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請觀賞3隻小豬的影片，留言分享

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請觀賞3隻小豬的影片，留言分享

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The Parade of Animals in Line by Line: A Poetry Book for Kids

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The Parade of Animals in Line by Line: A Poetry Book for Kids

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這本書以童詩的形式介紹了一群動物如何依次排隊，讓讀者在欣賞詩句的同時也學會了基本的排隊禮儀。

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Born in Gloucestershire in 1922, Dick King-Smith grew up surrounded by pets and knew from a young age that he wanted to be a farmer. He served in the Grenadier Guards during the Second World War, spent twenty years as a farmer, and then had a further career as a primary-school teacher. But he found greatest success and satisfaction in later life as a children's author. Many of his stories are inspired by his farming experiences, the children he taught, his large family and numerous pets. He wrote around 130 children's books, which have been translated into many languages, won many awards and sold over 15 million copies worldwide. They include The Sheep-Pig, which won the Guardian Award and was filmed as the hugely successful and beloved Babe, as well as The Hodgeheg, The Queen's Nose, The Fox Busters, the Sophie stories, Daggie Dogfoot (Pigs Might Fly) and many more. Dick's story The Water Horse was also turned into a major Hollywood film, and The TV series' The Queen's Nose and Harry's Mad were very popular. Dick even presented and starred in several television shows during the '80's and '90's with his Dachshund sidekick Dodo.

In 2010 he was made OBE for services to children's literature. Dick King-Smith died in 2011 at the age of eighty-eight. Dick's legacy and love of animals continues today with the family-run and incredibly popular Twitter channel @DickKingSmith

You can learn more about Dick's stories and his interesting life here - www.dickkingsmith.com

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The animal parade: A collection of stories and poems

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The animal parade: A collection of stories and poems [King-Smith, Dick] on Amazon.com. *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. The animal parade: A collection of stories and poems

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Queueing Zoos: An Animal Poetry Collection

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Queueing Zoos: An Animal Poetry Collection

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本詩集講述了各種動物在不同情境下排隊的情景，既有趣又富有教育意義。

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Animal Lines: Poems about Animals in Orderly Queues

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Animal Lines: Poems about Animals in Orderly Queues

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本書中的詩歌描繪了動物們在不同場景中排隊的有趣畫面，適合所有年齡段的讀者。

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Waiting Wisely: Poems of Animals in Line

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Waiting Wisely: Poems of Animals in Line

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這本詩集讓讀者通過童詩學習到有關動物排隊的知識和智慧。

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You know what it is to be born alone,
Baby tortoise!

The first day to heave your feet little by little from
   the shell,
Not yet awake,
And remain lapsed on earth,
Not quite alive.

A tiny, fragile, half-animate bean.

To open your tiny beak-mouth, that looks as if it would
   never open
Like some iron door;
To lift the upper hawk-beak from the lower base
And reach your skinny neck
And take your first bite at some dim bit of herbage,
Alone, small insect,
Tiny bright-eye,
Slow one.

To take your first solitary bite
And move on your slow, solitary hunt.
Your bright, dark little eye,
Your eye of a dark disturbed night,
Under its slow lid, tiny baby tortoise,
So indomitable.

No one ever heard you complain.

You draw your head forward, slowly, from your little
   wimple
And set forward, slow-dragging, on your four-pinned toes,
Rowing slowly forward.
Wither away, small bird?
Rather like a baby working its limbs,
Except that you make slow, ageless progress
And a baby makes none.

The touch of sun excites you,
And the long ages, and the lingering chill
Make you pause to yawn,
Opening your impervious mouth,
Suddenly beak-shaped, and very wide, like some suddenly
   gaping pincers;
Soft red tongue, and hard thin gums,
Then close the wedge of your little mountain front,
Your face, baby tortoise.

Do you wonder at the world, as slowly you turn your head
   in its wimple
And look with laconic, black eyes?
Or is sleep coming over you again,
The non-life?

You are so hard to wake.

Are you able to wonder?
Or is it just your indomitable will and pride of the
   first life
Looking round
And slowly pitching itself against the inertia
Which had seemed invincible?

The vast inanimate,
And the fine brilliance of your so tiny eye,
Challenger.

Nay, tiny shell-bird.
What a huge vast inanimate it is, that you must row
   against,
What an incalculable inertia.

Challenger,
Little Ulysses, fore-runner,
No bigger than my thumb-nail,
Buon viaggio.

All animate creation on your shoulder,
Set forth, little Titan, under your battle-shield.
The ponderous, preponderate,
Inanimate universe;
And you are slowly moving, pioneer, you alone.

How vivid your travelling seems now, in the troubled
   sunshine,
Stoic, Ulyssean atom;
Suddenly hasty, reckless, on high toes.

Voiceless little bird,
Resting your head half out of your wimple
In the slow dignity of your eternal pause.
Alone, with no sense of being alone,
And hence six times more solitary;
Fulfilled of the slow passion of pitching through
   immemorial ages
Your little round house in the midst of chaos.

Over the garden earth,
Small bird,
Over the edge of all things.

Traveller,
With your tail tucked a little on one side
Like a gentleman in a long-skirted coat.

All life carried on your shoulder,
Invincible fore-runner.

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I've tied poems to chairs and beaten confessions out of them with hoses in elementary school, middle school, high school, college, and graduate school. A few years back, I gave up the quest of trying to find out what they really mean, and then started to enjoy them for their sounds, their stories, and their experimentation.

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Orderly Animals: Children’s Poems about Queueing

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Orderly Animals: Children’s Poems about Queueing

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本詩集包含了多篇有關動物排隊的童詩，讓讀者在閱讀中不僅享受詩意，還學會了秩序和禮貌。

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Thank you to everyone who has submitted Lockdown poems. On Sunday 5 July, at 12.30pm - 1.30pm, there was a Poetry of the Lockdown event as part of Ledbury Poetry Festival Online. The event featured a fascinating selection of Lockdown inspired poems, including poets commissioned by LPF, Naomi Shihab Nye, Sarala Estruch, Suzannah Evans, Elaine Beckett and Kim Moore. They read alongside poets who submitted to Ledbury Poetry Festival's online call out. Hosted by Chloe Garner. ( A recording of this event will be uploaded to the Festival YouTube channel in a few days.)

These poems were written during Lockdown and the Coronavirus pandemic, at a time when it seemed the whole country, and in fact the whole world was going through the same crisis. Though of course everyone's individual experience of this situation is unique. I am aware, as many people are, that for people and places in the world, the challenges are huge and sometimes extremely harrowing, compared to my own. Nonetheless, in reading these poems, I find reflections on, and insight into, my own experiences. As well as differences. Other ways of thinking about, or seeing, what is happening in this present time. I have found these poems extremely resonant, and I hope you will too.

Thank you to everyone for their contribution.

Chloe Garner, Artistic Director

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This poem was later made into a short film that is now on YouTube
Some of the other contributions were read at a Zoom session in Ledbury's online Festival in July 2020. Recordings of these are included with the following contributions where we have them.

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Phone charge leads are fibrous veinal columns:
connecting, reaching, formatting a virtual,
veinous world.

SP2 7EN: 18/6/2020

like oak, only older, stiller, stilling, waiting for a whispering wind to wake me from the silence,

orchards, vast, decaying, crumbling within pocked cement stone walls - keep-out! fruit pilferers,
dust clouds clouding, only They know it is there ...

kneeling in a puddle of pitter-pattering birdsong; feeling hazy rays of sunlight blazing through showering shadows of greying raindrops, knelt as in prayer, there, day after day after day...

now living in a kingdom of cackling crows, cawing against the crackling fizz of radio stations echoing in every background,

I once knew Quiet, knew Quench, knew Waterfalls falling into summer daydreams, knew Lichen, knew thoughtful thinking, knew lasting tearful embraces ...

memories like Oceans finger the land, touching minds, pull away, drawing, as near but ever away again and again and again...

obscured sunsets, drenched fields now soaked like soft felt cloth, set amongst struggling burned, speckled with magpies and ravens that truly knew this place

opaque stones, warmed by evening suns, silhouette against ultra-marine seas of sombre stars, steal the sky for themselves, overpowering the moon's sheen, slowly sink into morning: Us

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/defenceless-TB.mp3

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/everything-PKH.mp3

Left out.

