There is a perennial question which when do you speak and when do you keep quiet? The more retired I become the greater the tendency to let the world off on its course. Then there are times . . .
Jun. 4, 2020
An Urban Myth
in the days of quiet nature settled
birds sang raucously wonderfully
water cleaned forests thrived the air
was clear breathable
as the days went on bird population grew
birds of prey had their work cut out
but the chief buzzard at this time was
quite stupid self-serving viscious
neglecting his husbandry job
the killing nest destruction colonising
the best of the forest left a very bad feeling
around the general bird population things got very tetchy
in this time of bird flu it only took
a single toppling event to trigger the held
history of prey and preyed to unleash
across the whole forest a mayhem of rage against
the ruling preying birds
the chief buzzard issued an order for the
the usual beating and biting used time
and again to subdue the majority of
bird families because he was focused on the holding his control
but
his reign of gross mismanagement
abuse incompetence came well and truly
home to roost not even the most venal of
his loudmouth species hating supporters could save him now
and yet . . . and yet . . . and yet . . .
Peter Clarke
1st June 2020
marguerite colgan
05.06.2020 15:28
myth? prophecy? Buzzard beware!
Clíodhna
04.06.2020 15:54
Very different. I love it. An interesting take on our times.
Latest comments
25.11 | 22:15
Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.
07.11 | 11:14
Hi Peter,
A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there
Hugs,
John.x
06.11 | 16:24
A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.
06.11 | 15:59
Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.
In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.
Echoes of the Old on the New Battlefields
Warrior chiefs of the GAA were early on the field to prepare:
Posts and cones positioned to mark territories
Very young novices came later by parents’ chariots
clad and shod for the ensuing battles
Firstly, paced for speed, resilience and flexibility,
then marked off into opposing teams
Each warrior chief led a young squad of hopefuls
in further exercises to bring them to fit levels
There followed a huddle, an exhortation rant,
responded with clamour of intent and enthusiasm
Skirmishes began, speed across the field, hunt for the ball,
to be delivered as the goal, or to be prevented at all costs
Warrior chiefs egged on, instructed, altered the field of play
the young ’uns complied with fighting spirit
For every fall and hurt spells were cast on the side line
till fitness returned and they were entered back into play
Scores mounted, roars enhanced, casualties grew,
novices flagged and regrouped across the fields
Between bouts came the talks of encouragement
Stay back, pass, pass, pass, keep the pace.
Old hands passing skill onto new palms with dedication,
a gift of generous wisdom gladly given
Peter Clarke
20th April 2024