvre, Paris    Public Domain

Wednesday, August 16, 2023

Dancing With Crabs

 


Black eyed Hermit Crab


Dancing with Crabs




Little crabling bastard
what makes you think
you matter
 
a million like you
hatched a day
for the chef to batter.

You chase what you can’t have;
you get what you won’t own,
a tin can for a hat
 
a scuttle down the sand
sideways slow alone
to lose what you never had.

 Little crabling baby
you know that you’re
half crazy

to want what women have
to love what makes you mad;
to dance, a hermit crab
 
in a white parade of swans.
Little baby crabling
ballet's not for crustaceans.

So borrow from the oyster
loneliness the pearl
that adorns any station.





Swan Lake



Last Day of November 
2011, revised August 2023






posted for Lonely Town

at desperate poets






Footer Photo:  Swan Lake by Bella Lago on flick'r
Both shared under Creative Commons 2.0 Generic License

Thursday, February 3, 2022

Observed In The Wild

 
 

 
 
Observed In The Wild
 
 
 
 
I found you first in the green evening
a secret burn of elongated lines
sketched into the mural of bending pines
by wind's unseen ink, traveling the trail
on an old scent caught in the bracken;

then the adrenaline snap
of your head my way.

You called me from my campfire
to answer the brown beg in your eye,
to fall beneath you like aspen leaves
at your season's yellow turn,
as my own summer died around me.

Pulled like gut to the crescent bow
of the reckless huntress, I chased you
through evergreen shadow, along bone-clean
clattered rockfall, dry creeks where
only the musk smell of hope drew me on

past the deadfalls and I would guess at your way
by the arrowhead and adder's mouth rising
in your wake. Too many years you ran ahead
to pleasure a dozen others who never
saw your winter,

but often when the itch was unbearable in
the time-crack of April's acid sun, you
came to me in the clearing, to rub the felt
from your horns on my shoulder and moan
my name like a sacrifice

low and heavy as the white bull
of Poseidon knee deep in the
sacred wave before the knife.




 February 2022
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
posted for earthweal's
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Notes: Arrowhead (Sagittaria Latifolia) and the wild orchid known as green adder's mouth(Malaxis unifolia) are common North American wildflowers. Pardon the mixed metaphors of stag and bull which in time-honored fashion I ascribe to poetic license.You can read a quick synopsis of the myth of King Minos, his wife, the white bull sent him by Poseidon, its pursuit by Heracles and its eventual sacrifice by Theseus here.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Pine Forest II, 1901, © Gustav Klimt  Public Domain
Head of a Stag, 1634, © Diego Velazquez     Public Domain

Thursday, January 20, 2022

Zebras


 
 

 
 
 
 
 Zebras
(A 55)
 
Remember
when we were two
trout climbing Sahara sand,
two flamingos wading snow,

two zebras
grazing rock, stalked
by an avalanche of clocks
worse than any lion.

Remember
our nights stitched from
oak's blood and violins
torn from the big cat's teeth.

Come home again
before the door breaks,
before memory's last meal
is gone.

 
 

January 2022
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
posted for dVerse Poets
 
 
using words from
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Sleeping Zebra, 1959 © Carel Willink  Fair Use
Plant Archetecture, 1962 © Remedios Varo

Thursday, September 30, 2021

Mantis In The Kitchen

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
Mantis In The Kitchen
 
 
"A name is the shortest form of a spell."
~Anonymous
 
 
 
The mantis in the kitchen
knows my name. He
stares with ice eyes glistening,
watches me
watches me
tilts his mild triangular 
faceted face
as if to say, I'm busy,
but later..
 
I'm never alone for 
the things you've possessed
surround me,
watching me
watching me,
mingling our names
in an insect clatter.
 
The ice eyes meet the fate
of all our glaciers. The mantis 
pales and shrinks as
we liquefy in the heat
where even names melt,
leaving a duplicitous aquavit;
the honey of sweet
 
oblivion
or
the vinegar
of change.
 
 

~August 2021






 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 posted for Open Link
at dVerse Poets
 
 
 
 
 
 
Note: Akvavit or aquavit..is a distilled spirit that is principally produced in Scandinavia, where it has been produced since the 15th century. Akvavit is distilled from grain and potatoes, and is flavoured with a variety of herbs. ~wikipedia
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Praying Mantis In Morning Light With Chai ©3D Storyteller All Rights Reserved Fair Use
Cannibalism Of The Praying Mantis Of Lautremont, 1934 © Salvador Dali    Fair Use
 

Friday, August 27, 2021

Labyrinth

 


 

 Labyrinth

 

I played in the field of the minotaur's horn.
The rose trees stretched for twenty miles.
His black eye blinked
my slow heart's beat. I danced all day where
the elephant's hip burned blue in the shade,
where I glimpsed the escape the animals made
before the age had been born.
 
The green grey moor 
was soft as a sponge 
on my cheeks where tears
disappeared in the mist.
I wondered if we'd ever kissed
in the halls behind the labyrinth's door
where the beasts blew their breath on the shadow play.
I saw them come at the end of the day
with all to give and nothing to say. 