I woke at 4am!, ?, No my watch's no longer ticking
No clock shops during lockdown, my handcuffs gently slipping.
Sipping coffee in the garden I awaken to the day

The plants meanwhile are busy doing nothing in the sun,
Until tomorrow morning when I check on what they've done.
A seed of mine bears fruit, a shoot, while the world is broken

Free time.

is it easy looking backwards now to former scenes of exuberance and capitalist extravagance in markets of gossip of dross and of hip to the tip of the tittle-tattle-tonguing cultural exchange of people passing people passing on people on stupendously-expensive pendulous pedals and heels pedalling the confetti masquerade of coffee-wine-café crowds whose accessorising identities were allowed to hang around in a stolen dance of sinful syntax seemingly untaxable beneath beautiful bejewelled architectures of children playing with unsupervised children contracting the social abstract all over like over-spilling flower-stalls like bursting fountains like a pandemic virus of white noise driven by the hunger for sensation behind the trance of conformity or the rolling out radioactive 5G enormity but is there still a heart between brain and loin in our highest of places? What beheld us? A virus of sorts? An aerosolised globalised lab-test? An anti-pollution revolution? Revelation of a new world order? A dislike of sports? No: restrictive social distancing.

so now to scenes of dancing in sun-printed patterns of an eternal spring lining the darkest spectral voids of emptied playgrounds and urbanised sun-pastelled facades fading fast with the last fading free light of free trades broken by the merciless-indifferent cruel-oppressive happy-ignorant fortunate-mad undignified-arrogant no-science-in-conscience-closed-circle straightjacketing melancholy of births deaths marriages all equally quietened by desensitised masses taking classes in futile binary confrontations with drones and surveillance whilst the silent forgotten majority plead for emotional death beyond emergent churches jostling for urgent face-times as children sad as cut flowers are reduced to mass-produced mechanised expressions trained to order endless order expressing anaesthetised tongues of barbaric alienation in incalculable sadness anonymising whose indifference to the political-non-political soi-disant social contract of neutralised anguish as complete as aloneness and subservience to incommunicable fears and institutionalised freedoms of a politics that reads like a sentence: from Left to Right in just a few words: looking forward to looking back again

One day...

One day, we'll step out of doors,
walk down the street, meet our friends,
share a cup of coffee and chocolate cake.

One day we'll play football, build a fire,
roast potatoes, sing a shanty, climb a
mountain. We'll open wide church doors.

One day we'll cry for the lost,
remember the stillness and separation
with due respect, carry the candle

of calm into our daily lives, watch with joy,
as petals open, birds build their nests,
bumble bees fly from flower to flower.

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/ironing-in-lockdown-NH.mp3

Soft Everest of laundry, avalanche of the un-pressed
dispossessed dresses that once had occasions,
hang like reproaches in hushed wardrobe air:

no skull and crossbone-jewelled earrings
from Butler and Wilson, oh those hoops,
such fancy bling! The shops are shut, no sign of opening.

Same old corona garb, washed every day
quick on at rising, no-one to see creases
In unfolded shirts, or dark roots in hair.

We haven't left this postcode for 13 weeks

We are less afraid now, and I try to remember the things that we used to do, when we could do things
I wonder if the world is divided into those who stand at their gates with the whisper of night on their face, wishing to be free
And those who lock the door until it's over, and probably long after it's over, because it's safe in here.

A Stranger in the House
A sense of disturbance

Outside this house is talk
Of freedom and peace for all,
But they don't mean me.

Whenever I am asleep, I am plagued
With unrest, as I need to be
Presentable when the new day arrives.

I don't know how much longer
I will be fit for this type of living.
Yet I live. And live. And live.

Random bursts of underlying emotion,
All abruptly surface.
Been feeling like crying the past couple of days.

It's indescribable
Yet every little thing can be described.
But I am just not able.

Crave human interaction that's not the
same two faces I see everyday.
But technology only meets that need halfway.

Have to study, need to work
But lost all my will to put in effort.

Schools closed;
Exams cancelled!
Young futures ruined?

Internet searches during lockdown
by Emma Mason

How long is this lockdown likely to last?
What are some ways to make the time go fast? Best home workouts for beginners
Recipes for healthy but easy home-made dinners

Best way to stop getting such dry hands? When is the soonest I can start to make plans? Should disinfectant be injected?
How and why was Trump elected?

Should I be wearing a mask for my face?
Where can I buy a pretty mask with lace?
How many units of alcohol should you drink in a week? What happens now we are past the peak?

Am I allowed outside more than once a day? Have I become a quarantine cliché?
How many people can I see at one time?
Is sitting in a park considered a crime?

Many died, thousands were buried, people trembled,
the loved ones wailed and grieved, in absence.

Sun-filled walks extend our universe.

A changed world.

For how long?

We are still getting used
to the rhythm of this new tune,

the steps we take to keep
six feet apart, as marked out

on pavements and shop floors,
those footprints, black on yellow,

stage directions for we extras
in this worldwide drama.

We shimmy past each other
in supermarket aisles, line up

for cashiers behind perspex shields
twist to avoid the shop staff.

Recently we waltzed through life
not caring where we trod.

Now, moving to a different beat,
We struggle to find our feet

flailing in this limbo.

Children learn not to hug.
Instead they wave their small hands
as we sidestep each other on pavements -

like dodging mines,
tiny, human bombs.

And as the new normal carves its routine,
and the nightly news delivers its lies,

ever so gently,
we riot.

Birds singing sweet songs in the raggedy trees,
Kids swinging on the tree trunk and skipping on the tyres,
Fun on the playground, fun everywhere.

Freshly cut grass I can smell in the air,
The sound of footsteps anywhere,
Fun on the playground, fun everywhere.

Is it ok to be ok?
Don't say it too loudly, you'll look callous
Don't extol the virtues of solitude, you'll sound insensitive

No one cares how many blue tits visited your feeder today
No one needs your sourdough starter, you cold brew coffee,
Your organic, home grown self satisfaction

Because we are all in this together
Until we are not

A moonlight tryst - to sneak for a call,
In lonely days of quarantine, the ebullience of happy lovers,
-a silhouette of happiness,

In a fields near our house are buttercups and daisies
Where the moths and the butterflies dance with the fairies

Grasshoppers and crickets sing out their song
The nights shine bright and the days are long

One day very soon the little ones will say Can we go round to the field and play
Where we'll laugh with the fairy's and play in the grass with our granny and Grandad at long long last

Loneliness will become a normality
And we'll learn to embrace the slightest freedom

Cherry Blossom leaves the trees
Urging summer on

As the virus spreads
Like a million petals
Blowing through Japan

Leaves us clinging to our homes
Once a haven now a tomb

Springtide has passed away
Left empty streets
Mourning littered bloom

Soon enough we will all be back, making poor London again cough and hack,
With the fumes and the bustle of the motor cars,
Hiding the architecture which are truly the stars,

A lot of us are fine with a lotta time
But is it all terrible?

We can sit here and complain about the world
Or we could have fun with what we have
Maybe its time to be grateful and stop seeing this as a curse

Because for a lot of us things could be much much worse...

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/willow-patter-a-lockdown-walk-AB.mp3
In Victorian England, oysters were a cheap food.
The 'Willow pattern' on china depicts the story of two lovers, one rich, one poor. After death, the lovers are
re-united as birds.

Uncertain times for all of us
Feel a bit sad, down and low
When will this end? we don't know

They ask you how you're feeling
You can't answer you don't know
You need to take a minute wait a second take a mo

I'm thankful for the people
Share your joy, your sadness your pain
And give you reassurance it'll be ok again!!.

Boomer remover
by Huw Sherlock

No!

Are you listening, Dominic?

Could anyfing be worse?

Yea!

Keep well and strong each day my friend
Until we meet again

You're in my prayers each day my friend
Until we meet again

For health and peace each day my friend
Until we meet again

Draw the Curtains

Draw the curtains, light the candle.
Time to sit as the Brontes did,
the wind rattling its commentary

to windows and doors - as if ghosts
of loved ones crave re-entry.

Time to make up once-upon-a-times,
ever-afters, happy or not, and, turn
by turn, to sharpen narrative skills

on the fire's licking flames. Knights
and knaves from Gondal are here still,

worlds wait to be peopled and placed
from Angria, Glass Town - Diary papers
and Charlotte's Roe Head journal

to blend fiction with fact. Take out
your pens and paper, fill old inkwells

and, for your own wobbly cursives,
become graphologists, deciphering more
about your selves than ever you knew.

Emily's fierce faithful dog, Keeper,
on guard in your psyches, will escort you

over your minds' wildest moors.
No need for heather, rocky crags - simply
fall over the edges of your temperament

into each story's special balm. The sisters -
and even the brother - might experiment

with you in travelling without moving
to emulate, in a villa, the writers
of the Decameron who reeled off tales

to avoid epidemics of fear in a Plague
far off. There, your shared travails

could compose tragedies, no soaps,
around Branwell's call-girls and drink,
Charlotte's obsession with a married man...

Fight off the invader. Emily will scribble -
with yours - her secrets, fast as she can.

this morning i watched hope flutter by
on the wings of a monarch butterfly

and per definition it landed on the window sill
of my wounded bleeding heart

a never-ending blast of warmth
spread itself through the curtains

of my soul deleting at will
my pain i had started

to believe i would never lose the pain again
where can i hide to avoid the next silent arrow?

how should i deal with loss? how can
i find happiness without you? i

can only smile and remember our shared past
and be thankful that i knew you

We don't ask to be born or made. Arrive
in this host world alive and raring to survive.
Plenty here to help us thrive.

Following our inborn drive
we make more of ourselves, strive
to ensure we (and perhaps our kind) survive.

