A Poem for Thursday

He digs
as if
all
of his future
depends on it.
Scathing
of his older sister.
Dismissive
of her attempts
 to find
depth.

She creates
 pretty sandcastles.
Decorates them
with shells.
And makes
a beach garden
around them.

He
 has no time
for that.
For life is
too short.

And men must work.

This is linked to dVerse open link night anniversary week. A great site for poets!

The Hare that Lops.

Excitement mounts

The poet’s house

Camera at the ready

Miss not one thing

Not one moment

Not one significant symbol

Then …click.

Out he ran fast

Out from the flowers

Out of the ring of wood

The sculptures of iron

The redeemed of the shingle.

Out he speed

And I feared I had lost him.

There in the corner of my eye

To the left of my sight

To the safety of the gorse

He ran barrel-lunged

Longlegged

Muscle thighed.

And I am left panting

With eyes bulging

And voice screaming

“A hare…a hare!”

Tearing over the rough ground

Away from the poet’s house

Then…click.

Only later do I find

The faithfulness of the camera

With a faster lens that mine

Caught him

Ears high

Eyes staring

Feet fleeting

Disappearing

And I smile.

A little quote from ..."derek jarman's garden"
 "The rabbits have gone - I'm happy about that, but welcome the hare that lops past. A hare is the queer animal of myth, and my, they go fast."


This is linked up to dVerse open link night week 52...congratulations on a whole year of poetry!