I often find
The fox’s bark
Fills my mind.
How fast the light
Fades in woodland glades
And becomes the dark
Of suffocating night.
In the park
Where children play
His cold, sharp bark
Seems to say
You spend your day
In the sun
But the night
Blots out light
And your day
Is done.
(The final stanza is very long compared to the first 2 and I am not sure how the poem hangs together. Would welcome the views of my readers. Thanks. Kevin).
We maintain
The urbane
And are witty
In the city.
But those who hark
To the fox’s bark
In the suburban dark
Find the urbane
Hard to maintain
And their wit
Begins to slip
Safe in my place
I hear foxes bark
In the autumn dark.
In this semi-urban space
The foxes laugh and say
All this will pass away.
A cold, sharp bark
Pearces the dark,
Interrupting a thought
I really ought
Not to indulge in,
Of women
And sin.
In the city
Those who are witty
Say, in fun,
“Civilisation is done”.
Whilst, in the dark
A fox’s bark
Sounds near, and clear.
“Tell me, what do you see?
As you gaze at yonder tree
Where squirrels jump from branch to branch
And leaves in the late Autumn air dance?
On seeing the fox, who strolls through the garden as though he owns the place
Do you trace in his wild face,
your fellow canine? And does his sharp bark
That oft times pearces the dark
Find an answering echo within your loyal dog heart?
Watching the world pass
Through my window glass,
Tell me
What do you see
As you gaze beyond yonder tree?”
Passion
Ashen
As a cold winter’s day.
The hounds bray
And he will go hunting for the sly fox.
They will box
In the dim light of morn.
Fate wont bother to yawn
And there will be a draw
As before.
A fox he went a-hunting, a-hunting with a bear,
They tracked a huntsman down, they tracked him to his lair.
Said the huntsman to the animals, “Two against one simply isn’t fair. Give a man a sporting chance to escape from his lair”.
Said those two to the huntsman, “Sir we have no gun. Come out, we’ll give you a sporting chance, lets all have some fun”.
Through an open window the huntsman tried to run.
The animals followed in hot pursuit, then came the fun.
Spring. Early morning. Not particularly chilly.
A fox’s bark cold and sharp.
A shiver runs through me.
I seek the warm sanctuary of my bed.
I lie my mind attempting to focus after deep slumber. A sound cold and sharp reaches me. The bark of a fox hunting or calling to it’s mate. The quilt has fallen. The cold sound of the fox mingles with my coldness. I shiver pulling the cover over me. Bark, bark the noise fills the early morning.
3.30ish. I need to drink. Entering my living room, on the way to the kitchen I pass my domesticated fox. No not a fox but my dog seemingly unaware of his cousin outside. He lies sleeping separated by the thin veil of domesticity from his wild relation.
The sound has ceased. I fall asleep and dream confusedly of dogs and wolves.
K Morris - Poet 