'But what are you for?' asks our host, still alive,
though hardly seeming now to thrive.
What purpose is there, but alive and thrive?

where the beetles of metal
meet and snooze

and the polished wood
of a ranzquilla looms

under the signs
of the camel carouse

the flap of the foot
aligns the open tombs

agonizo decided
history acorn-sapped

all fair al faro
viruses reading doom

with a shudder i refrain
the mine from drinking

the raw deal in the sailing
of souls

leave off the lead
chains of binging and co

for a free soul
needs a freed head

and a free head
gives a freed soul

in these uncertain times
when we traverse through
the valleys of terror and tears

when salty waves
of desolation crash upon us
and when the weight of the universe

pulls on the strings of our hearts
trying to anchor us
in a wide moor of misery

we will not tarry in the sinister dark
or pitch our tents
between the tribulations

we will with a song and a verse
conquer together our tears and difficulties
thereby rising higher than the eagles

- we will cast aside all fear and doubt
dear hope with love and faith
now carry us over the sinister dark

i am not alone
the feeling of loss

will always remain
cannot be explained

but i will be carried
through my lifetime ache

a rebirth of our city
a remaking of our lives

comfort is found in the seams
of our society

and in the enduring
consoling spirit of humanity

Windflower
Dispels malicious rumours caused by fake news
Six pale, pointed petals like pincers.
Solitary, separate, sharp
scented like sorrel or fox.
Sown in the gardens of the curious,
it procureth much spitting. It sits
under the dominion of Mars.

and maybe that is the only way
we can be free enough to dance

The in-law
He calls
Mother.

Pinheads of burning sparks illuminate life and death.
Spots of light squint through shuttered windows.
Firefly stars peep in a blue black sky.

Pinholes of space windows to a world outside the range of knowing.
Lives lived beyond themselves.
Deaths belonging to distant places.

So, in the forest do not roam
Stay safe, stay well, Stay at home

First we're told no handshakes, no kisses and no hugs.
Next to go, amongst much else, was reusable coffee mugs.

It seems the nation runs on pasta, tinned toms, small bags of flour.
Panic buyers stockpiling, shelves barer by the hour.

Worse than that was yet to come, with toilet paper bagging.
"My God, what's next?" I hear you cry - yep, that's right, no shagging!

They closed the shops, they closed the pubs, denied the Brits their beer.
Then u-turned on the breweries. It could only happen here!

The schools were shut, the kids at home, twixt life and work no line.
Teaching, working, refereeing... Mummy's on the wine.

Grown men are doing bunnyhops, the house is tidy and neat.
Dogs have never been walked so much, we're banging saucepans in the street.

We spend our time in meetings, checking out colleagues' homes,
Removing cats from keyboards, and surreptitiously checking our phones.

There's no more Blue Sky Thinking. Instead it's "You're still on mute!"
We're adjusting to new normal: day pyjamas, not a suit.

We're told we all must stay at home, unless for cycle, walk or run.
Or our weekly socially distanced shop, what happened to all our fun?

We've had the Baby Boomers, Gen X and the Millenials -
And what with all this staying in, next up 'Hello Coronials'!

Some've started lunchtime drinking, others online activities -
Quizzes, bingo, theatre, or scavenger hunts if you please.

Still more are in the kitchen, learning how to cook and bake.
By the end of this year's lockdown life, we'll be awash with homemade cake!

The highlight of the week for some is takeaway for dinner...
One thing's for sure in this strange new life; none of us are getting any thinner!

The nation's hair is growing longer, we're all embracing the gray...
Clippers the next shortage item, desperate for hairdressers' opening day.

And how will we remember this pandemic life in the years to come?
The year the bin went out more times than us, and we couldn't hug our Mum.

As the troubled waters stirred, the ticking clock did strike and we drew a deep breath inward as the worried path did spike.
The yearn of yesteryear; of joyous pastime had, was now an echo in the air (once thought of good) had now turned bad.

Behold within a week, we noticed all the blue and birds not seen before, our heads tilted upward as they flew
And the deer reclaimed the land, the foxes lazy lay and pheasants strut around the streets emboldened by the day

And in amongst this glory, the people disappeared, like shadows in the nighttime you knew were there but didn't see,
As the silence fell around us, in melancholic reverie.

The weeks rolled on in earnest as springtime bursts and flouts, but in amongst the buds, weird things begin to sprout.
Like flowers lit up shining, burning bright into the night, these very strange occurrences are small but in plain sight.

From the crevices of darkness, you hear a threaded sound, of music creeping slowly and from somewhere underground.
It plays a song from memory, a tune that once was new;
A joyful recollection. That joy was down to You.

As the siege of trouble burns deep holes into our purse, we wonder how and what we'll eat, as cash you had apportioned, sinks into the sand beneath our feet.

When your mind is led to anguish as the hunger steals your sleep, you cannot concentrate and your limbs become a-floppy as your body becomes weak; the shops they were left empty as mad confusion grew,
But an angel came from darkness, that angel was You.

In reoccurring nightmares or vivid dreams repeat conspire, the mind slips into a vast abyss and seems to disappear from sight. 'Hold on a little longer', the whisper echoes gently 'there's much that you can do'.
Fear listened to that whisper; that whisper was You.

While the leaders divide nations, their words entrenched with lies are spewed
And the savagery of money goes unchecked, false claims made and skewed,

As waters muddy deeper, the words of wise men sought and the memes upon my Facebook bring laughter where once was nought.
And while the chambers whisper in cunning sly manoeuvres
A belly laugh of outburst; that my friend, was down to You.

Imprisoned in a vacuum, enclosed by just four walls, a beautiful rendition of a view you can recall.
And while the brush strokes languish, on canvass made in blue, our soul is once again wakened.
That gift of blue, was You.

A GIFT FROM GOD

New Poem (My Friend)

Thanking the NHS every Thursday,
They save lives every single day.

I want the old normal.

Covid-19,
You're like the worst dream,
One which we all want to wake from.

You came uninvited,
By eye you're not sighted,
Your presence here is not welcome.

An invisible enemy,
You have taken too many,
It is time that you were shown the door.

By flattening the curve,
Social distancing, we observe,
Your reign will be short, we'll ensure.

For the lives you have taken,
Be not mistaken,
Not one shall be forgotten.

You are an enemy to fear,
One not to go near,
Covid-19, you are rotten.

A battle we wage,
It'll make the front page,
When Scientists declare you've expired.

We are thankful for many,
Who have carried our Country,
They have worked non-stop, they are tired.

For them we've stayed home,
Only seeing family on Zoom,
You have robbed us of special occasions.

Birthdays missed,
New babies not kissed,
This is covid-isolation.

But what community spirit,
The virtual support you can feel it,
Covid's stage show is approaching its curtains.

So Covid-19,
Put down your sceptre,
You Crown-shaped invisible foe.

You're done, You're dusted,
Covid-19,
It really is time that you go!!

What are days, weeks & months without plans?
Time is both rapid and lesiurely
Old school nothing and contemplating the navel

Elastic time

Agonising ephemeral existence,
The fullness of accelerated change
The world is re-orienting

As must we
As must I

Arising from the ashes & blue light

A Phoenix

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/my-fear-of-dying-etc-LF.mp3

To say colours thaws, expression rips and the sky shies with a flawed rainbow,

To say rhythms radiate in the lungs of Italy, songs go sour and the earth feels good of remains,
Like flowers shivering of quivers that rages from the corona,

I am saying a difficult place in the sun, sets on the boulevard of Lagos and the day cum too soon to dusk of things that stains the breath,

Our soul wraths silence and the earth holds grief of relief

Although our bodies are parted in social divorce by a wild sauce lurking in the air,

And we have become photographs adopted by the heart of one another lingering on the hope that dangles on the biceps of science,

This too shall wade like flames riding the wind and bragging the ambience,

This too shall also end like echoes seeking asylum in a room unpeopled,

And every night I bury my face into the sky like my grandfather would peep a smile

I'd puff some solace at the verge of voidness where my body quits,

I'd say to my shadow, say what I say after I say what I say,

Hakuna Matata! Darkness does not exist, it is light trekking back to a place we won't know,

Cos end has no name and we shall float beyond tides and gravy rumours.

To live is of the mind,

And this mind is beyond the illusions of how we shall hoist a flag of victory.

You, stopping us dead.

The young soldier smiled,
"Give me your letter old friend
I shall read it to you,"

The old soldier handed over the
Letter in a torn, tattered
Envelope

The elderly soldier turned to the young
Boy, Hugged him,'
"We who are about to die to salute thee."

Mack looked over the trenches.
His gun went bang the german hit the ground.
'Without making a sound.'

As the young soldier looked around
Like a mosquito bite; death shook
Hands with the dead

In bitter cold ground sleeping soldiers'
Found. 'In fields of red sleep, the dead.....
'Their graves were decked with poppies'

On the cusp of Transformation, high vibration, celebration!

On the cusp of Transformation, high vibration, celebration!

You phone and ask if I can do you a favour
Because of those days in May, I can always try

All the tins I'm allowed to buy but no corned beef (those days in May!)
And I leave at the door, pay me on the other side of this
and I wave from across the street, smiling the best I can

And those tins I bought that were delivered from a depot in Macclesfield and put on the shelf by a local guy and picked up by me and swiped by the friendly woman working six days a week at the moment

and somewhere lurked the thing that killed you despite the A to Z of precautions
and was it me or was it anyone in the supply chain?

never knowing, I remember the days of May last year long before time stood still

Walking, baking
Writing, waiting...

Everything stopped.
Except HS2 - still the trees got lopped...

I have seen the school doors shut, the whole thing close,
Now I'm doing home cookery lessons and English prose...

I have hunted for elusive delivery slots,
Am still trying to join up the political dots...