Their souls each put in a hazelnut
that sank in ripples of earth's wet heart
covered in time from fire and flood,
from our hands that pull the world apart,
that turn his field from grass to chalk
where roses blow for twenty miles
and the animals at last
have begun to talk.



August 2021
 
 




 

 

 

posted for earthweal's

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Images: Minotaur Caressing A Sleeping Woman, 1933, © Pablo Picasso  Fair Use
Swans Reflecting Elephants, 1937 © Salvador Dali  Fair Use

Saturday, February 22, 2020

The Last Afternoon





The Last Afternoon


It was a day where even
the rain holds a grudge.
I'm too dry for rain
to do much good; too old
for paper castles
to wall out
the night coming,
the grey wolf walking.
Only love can do that,
on the last afternoon

when I'll
hold her head
heavy with wolf-dreams
on my knees.


February 2020







a 55 for



(and a reminder that the Friday 55 will be next week)













Image: photo-manipulation © Sarolta Ban    Fair Use

Monday, January 27, 2020

Last Roundup





Last Roundup




Remember me when I ran with my kind,
my hooves struck the prairie like a xylophone,
kicking up bees in the cowboy rose,
grazing the weave of sweetgrass stems,
red dirt-dancing in the south wind's eye.

Then you brought your infinite calves, 
wave after wave of threadbare sheep,
mines and guns and the oil machine
to steal the grass, to suck up the land,
to push and kill til the red stones weep.

Now that you've turned the bees to wind
now that you've turned the grass to sand
now that you've turned a dancer to meat
now that I've gone 
where the dead can't ask,

only horse-ghosts run while the sweetgrass longs
for the wild tap of hooves, the mustang's song.





 ~January 2020









 for earthwheel challenge







Notes:You may wonder how this is related to climate change, but almost everything impacting animals negatively today is so related in one way or another. In this case, the climate of the West and Southwest plains has been growing rapidly more arid for several decades, increasing the stress put on the land to sustain the wild horse herds, native species like elk and deer, and cattle and sheep ranching populations. The public land areas are also feeling the push for oil and gas development, as well as unregulated trophy hunting. The ones to lose in this scenario are the wild horses.

More info:  The American Mustang is a feral horse that is descended from domesticated horses brought to the Americas by the Spanish in the 15th century, and is protected under the Wild and Free Roaming Horses and Burros Act of 1971. Populations are "managed" by the Bureau of Land Management  who use a series of yearly round-ups and contraceptive measures plus an adoption program to keep mustang numbers down. While control of these populations is necessary to prevent over-grazing and over-population, the BLM's practices have been criticized time and again for cruelty, corruption and incompetence, while civilian animal welfare groups have relentlessly pushed to reform and control them, with mixed success. The BLM has been accused of turning a blind eye to mass "adoptions" where the horses are slaughtered for dog food, as well as for keeping large herds of animals penned up indefinitely without any plan for their fate other than eventual slaughter. 

Most recently under the Trump administration, things have swung round to the worse scenario level, as might be expected in a 'pay to play' government:


 from 2018:
 "The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) winter roundup season is upon us. The traumatic helicopter roundups that will be conducted this season are even more concerning than usual,  since every single wild horse captured is in danger of being killed or sold for slaughter.

Signaling its intent for America's wild herds, the BLM is planning to conduct numerous roundups simultaneously. The agency's increased capacity for rounding up horses endangers more lives and  proves problematic for advocacy organizations that intend to document the mass capture of mustangs from their homes on our public lands." ~American Wild Horse Campaign


from 2020:
 "The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) is putting together the fiscal year 2020 roundup schedule. Once funding is approved by Congress in the fiscal 2020 debate...we may see the schedule explode to include up to 20K wild horses removed each year for the next 3-4 years. These will be the largest roundup schedules in history.
This will decimate existing populations. It is based on the severely flawed parameters of politics in the 1970’s and perpetuated through a program based on excuses and chaos ever since." ~Wild Horse Education



Photos: header © Bev Pettit, footer © Carol Walker  Fair Use








Saturday, November 30, 2019

Spirit Apocolypse









Spirit Apocalypse



Entropy dreams of its Creator
under the burning blanket
of wild horses slaughtered
of eucalyptus torches slow
roasting marsupials,
of its enemies hogtied helpless
if not as yet quite mastered,
all things of beauty bent
to the wheel of avarice
as the spotted pony runs
as the devil drowns
in sympathy
in sycophants
in syncopated strategies
of the smallest minds now
suddenly somehow successful.

We wait for the tide
to rise, the Earth to speak, 
for the wild appaloosa 
with our handprint
on its flank to find us, 
for the ash
to heave up the white buffalo,
the soul we weep for
to race oblivion
of wave and fire, drought and famine
to bear us
where we may buck and strain
to cut the cords that
crack the bone
of this ravaged
rock on fire

calling to the spirits
for the spotted pony
the white buffalo
the avenging angel
as if we know them,
with only the death's head grin
of the four bleached horsemen in sight.










~November, 2019









Images: War Pony II, by Sarah Lyn Richards. All Rights Reserved to Artist
White Buffalo, by Cuzco. All Rights Reserved to Artist