Those with greying hair
Linger where
Fallen leaves proliferate.
It is growing late.
Dare I broach
The final gate
We all must approach?
Those with greying hair
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A conker I found
A conker I found
On the ground.
Still in it’s prickly clothes,
Yet to be disclosed.
“I aught
To leave you here” I thought.
“You may, for all I know
Grow into a great tree”.
But another voice in me
Said “some other will take you away, if I leave you here on the grass
For many people here pass”.
So I took you home
As my own.
On my sill
You sit, waiting to spill
Your seed.
Was it need
Or greed
That made the virile
Sterile.
Would that I could
Get to the root
Of this drying fruit.
His heart was soft
His heart
Was soft
In part.
But the devil coughed,
So he did what he did
And further downward slid.
The Performer
I scorn
To perform
Like a circus seal.
Slippery as an eel
They are.
A girl may go far
In the ring …
“It is just a little thing
To turn a trick. Do you know
Ms so-and-so?
She was shy
And would “rather die”,
But now it comes easy as water off a duck’s back to her.
Yes people will stare
At you,
I don’t deny that this is true.
But all is fair
In love and war
And there are good tips
For girls who do tricks”.
The Crooked Tree
Whichever way the wind went
The crooked tree bent.
I spent
Much time gazing at that tree,
Which looked back at me
And seemed to say
“As sure as night follows day,
We shall bend together
With the prevailing weather”.
The Hill
The hill she must climb
Time after time,
And look over the top
To see what is not.
L’Envoi, by Rudyard Kipling
THE smoke upon your altar dies,
The flowers decay.
The Goddess of your sacrifice
Has flown away.
What profit then to sing or slay
The sacrifice from day to day ?
“We know the shrine is void,” they said,
“The Goddess flown –
“Yet wreaths are on the altar laid –
“The Altar-Stone
“Is black with fumes of sacrifice,
“Albeit She has fled our eyes.
“For, it may be, if still we sing
“And tend the shrine,
“Some deity on wandering wing
“May there incline;
“And finding all in order meet,
“Stay while we worship at her feet. ”
There was a young Communist named Neil
There was a young Communist named Neil
Who started the revolution’s wheel.
It whirled round and round
And to the ground
It pinned that revolutionary Neil
A life of Servitude?
As a guide dog owner for some 30 years, I was interested to come across this article, “Service Animals: A ‘Chosen’ Career Path or a Life of Servitude?”, by Joy Thomas, a teacher and guide dog owner, https://www.crixeo.com/service-animals/.
In her article, Thomas examines the views of those who maintain that the use of service animals (such as guide dogs) is cruel, and contrasts them with others (including scientists and those who train service animals).
The latter group are of the opinion that most service animals enjoy their work and that the bond between a working animal and it’s handler/owner is sometimes stronger than the connection people have with their pet dog.
I have on occasions been asked whether my guide dog, Trigger gets bored. My answer is that he is with me 24 hours a day (not always in the same room but within easy call). Dogs are pack animals and crave companionship.
Being with me is, for Trigger an essential component of his security. Unlike many pet dogs he is not left alone for protracted periods during the day but accompanies me to the office, the supermarket and my favourite watering holes!
He is constantly stimulated, which enhances his wellbeing.
It is (usually) dogs that languish at home, for long periods (not working/service animals) that suffer from bordom/lonleness.
Any Port
“Good morning stranger, I know you well”.
They greet
Under well worn sheet.
“There is no spell
To hold you here
Tis simply the sprinkle,
The familiar tinkle
Of worldly dust
That has thrust
We two together.
In stormy weather
Ships seek any port.
On a wave of need caught
They chance their luck
And sometimes buck”.