I have seen the best in the people I love,
And the worst in those that litter with mask and glove...

I have seen loo rolls and soap totally disappear,
The bare shelves a shock and I've felt real fear...

I've gone on one daily outdoor exercise,
Then eaten too many biscuits and increased my waist size...

True to my word I have socially isolated,
And celebrated a wedding anniversary, 18 years since we first dated...

While I feel sure our government has lied,
People have become sick and many have died...

Saving lives, I've stayed in,
Now I appreciate those who empty my bin...

As I'm living through this pandemic,
I'm learning, 'I didn't know selfishness was so endemic...'

I remember it started with herd immunity,
Now it ends with the 'R' number and 'be alert' lunacy...

On a one walk day
she knelt two metres away
and asked for his hand.

He buried his head
in the crook of his elbow
and blew her a kiss.

She coughed up champagne,
which cooled his brow, while choosing
their favourite songs.

The iPod broke down
at a service attended
by virtual friends.

Lockdown
by Jehane Markham

April with her floral apron on
Singing her haunting birdsong

Buds bursting with points
Of colour like Seurat's spotty

Flesh while we wait behind glass
With widening eyes

The bright light on the empty street
The lack of footfall, the empty hands

The aching heart, its feral beat
Salt gargle and cold wet bleach

The empty hall, the loud T.V.
Dreams, butterflies balancing on a bloom

Voices on the radio are company
When you have your own room

The ancient fear of death
Slipping through the letter box

Clinging to your dress
The modern day plague

Has come to town
Because we were greedy with our own

Plundered the soil, polluted the air
Used up resources with a devil-may-care

But the earth is so forgiving
Spring is still here.

Like mice, they scuttle out
Unknowing when
the hawk will strike

Or make amusement
for themselves to pass
a lengthless time

in cleaning and arranging
then to re-arrange
and always waiting

Waiting for this time to pass

His resistance ended with a whimper in ventilated sheets suffocating quietly to spite the machine
he had thought perhaps a boiling mushroom cloud mimicking the sun's heat

or the angry ocean raging across the land towering unstoppable drowning all in the sea's fury
or a fiery tumult descending from the heavens arcing extinction across the horizon

but this such a tiny thing piecing the breath from a friend unwantedly secretly incubating waiting to seize the fragility of life but for what purpose except death?

These moonlight nights I lie and cannot sleep,
A fox, in sunlight down our lane, a thief,
While spring days lengthen, wildness closer creeps.

Strength in fragility, earth's force runs deep
Ghost veins all that remains of this skeleton leaf
These moonlight nights I wake and cannot sleep.

Our sanity in lockdown, we must keep
Ourselves from illness, share in others grief,
As spring days lengthen, wildness closer creeps.

This world grown strange to us, although we reap
The benefits of modern life, beneath
Long moonlight nights I lie and cannot sleep.

Dawn breaks as fire, and yet I do not weep,
In Nature's healing power I have belief.
As spring days lengthen, wildness closer creeps.

The world stopped, but I didn't want to get off.
It stopped turning. But I still had things to say.

"Don't loiter in the throughway."

Are you down there, sitting mute behind your view,
Keeping your fortress closed, breathing stale air?

I remember moments sewn in a patterned quilt,
And you, you providing the voiceover to each
Scene. I recall some, but I know some are gone now.

"Don't loiter in the throughway!"

Empty its bank account!
Cheat it out of a pension!
Send it to a pauper's grave!

Ha!

Search the bird webcams
kittiwakes, ospreys, falcons:
nature in lock-down

Spring in the garden:
cowslips, bluebells, foxgloves bloom:
in the wild...who knows?

It is so quiet...
no airplanes, little traffic
blackbird loudly sings

While we skulk indoors
the earth takes a break from us
from our metalled ways

For humanity to be stopped, mid track
Is humbling,
We were, there is no doubt, hurtling towards destruction.

The house of money is falling.
The sands are shifting.
The tides are turning.

It is hard to stare into emptiness.
Stay calm,
Find peace in wide unknowing.

There is burning hope
For a better world,
For great compassion.

Be still.
My breath enlarge,
My eyes open, my trust deepen.

The Spring is singing
The primroses, laughing.

John sat alone in his bedroom,
'Saw a birdman outside his window.

John sat in his bedroom with his friend
Barry who looked through John's window
Looked up at the blue sky

The robin came to his window and sat
Down on the 'cill; sat there on
John's window

It's someone playing a game with you.
It's tales of children making things
Up to keep their dads."

The Birdman from Bilston looked like superman
Came in through the window and crept about
The streets after dark

The other children laughed at him.
The teacher said, "Children should be in their beds
Not telling tales of animals turning into people."

Where roads do not unfurl
the need for limits
breathes through dry tears.

Where Solitude takes wing
for the falling Sun
amnesia shrouds a generation.

Caged, wingless, a bird waits
for the last dusk

as a forsaken boatman
rows for food in the twilight.

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/hope-in-lockdown-HW.mp3

and holes in walls where birds make their nests,
not the best kind of hope but there's hope.

and here's the thing...

touch

and after touching's glance,

a further tilt in the heart's happenstance

Aye Corona!
by Sarah Miles

Survival feels as surreal as Salvador's melting clocks
Times as strange as sci-fi and still so many
dying........dying........dying........

The goat god of mischief
rules

The cozy comfort of home
wears

The soothing softness of touch
retreats

The steady stream of news
frightens

And yet, and yet

The eager earth of spring
abides

The persistent promise of tomorrow
beckons

And the lasting legacy of love
endures

Though the greatest of these
be love

While the goat god
dances
on too many graves

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/watching-L-I.mp3

Nights are now breath-tight and sleep-lost.
The stars are missing, only the moon
blurs by. Age has become a blindfold.

It continued with pictures, rushing,.
Oxygen tanks, faces crushed, airless,
Preparing for breath, or no breath.

He's back - says he's tired of being dead, has come to keep me company these weeks of lockdown. I wasn't expecting him or anyone else for that matter, so sitting by the river, remembering what home was like when there was husband, child, dog - well family - and how different the last few years have been without them, I didn't expect to feel that wet nose creep into the palm of my hand. Of course there's nothing there but damp grass, yet somehow as I walk back along the path there is a presence at my heel, and this time it stays, doesn't need a lead, doesn't go chasing after rabbits, or bark at other dogs. And I can take it home and let it lie on my feet as I type, feel the snuggle by my side as I read on the sofa, hear the thud of soft paws on the stairs. You've been away too long - I tell him. I did come - he replies - but you were always too busy to see me.

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/night-walk-AW.mp3

There aren't many
of us tonight. So I clap longer,
louder, Bless you, bless you.

Wern you at home you have nothing to do
But gess what the evli teacher give is a lot of work to teach us but it is bringing feelings
You have no one to help you your die to get help

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/april-5th-2020-KC.mp3

3 Tomorrow
I'll try some of today / and more of yesterday / to make tomorrow a different day / I'll be better at this by then / this staying in and daren't go out / this shapeless shifting inside / unpeopled house / I'll be all present tense / stay in the 'now' / start close in / stare down the 'how'

stay closer than 1.5 metres
smell the vibrance of youth
milky scent of a grandchild

crowd in as many concerts
art galleries, picnics in parks
walks by the sea

note to self
never take your freedoms for granted
ever again

Nothing grows in parched allotments where festered bodies spoil.
Instead in light of solitude they gather to beat the swing of lethargy;
Send council out to pasture beneath the swaying trees.

A moment for reflection
by Amy Cornock

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/the-selfish-isolator-ST.mp3

A two-tone hopscotch
on the pavement of my street -
twenty-one scuffed squares.

Think of a number,
remember all this colour -
pathways after rain.

Whisht - a Scottish and Irish word meaning hush, be quiet! Often used to soothe livestock.

And- when the terrifies sticked on the designed handkerchief ; the walls of the quarantines trembled.Our heartbeats increased. Our breath became smaller. The latest projector became on automatically. And three colours scene displayed on the screen ; where,waved our inner symptoms.

And then the strange siren break the lockdown walls and come down ; we tie the survival yearns up with the head and jump in the Android-lake- but the radiation- palui break the glassprotector and captive us. And when we hear the Embroidery announcement- the Richmond park,Sayedabad bus terminal or Komla Pur rail station fell from our clapping gap's. Our lamentations become divided and lost in the crowd.

Oh ! If ever come drunken sigh grain from the corked bottle ; I will also be a story on the screen of survival time.

Have you seen the world recently

Still and serene

From your secluded spot?

Packed, pressured, panicked

Cramped, crumbling, cracking

Cracked!!!

Crying over all the nothings

You have collected

In this abundance

Of silence

Monsters making merry

With your short memory

Monuments

Made on other people's mayhem

JUST STOP!!!

We weren't meant for this

And it's okay

To stand on rooftops

While others clap

And shout LOUDLY!

BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!!!

But you're doing your best

Even if it's just for now

Even if it'll be for later

Even if you're loud and angry and ridiculous

Even if you're like me

Who doesn't know what she's doing

But is doing it

All the same

And we cannot wash our hands of any of this.

And yet there are the strange cruel gains the deep solitudes of sky that have formed, creation glowing and rippling into brighter notes of birdsong than ever before, into the music of the trophospheres of flowing blue realms above us which the geese have reclaimed haunting the heavens with their cries of elation and lament unwavering in their flightpaths their seamless interchange of positions, the gloved swish and creaking of their hinged wings.

And yet there are the strange cruel gains the deep solitudes of sky that have formed, creation glowing and rippling into brighter notes of birdsong than ever before, into the music of the trophospheres of flowing blue realms above us which the geese have reclaimed haunting the heavens with their cries of elation and lament unwavering in their flightpaths their seamless interchange of positions, the gloved swish and creaking of their hinged wings.

A throbbing knee from too much exercise with crumbling bones

Sudden waves of heat, panic, wine give way to pleasant joy of freedom

A busy head of plans, courses, routes to new life without getting on a plane

Burying the debt calls and letters for surely now they will leave me alone

A Victorian day, build a circuit, apps and more apps, times tables, but PE or walk, run, Fortnite, panic comes again, the hateful battles

When will the WiFi die?

" Make sure you do not leave your home
Unless it is essential "

I think we now can all agree
Our need for freedom is most evidential

Comparing ourselves to caged animals in zoos Now sympathetically going mental

But think of those who didn't have freedom Before this event became so consequential

Like those locked indoors by abusive partners So mentally influential

Children locked away in their minds by unfit parents Stifling their full potential

Those locked behind the bars of their eyes With depression and anxiety, torrential

Or those who would love nothing more than the safety Of four small walls, the feeling so presidential

So although the suffering we feel in lockdown May be far from preferential

Let's just take a moment before we complain To consider those going through Something truly existential

An invisible spectre
Haunting the streets

An invisible spectre
Putting hands on the unfortunate few.

An invisible spectre
Kept at the door with disinfectant and soap.

An invisible spectre
Clawing at the door of the van

An invisible spectre
Travelling through tunnels and rising onto the streets.

An invisible spectre
Keeps us at home

The spectre slips on a pair of plastic gloves.
And resumes his work.

Ten thousand souls have said goodbye
Ten thousand more perhaps waiting to die Ten thousand doctors called time of death Ten thousand nurses witnessed someone's last breath Ten thousand partners and ten thousand mothers Ten thousand sisters and ten thousand brothers Ten thousand families all grieving alone Ten thousand reasons to stay at home

Dear Ledbury Poetry Festival,

& your lists of doing &
Seeing - they will never

End & in the aftermath
the greatest tragedy will be

Offense - taken by us
when all those wonderful people, we
longed to see - have gone back

To being impossible to see
& we all need to make appointments, again

To see, each other, maybe
At some point - in a future

That is all speck &

possible illusion.

I've lost this morning's brightest words:
fenland blooms that nudge, bodies that fix a secret course across the universe.

Outside the fluent mason bee,
testing the gap in tired bricks,
consoles with homespun clarity.

We trust them not to care a lot, they
Think of only themselves and
Not others.

Tired of listening to their lies
And not speaking a word about it

Watch them wait and pass them by
Have no dealing with hate.

Them not be man or woman
And breathe not a word to them
About your dreams

What they don't know can't hurt them
They'll never be told or out in the cold......?

They're not human' putting people out on
The streets with no food to eat.... or shoes for
Their feet......!

There is no resemblance
between being locked up
in the broom cupboard or

the order to stay
at home, forget trade,
forget time, the name

of days, enjoying
silence and the song
of birds, until your flour

and oil, your wine have
run short, your hair is
turning white. Then

you begin to think life
is not what we've lived,
unconscious of

the origins of oil
and flour, the labour
involved with growing

the grapes until the end
of their captivity in dark barrels
down dark cellars until

the wine shines in cristal glasses,
swills in the mouths of connoisseurs
who know the slow maturation of life.

Compare my lot to Godot's hapless chums
Anatomising melancholy.
The good news can be counted on my thumbs; Bad, an endless fingering of folly.

To bear my bird I binge on Radio Three
While browsing with old friends of whom I've got A shelf-full, consumed with draughts of tea Alfresco, now the sun is getting hot.

Summer's reprieve recedes, parole postponed.
Day after day the scythe is honed.

The Spring sun
fills my house, painting it
oranges and yellows.

12 April
Bliss is the translucent blue sky
the achingly pink blossom of the magnolia before me a gentle breeze wandering bird song empty public places a forgotten garden overlooked by throngs holed up in isolation here is a community with nature a carpet of daises daffodils past their best hanging on grimly the first leaves of the majestic oak greet the warmth with gratitude and thanks for the Spring.

This Thursday night at eight o'clock I'll clap

With heartfelt thanks: an echo off the bricks

And glass, for those who strive to help the sick,

Their sacrifice designed to help us cope.

The honour and the glory theirs to keep

Their resolution strong and hard to break.

These restless spirits fighting for our sakes

Are not remunerated or equipped.

Resounding claps are not exchanged for food.

The children can't be clothed in gratitude.

Blue propaganda cloaks truth in lies.

The NHS is still our greatest prize.

It must be taken off the talks for trade

And selfless, honest workers duly paid.

He waits at the late-night pharmacy
for the tablets to keep his heart in sync.
He doesn't speak to Next-in-Queue.

Balms and salves for all ills
line the shelves. This week's miracle -
Vitamin D - is sold out though.

Clutching his bag of chemical tricks,
he sets off into the dark. Cautious,
he'll detour around teen hangouts.

The wind rustles up sounds of pursuit.
His torch scans to left and right.
Why does it skip and tumble in his chest?

He fears,
more than the beat of other feet,
what might stalk the pathways of his breath.

We see only through the eyes of technology, Or through the layers of glass.
Out there the world keeps turning,
But here, time doesn't pass.

Blue sky morning's weather reporting
broadcast through a bright light of stripes flagged in slate and shadow; back where they believe they belong, dropped into a spring of locked down potency; no children's games in the playground, bolted chains at the gate, this landed land is now their plagueground; re-entry arrival running late.

Already the white wood anemones are open, scattered across the rosary moss and beech cutting below a dry stone gully, blackthorn hedging the edge of hillside into seclusion.

Walking this path because this path is not usually used at such a partisan hour. This path is only known to those in the know and those in the know will either have visited earlier or at dusk, after their animals have been fed, watered and put away behind bars.

For the moment this path is the escape route out of the house for the once-a-day-act-of-exercise with no encounters with neighbours, or worse, strangers.
Where did these masked people come from?
Possibly a long haul fever flight to recover their senses close to where they imagine someone else's handiwork might help them find their own.

Sitting on my garden bench in isolation....

Wondering

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/lockdown-blues-JH.mp3

Well, I've got the Lockdown Blues man - round and round in my head, Yeah, I've got the Lockdown Blues babe - round and round my bed, Wanna see my friends and family - but I gotta stay alone instead.

You know those Coronavirus blues, well they're playing on my mind, Yeah those Coronavirus blues, well they're playing with my mind, Wanna reach out and touch you - but I know that wouldn't be kind.

We're all doing our best here - trying with all our might, We're doing our best - yeah, we're trying with all our might, To look after each other and check that everyone's all right.

We might feel like frowning we might feel like the world's all bad, Yeah, we might feel like sighing and think the world's gone mad, Being kind and gentle to each other will stop us all getting too sad.

Gotta take good care to let our loved ones know how we feel, We've got to take good care to let our loved ones know how we feel, Cause staying away will prove our love is really real.

We got to keep on being patient till that virus is on the run, Yeah, we got to keep on being patient till that virus is on the run, When it's over the horizon - then we'll really have some fun!
(Alan is 94, a life long player of piano blues. Being well looked after in the care home, but missing visits from his wife and friends. His dementia makes it harder for him to understand. He asked me to write him a blues....)
And will we grow with the patience of plants in the gaze of tinned-up factories.
Will we placate our vagrant cocks
with painted mirrors dangled from string and carve again to make arrows, to cover the kayak with animal skin - is this when we will remember the art of swimming, when we reinvent the words for things.

stocked up stacked up locked up in lockdown
cocked up fucked up puckered up and put down shacked up hacked off handcuffed hand me down loved up gloved up puffed out and sat down

slow down hoedown show up to the showdown zonked out funked up bunkered up and hunkered down cranked up motown good god y'all get down stuffed up zippered up slippered up eiderdown

shop shut snapshot belt up and buckle down ramped up damped down working for the clampdown phased in phased out maxed out in melt down back down crackdown get down stay down

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/lockdown-buzzcut-JLMM.mp3

These are the same plague diaries
that we have always written -
your great grandfather, his father before him, their wives in the embroidery of linen and the blood pin-pricked in error,

on parchment and on vellum,
the binding of our body and the politics of being. Candlelight is darkness, electric is the darkness,

of our touch, when this is what is needed through the testament of screens and the ghosts, familiar voices - the proof here on the skin that solitude's contagious

Jewels of evidence at witch trials
where we offer up our brothers
and our sisters to the gathering of public name and shaming , all rituals and pastimes

And your last wife at the stake,
flowers round the may tree, cherry blossomm are wasteground dandelions, are people lost and wondering at their own small, greening gardens Shall I mention an Arcadia?

These are plague diaries, the same as always written in the dark come after first sleep - Dear Husband light the candle, the ink upon my fingers, like the blood of some old sea God

because this is an island
which no man is, nor woman
but I wonder as I tap, if the sea will reach my window like the floods of winter

my darling has forgotten?
This is why I write, and who I write for - my children and the fish, the bloggers, widows, and the archivists

Some people are bad
at keeping distance- they stick
to the world like glue-

world sticks to them too.
They look into dark mirrors
or at shimmer screens

for information
and signs of when it ends,
this separation

out in my garden
I can hear the traffic
from the motorway

if I close my eyes
I could be driving
down to your place

I'm trapped for now
here in my garden
you in yours

we can see each other
on our phones
speaking words of love

keep well keep strong
it may not be long
the miles will melt away

Repatriation Flight

Dusty military airbase buildings, eyeless windows Bright sun gives way to gazebo shade Busy clipboarded FCO officials Gleaming flag carrier plane

Eager tired passengers form orderly queues Exotic airbase location hidden from city eyes

Memories of extraordinary times, of gracious people, of Peruvian sun

29/30 March 2020, 12 hours, 6,000 miles.
And the BA crew all volunteered. Incredible.

We retreat and reemerge from our rooms
like waves meeting by the shore of the window, this dance of three happens daily now like three needles crocheting a new pattern of reality.
Simple human actions, eating together, cooking, washing dishes, a new alphabet in an unhurried world of harmony, kinship and family-we are reconfigured in a lucent house breathing a cornucopia of light, limpid walls and tiles seem fluid like water rippling a chiaroscuro, outside, that-the red streak of a cardinal's winged surge, that-the squirrels serrated scampering on trunks, that-the unhurried drift of a dandelion.

Spring too is upon us-this too is reality- the sun's golden bombarding drenching suffusing, this beauty is undeniable-a world savaged by light, saved by light, singing with light, rains baptize the streets asking us to rise anew, the streets are rivers cupping reflections of the oaks and cedars, blue bonnets and Indian paintbrush splatter the streets, scarlet berries bud like miniature poppies on the dark green reminiscent of a red whirring virus leaving shadows of painful stories, this war unfolds as wars have always ravaged the earth, some mine woe for profit, some simply try to keep bone and skin together, the human mind is rarely pellucid, we understand what we can and mostly move on in acceptance.

I used to see the reflection of sunlight dancing on your lips, sparking and glittering like pearls on the golden grass. Now a deadly frustration circumambient me.

An invisible animal is out to vanish all the lights. We are getting disappeared in the dark day by day. Can we remember 1820,1920? and now 2020. Is it nature, taking a piece? We may mention it's a revenge of nature. We never expect this incompatibility to our life ever but this literal to our life. This is also truth we didn't care about our world. We are using a huge plastic bottle and container and through to the sea water. We are clearing the natural state an acre and acre. We are killing animals for a million purposes.

Now a day everything has stopped. The nature is getting so green though. Animals are in open yard like a free verse poetry. A huge fresh oxygen around us like kites are flying in the sky, soft breezes are blowing over the building like seagulls are set free to roam.

Don't move inside out.
Delivery vans are dropping the goods, Uber eats delivering the client's order. But we are completely locked in the wall. We can't enjoy the time, we have been just waiting for new day. We have been waiting for the new light.

Everything has changed.
Contained, constrained, confined, locked down, An Englishman's home is his castle... ...or his prison.

But no, everything has changed.
The whole world is in turmoil.
Presidents, kings, labourers and dispossessed, The richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor, All are in fear.

And when we come through this
What will we have learnt?

Everything and nothing will have changed.

I'm sitting here pondering away my hours
Thinking about this world of ours
Wishing I didn't think that I had to rhyme I should take some time To learn a different way of doing things I wish the world would think Something similar not hollow rings For the normal not right gone before Like the Raven, Nevermore!

Death will come regardless of our fear
But life will only happen if we let it.

and here in bungalow belt
where neighbours hardly ever come within two metres we went out in our ones and twos thinking to clap the lonely sky until we heard the thunder of solitude rolling up the wide road and shared the lamplit smiles of solidarity

https://www.poetry-festival.co.uk/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/lets-call-it-a-day-MS.mp3

I can't believe it's Friday, and the same
goes for Thursday and the day before that
which was .... what's its name.

Let's call each day Day.

Today's Day the spring weather holds
so out of isolation I step feeling bold.
My neighbour outside his door stares
as if we haven't seen each other before.
I wave across the hedge and call out Good day!
I do believe it is what used to be called
a Friday.

Ha, those were the days!
he replies with a smile and tips his hat,
as we go our separate ways.

I am a quarantined country
noose-quiet and cyanide-sickly,
bleeding out of brickwork I no longer feel - and finding fog-filled alleyways and cobblestoned depressive episodes feel familiar even in this half-lit death.

Yesterday, today,
rioting spring dusk and swallows high,
grasshoppers still scratching in the thickets, the cypresses are robed, bending like friends with a tiny breeze for conversation

A road to the goatherd's for cheese and yogurt, the car pottering, we smile, pull into the long grass, subside to let them pass

We jumped, stopped, paralysed
he backed up, our faces close enough to cough I made to rise, "We gave you the road to ride"
"Fuck you," he whispered, and then drove off

Death Obtains

as seeds' spawn barren of two decades'
sparing

Death obtains as rosemary clenched in sucking scale/ veins'
closed system

Death obtains as dried bugs & mouse ribs/ an abandoned breast pump in a shoe box

Death obtains as choke knots/ writhing/ noosing/ periwinkle's grip on my garden beds

Death obtains as emerald borer in leafless ash/ spiny in April's flush & mantling

Death obtains as fossil mosaic/ contagion/ a stone road shivering beneath the world

On Mute
by Barry Taylor

Among the twenty-seven
new native species
of silence:

Roshan and Aisha make lots of cups of tea, stick to new daily routines created to maintain cheer. They stare out of the window. They want chocolate bars which they are too scared to go and buy.

Josh, who never had the courage to leave the computer job he hates, and has always longed for an alternative lifestyle, has dug up his small back garden and plants spinach and garlic to bolster his immune system.

Wojcek is desperate to get back to Poland, to see his family, but is worried that if he gets there he will never be allowed to return. He drinks 4 cans of strong lager, starting at 6, every evening.

Liz weaves bright new futures in her mind, of a world that has learnt its' lessons, and looks forward to the autumn. She sews scrub bags for the NHS, plans to make recycled masks, knit rainbows.

Jade can't get her usual supply of methodone, but has found some cheap spice. She likes the sunshine. Although she is hungry, she's got the gang, and her lockdown is flying by.

Stephen, aged 75, cupboards overflowing with cheese, ready meals and whisky, thinks it is Xmas. He Facetimes his son every evening at half past six. Eats and drinks like there is no tomorrow.

Lorraine spends 10 hours a day on Facebook campaigning for the cure of Covid19 by a combination of turmeric teas and yogic breathing.

Rob develops business plans for using the last reserves from his bankrupt cafe business, and some thin Government support, for a start-up in developing video games - his teenage passion. He is in discussions with his landlord about unpaid rent.

Chris and Kerri lie in bed every morning, rowing over how much screen time Ben and Gemma, aged 8 and 6, should have every day. Ben and Gemma are downstairs creating alternative worlds in Minecraft.

Alexandra texts Gilly that a G and T at 5 tonight in the back garden, with 6 feet between them, will be completely fine, surely darling.

John is alone in his flat, sweating in bed, waiting for his twice-weekly call from an NHS volunteer telephone befriender.

Louisa bleaches the front letter box, the front door bell, the wing mirrors of her Citroen Picasso, every morning at 7am.

Rashida has spent 2 days weeping for her Mum, who died aged 52, for lack of PPE. She is also a nurse, goes back to work tomorrow.

Mike eats Monster Munch and reads online conspiracy theories and analysis that show that Covid19 is a statistical myth created by capitalists to increase global control over consumer populations.

Melanie, asthmatic, wakes up thinking she has Covid every morning. She spends her days on Facebook looking for posts that will offer her lifelines for her more precarious than ever mental health.

Jane is on 80% furlough, and now she can no longer go to restaurants or on holiday, is better off than when she was working. She reads, rings friends, listens to Guardian recommended Spotify lists. She loves lockdown, but knows it is not right to say it.

Ashley clings to the wreckage of S.S. Hope, stares across the grey, choppy sea.

Unwittingly, and despite best efforts, the small corner shop spreads Covid19.

The pub is closed.

The pigeons coo-coo, coo-coo.

Callum, aged 4, draws pictures of giants every day. He loves his Mum and Dad at home together for this spring that seems to last forever.

[Untitled] by Sandi Sterck

March ends . Fallen leaves dance on the lawn, fly up on the wind into the air like birds. They do not sing.

April begins with all it's promises. Animals and birds copulate in anticipation.

Should mankind do the same?. or submit to the dark clouds ominous warning.

Let's hide from the light and sunshine, furrow deeper into ourselves. Or instead, look up to the stars, embrace the light, and look forward to tomorrows dawn.

Should sun still shine on this beleaguered land, make blossom pink and white on cherry trees, light curls of lambs, scent daisies to draw bees, let gentle waves lap swathes of untouched sands?

Should wind not rage as humans battle on?
Should litter not be whipped through empty streets and rain not gush from gutters while we weep for all sick souls whose lives are not so long?

But sun has kept us calm through all the pain, made us look up while storms might rage within.
So nature steadfastly has played her part.
She spares us from the deluge of spring rain that we might step outdoors and there begin to find a pathway to a lighter heart.

Spare a though for those who've succumbed And those who will, we realise, For mother nature has endured Our destruction of that which was pure.

NOTE: This meditation was read at the end of a gathering for Earth Day organised by "Footsteps: Faiths for a Low Carbon Future". The proceedings were conducted online through zoom because of the corona virus lockdown. The name corona (latin for "crown") is given to this group of viruses because of their crown-like shape. The poem mentions two crowns of Jesus referred to in an Easter hymn, a crown of thorns and a crown of glory. There are also allusions to some of the presentations, eg the Jai Jagat March for Peace and Justice.

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Lockdown Poems - Ledbury Poetry Festival

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Thank you to everyone who has submitted Lockdown poems. On Sunday 5 July, at 12.30pm - 1.30pm, there was a Poetry of the Lockdown event as part of Ledbury Poetry Festival Online. The event featured a fascinating selection of Lockdown inspired poems, including poets commissioned by LPF, Naomi Shihab Nye, Sarala Estruch, Suzannah Evans, Elaine Beckett and Kim Moore.

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這本書以詩歌的形式講述了動物們在日常生活中排隊的各種情景。

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article, hungru, jungle, kamlesh tripathi, king of the jungle, panchatantra, shravancharitymission, the clever rabbit, the foolish lion, vishnu sharma, water, well book corner, book launch, book review, Book review and excerpts, book review, book synopsis, book synopsis, book talk, book talk,, causerie, column, fable, fiction, moral lesson, novel, parable, quotes and lines, short story, short story on wild life, snippet, spiritual, Uncategorized

Copyright@shravancharitymission

Once upon a time, there lived a greedy lion in the jungle who attacked and killed animals. With the result every animal in the jungle was very afraid of him. One day they all decided that each animal would go to the lion as his prey. The lion agreed to this and soon animals were in queue. Finally, it was the rabbit's turn. Where, they decided to send the wise old one. The rabbit traveled slowly and reached the lion's den before the sunset. The lion furiously asked him, 'Why are you late?' The rabbit answered, 'A group of rabbits were coming to you. But on their way they were attacked by another ferocious lion. I somehow managed to escape and reached her. The other's are still stuck.' And then he also told the lion that the other lion was challenging him.

Upon hearing this the lion got extremely angry. He asked the rabbit to take him to meet the new lion. The wise rabbit took the lion to a deep well and showed his own reflection in the water of the well. When the lion growled the reflection did the same. He considered his reflection to be his enemy. This enraged him and finally he jumped into the well to attack the other lion and by doing so he ended his own life. Thus, the wise old rabbit saved all the animals in the forest.

Moral of The Story: Focusing on solutions rather than problems is the key takeaway from this story. The story is from Panchatantra.

Posted by Kamlesh Tripathi

https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com

Share it if you like it

Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases especially cancer. Should you wish to donate for the cause. The bank details are given below:

NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION

Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805

(The book is about a young cancer patient. Now archived in 7 prestigious libraries of the US, including, Harvard University and Library of Congress. It can also be accessed in MIT through Worldcat.org. Besides, it is also available for reading in Libraries and archives of Canada and Cancer Aid and Research Foundation Mumbai)

ONE TO TANGO ... RIA'S ODYSSEY

(Is a book on 'singlehood' about a Delhi girl now archived in Connemara Library, Chennai and Delhi Public Library, GOI, Ministry of Culture, Delhi)

AADAB LUCKNOW ... FOND MEMORIES

(Is a fiction written around the great city of Nawabs-Lucknow. It describes Lucknow in great detail and also talks about its Hindu-Muslim amity. That happens to be its undying characteristic. The book was launched in Lucknow International Literary Festival of 2014)

REFRACTIONS ... FROM THE PRISM OF GOD

(Co-published by Cankids-Kidscan, a pan India NGO and Shravan Charity Mission, that works for Child cancer in India. The book is endorsed by Ms Preetha Reddy, MD Apollo Hospitals Group. It was launched in Lucknow International Literary Festival 2016)

TYPICAL TALE OF AN INDIAN SALESMAN

(Is a story of an Indian salesman who is, humbly qualified. Yet he fights his ways through unceasing uncertainties to reach the top. A good read not only for salesmen. The book was launched on 10 th February, 2018 in Gorakhpur Lit-Fest. Now available in Amazon, Flipkart and Onlinegatha

(ALL THE ABOVE TITLES ARE AVAILABLE FOR SALE IN AMAZON, FLIPKART AND OTHER ONLINE STORES OR YOU COULD EVEN WRITE TO US FOR A COPY)

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SHORT STORY: THE FOOLISH LION AND THE CLEVER RABBIT

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Copyright@shravancharitymission Once upon a time, there lived a greedy lion in the jungle who attacked and killed animals. With the result every animal in the jungle was very afraid of him. One day they all decided that each animal would go to the lion as his prey. The lion agreed to this and...

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本書通過詩歌的形式，讓讀者欣賞到動物排隊的各種有趣場景和畫面。

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Line up for this fascinating exploration of animal behavior from an award-winning author-illustrator!

Much like humans, many animals line up for a variety of reasons. Rather than forming lines for the school bus or recess, the animals featured in Susan Stockdale's book form lines for

safety: baby Mallard ducklings follow their mother to the water for their first swim

warmth: turtles climb into a stacked line for a better share of the sun's rays

navigation: Arctic wolves follow the prints in the snow left by the pack leader

food: ants line up to follow the scent of their leader to food and safety

travel: pink flamingos form a line to reduce wind resistance and fly more efficiently
Featuring birds, crustaceans, fish, insects, mammals, and reptiles from around the world, Line Up is a cozy and comforting book that reminds us of our similarities while illuminating some specific, distinctive behaviors.

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Lines and Rhymes: Animal Queueing for Kids

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Lines and Rhymes: Animal Queueing for Kids

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這本詩集以童詩形式讓讀者熟悉動物排隊的情景和秩序。

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Queue Up (Choo-choo Song) | Good Manners | Q-dees Nursery Rhymes & Songs for Kids

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Patient Paws: Animal Poems about Waiting

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Patient Paws: Animal Poems about Waiting

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本詩集描繪了動物們如何耐心排隊的有趣畫面，適合所有年齡段的讀者。

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Poems

SENT FROM HEAVEN

BORN TO RUN

ODE TO YOUR FOUR LEGGED FRIEND

JUST A DOG

AFTERLIFE & A LOSS FOR WORD

I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peek.
I could see that you were crying...you found it hard to sleep.
I whined to you softly as you brushed away a tear.
"It's me, I haven't left you...I'm well, I'm fine, I'm here."

I was close to you at breakfast, I watched you pour the tea.
You were thinking of the many times, your hands reached down to me.
I was with you at the shops today, your arms were getting sore.
I longed to take your parcels, I wish I could do more.

Author Unknown

10-02-18 MAYBE TOMORROW?

MAYBE TOMORROW?
(The tale of an over-ambitious pup!)

My Dog

IF I COULD HAVE JUST ONE MORE DOG

WHO WILL SHED A TEAR FOR ME?

THE SLAVE

ONCE I WAS A LONELY DOG

A DOG'S BEDTIME PRAYER

WHERE ARE YOU NOW

IF IT SHOULD BE...

DUSTY

I'M STILL HERE

ONE BY ONE THEY PASS BY MY CAGE

A RESCUER'S DREAM

Unlike most days at Rainbow Bridge, this day dawned cold and grey, damp as a swamp and as dismal as could be imagined. All of the recent arrivals had no idea what to think, as they had never experienced a day like this before. But the animals who had been waiting for their beloved people knew exactly what was going on and started to gather at the pathway leading to The Bridge to watch.

It wasn't long before an elderly animal came into view, head hung low and tail dragging. The other animals, the ones who had been there for a while, knew what his story was right away, for they had seen this happen far too often. He approached slowly, obviously in great emotional pain, but with no sign of injury or illness. Unlike all of the other animals waiting at The Bridge, this animal had not been restored to youth and made healthy and vigorous again.

As he walked toward The Bridge, he watched all of the other animals watching him. He knew he was out of place here and the sooner he could cross over, the happier he would be. But, alas, as he approached The Bridge, his way was barred by the appearance of an Angel who apologized, but told him that he would not be able to pass. Only those animals who were with their people could pass over Rainbow Bridge.

With no place else to turn to, the elderly animal turned towards the fields before The Bridge and saw a group of other animals like himself, also elderly and infirm. They weren't playing, but rather simply lying on the green grass, forlornly staring out at the pathway leading to The Bridge. And so, he took his place among them, watching the pathway and waiting. One of the newest arrivals at The Bridge didn't understand what he had just witnessed and asked one of the animals that had been there for a while to explain it to him.

"You see, that poor animal was a rescue. He was turned in to rescue just as you see him now, an older animal with his fur graying and his eyes clouding. He never made it out of rescue and passed on with only the love of his rescuer to comfort him as he left his earthly existence. Because he had no family to give his love to, he has no one to escort him across The Bridge." The first animal thought about this for a minute and then asked, "So what will happen now?"

As he was about to receive his answer, the clouds suddenly parted and the gloom lifted. Approaching The Bridge could be seen a single person and among the older animals, a whole group was suddenly bathed in a golden light and they were all young and healthy again, just as they were in the prime of life. "Watch, and see," said the second animal. A second group of animals from those waiting came to the pathway and bowed low as the person neared. At each bowed head, the person offered a pat on the head or a scratch behind the ears.

The newly restored animals fell into line and followed the person towards The Bridge then they all crossed together. "What happened?"

"That was a rescuer. The animals you saw bowing in respect were those who found new homes because of the rescuer's work. They will cross when their new families arrive. Those you saw restored were those who never found homes. When a rescuer arrives, they are allowed to perform one, final act of rescue. They are allowed to escort those poor animals that they could not place on earth, across the Rainbow Bridge"
Author Unknown.
I CALL YOU DOG

When God made the earth and sky, flowers and the trees,
He then made all the animals, the birds and the bees.

When His work was finished, not one was quite the same.
He said, "I'll walk this earth of mine and give you all a name."

And so He travelled land and sea, and everywhere He went,
a little creature followed him until its strength was spent.

When all were named upon the earth and in the sky and sea,
the little creature said, "Dear Lord, there's not one left for me."

The Father smiled and softly said, "I've left you till the end,
I'll turn my own name back to front, and call you 'dog,' my friend."
Author Unknown
LOOK AT ME

A younger dog is what folks want, one who romps and plays
They won't take the time to look at us -- just think we're old and grey.

HEY -- Look at ME!

(Author Unknown)

MY BAGGAGE

THE LAST WILL & TESTATMENT OF A DOG

Before humans die, they write their last will and Testament, give their home and all the have to those they leave behind. If, with my paws, I could do the same, this is what I'd ask:

To the poor and lonely stray I'd give: My happy home, my bowl and cozy bed, and all my toys. The lap, which I loved so much, the hand that stroked my fur and the sweet voice that spoke my name. I'd will to the sad, ... scared shelter dog, the place I had in my human's loving heart.

So, when I die, don't say "I'll never have another pet, because the loss and pain is more than I can stand." Instead, go find an unloved animal, one whose life has held no joy or hope and give MY place to him. This is the only thing I can give: the love I left behind.

Taken from Eugene O'Neill's Last Will and Testament of a dog.

NOBODY'S DOG

Please read this poem if you have a dog that is not micro chipped. Stray or lost dogs in the UK are taken to council pounds where on average, they have 7 daysto be claimed. Sometimes they are taken to pounds miles away from where they are originally found. On its last day at the pound if the dog has not be claimed it is very likely to be put to sleep unless it's one of the lucky ones who are saved by a rescue. Literally thousands of dogs die this way every year so make sure your dog is never one of these and make sure you micro chip you pet and keep the information up to date.

Nobody's Dog

So they said I'm not here and I sank to my bed
My kennel cough's worse and I can't raise my head
The rescue came yesterday but they hadn't a place

by Trudie Jame
For an un-neutered cross breed with his mucus-streaked face

by Trudie Jame

MAY I GO NOW?

I didn't want to go at first,
I fought with all my might.
But something seems to draw me now
to a warm and loving light.
I want to go
I really do.
It's difficult to stay.
By Susan A Jackson
ROOM FOR ONE MORE DOG

These stories are true,
As I've said before,
There's always room for one more.
Author Unknown
ONE BY ONE...

A PET'S TEN COMMANDMENTS

1. My life is likely to last 10-15 years. Remember that before you buy me.~

2. Give me time to understand what you want of me. Don't be impatient, short-tempered, or irritable.

3. Place your trust in me and I will always trust you back. Respect is earned not given as an inalienable right.

4. Don't be angry with me for long and don't lock me up as punishment; I am not capable of understanding why. I only know I have been rejected. You have your work, entertainment, and friends, but I only have you.

5. Talk to me. Even if I don't understand your words, I do understand your voice and your tone. You only have to look at my tail.

6. Be aware that however you treat me, I will never forget it and if it's cruel, it may affect me forever.

7. Before you hit me, before you strike me, remember that I could hurt you,
and yet, I choose not to bite you.

8. Before you scold me for being lazy or uncooperative, ask yourself if something might be bothering me. Perhaps I'm not getting the right food, I have been in the sun too long, or my heart might be getting old or weak. It may be I am just dog-tired.

9. Please take care of me when I grow old. You too will grow old and may also need love, care, comfort, and

10. On the ultimate difficult journey, go with me please. Never say, "I can't bear to watch" or "Let it happen in my absence". Everything is easier for me if you are there. Remember, regardless of what you do, I will always love you.

HERE IN THIS HOUSE...

Here in this house...

I will never be a substitute for anything I am not.
I will never be used to improve peoples' images of themselves.
I will be loved because I am who I am, not someone's idea of who I should be.
I will never suffer for someone's anger, impatience, or stupidity.
I will be taught all the things I need to know to be loved by all.
If I do not learn my lessons well, they will look to my teacher for blame.
Here in this house...

I can trust arms that hold, hands that touch...
knowing that, no matter what they do, they do it for the good of me.
If I am ill, I will be doctored.
If scared, I will be calmed.
If sad, I will be cheered.
No matter what I look like, I will be considered beautiful and thought to be of value.
I will never be cast out because I am too old, too ill, too unruly, or not cute enough.
My life is a responsibility, and not an afterthought.
I will learn that humans can almost, sometimes, be as kind and as fair as dogs.

Here in this house...
I will belong.
I will be home.
~Author Unknown
RESCUE DOG POEM

A rescue dog will have a tale to tell

It may be sad, or of a life of Hell
It may be a story of a once loved pup
Who found herself homeless when a marriage broke up

A rescue dog is a breed apart
Please find space for one in your heart.
By Karen Folkes 2009
ENGLISH BULL TERRIER

For what I am is all that they see,
And too soon assume what is not true,
I cannot be trusted due to breeds history,
No matter what my angels say,
There's nothing they can do.
By Moya Muldowney, 20.
REQUIEM

Patting her head, he turned to me, a heavy frown furrowing his brow.
And spoke so low I barely heard him say, "Moya, it's up to you now."

The very words I'd dreaded yet hadn't considered what I'd do.
"I've done my best, all that I can - now the rest is up to you."

I clutched onto the table as the room momentarily went black.
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I struggled to hold them back.

While she lay on that rocky table, I gazed into her eyes.
And saw the pain hidden deep within - more than I'd realised.

Unfocused though the brown eyes were, they pierced my soul down low.
I felt the limp body telling me, "I really need to go."

I swallowed over the lump in my throat as I spoke in a choking voice.
"I give you my permission ...I really have no choice."

Then bent down to her level and gathered her close to me,
While the tears ran rampant from my eyes until I could not see.

I felt him lift her paw up as the needle was inserted,
And then her life flowed smoothly out, and my bravery deserted.

Some people cannot understand how heartbreaking this time was.
That for so many tears and sleepless nights, a lowly cat was the cause.

You simply cannot comprehend how this event could make one weep.
Unless you've said the cold and lonely words:

"You may put
My pet to sleep..."

By Moya Muldowney, 18 18th October 2005

MAKE ROOM IN YOUR HEART

I know that you still search for me

Within the room; by the fireside
Eyes alight with hope reflected
In the flames, and tears you've cried.
By Moya Muldowney, 20 20th January 2006
A POEM TO MY FOSTER DOG

I am the bridge
Between what was and what can be.
I am the pathway to a new life.

I am made of steel.
Because when the time comes,
When you are well, and sleek,
When your eyes shine,
And your tail wags with joy
Then comes the hard part.
I will let you go - not without a tear,
But without a regret.
For you are safe forever -
A new dog needs me now.
by Diane Morgan/Copyright 1999
JUST A STAFFY CROSS

I WENT OUT TO RESCUE A DOG THAT DAY

RESCUERS ARE ANGELS

BUDDY

FOR THE RESCUERS

Goodwill to All

Ñ‚Â€Â‹

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Poems SENT FROM HEAVEN BORN TO RUN ODE TO YOUR FOUR LEGGED FRIEND JUST A DOG AFTERLIFE & A LOSS FOR WORD I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peek. I could see that you were crying...you found it hard to sleep.

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Animal Queue Tales: Poetry for Young Readers

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Animal Queue Tales: Poetry for Young Readers

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這本童詩書講述了動物們在日常情境中排隊的有趣故事，讓讀者在享受詩歌之餘也學習到秩序和耐心。

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Hey kids! Have you ever been underwater with a horse? Ever seen a seal scolded by his mom? Ever see a bee playing? Today is your lucky day because inside Animal Tales, you can see all this and much more, all in perfectly polished rhymes. It's a series of light-hearted stories told in rhyme that will tickle the fancy of children from 1 to 101. Let your playful side dive in and frolic with the characters of Animal Tales.

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Animal Tales: Poetry for Children & The Child at Heart

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Hey kids! Have you ever been underwater with a horse? Ever seen a seal scolded by his mom? Ever see a bee playing? Today is your lucky day because inside Animal Tales, you can see all this and much more, all in perfectly polished rhymes.