I am but an otter
An otter but am I
And if the butt gets Ott
Then the Otter
better die
But if the Ott
gets better
Then quite away
I'll fly
Because I'm not
an otter butter
But I am a
butterfly
I am but an otter
An otter but am I
And if the butt gets Ott
Then the Otter
better die
But if the Ott
gets better
Then quite away
I'll fly
Because I'm not
an otter butter
But I am a
butterfly
The mink delved among nettles and dead bracken
Moving
quick and ferret like
It
was brown, as a weasel
It
slunk under rotten willow limbs and logs
Until
it came to an abandoned rabbit hole or badger set
And
sunk in
As
one youth chased it and wielded a log above his head
Prepared
to throw it
The
mink bravely poked his body back up above the parapet
Of
the bank
It
stood there proud and unafraid
Perhaps
more curious of the danger
Because
it was both threat and interest that the two parties showed
We
the onlookers on the other side of the bank could not have offered threat only
curiosity
But
the youth with the log was less curious more a real threat to the mink
In
the event we stopped the youth from throwing his weapon at the animal
Out
of humanity for its off spring as her death would have left them helpless in
all likelihood
Zen like and nimble
Fit as a thimble
That shadowy man of the lair
Bearded not greedy
By rights not all there
Shaggy not bad tempered
Robust as his fencing
Traced back his lines to the roots
Whole hearted, out-smarted
by no one above him
You just have to love him
Mr Thurlow comes from stock of the bear
You shout in his direction
He hears not a question
But answers with meaningful stare
Romance is in him
No Lance corporal can wince him
That canny old elf of great care
I once had met
Some folk who could vet
They saw him leap five great stairs
Look in river or stream
He's near anything green
You cannot believe his clean hair
David Thurlows his name
But he's outside the game
Still winning while he's not in there
Do you wait by the river
Or stumble the gorge
There's a man who'll deliver
His life in the forge
Cast of iron or steel
You know it ain't real
But believe this man of the lair
Ghosts risen in steam,
The glen or the stream
Mr Thurlow will willow,
and billow your windrow
Til canal boat and thimble
Do thread where the wind blows
Then you'll hear his voice on the air
Calling come back and greet us
Ye locals and far reachers
And step your nimble feet in Ebbors lair
I stole the peat
I stole the
ground
I stole from
the moorhens and ducks I found
I stole the
water vole from out his hole
And made it
mine
Now they pay
my toll
I stole the
coot
And kept as
loot
Their egg,
They beg
Me to return
it in time
But finders
Keepers
What I find
is mine
Between the
railway sleepers
And under the
pine
I sit upon my
Lordly throne
Do what I
like, to each his own
The otter’s
pelt is what I smelt
And I burn it
in my fire where it melts
There’s
nobody better than the mink
There’s no
more handsome a fellow
On the levels
I think
The otter’s
time has been and gone
I threw him
out like I did the swan
Or else in
his neck my teeth did sink
And his blood
made wine for me to drink
I am king of
great wealth
King am I, me
and myself
Go fetch my
coat
Ye servant
stoat
Go lay down
flat
Ye Meare cat
And humble
yourself in my presence
Bring in fowl
and game and pheasants
Today we
feast in my name
King Stink or
Darius the cruel
It’s all the
same
For I wear
the crown and the levels is my jewel
What is it we see?
When
we walk out in January
The
clematis seed in flower
Hanging
like ghosts in the woodland bower
Or
when the buxom beech, big and round
Its
trunk like a tuber growing out of ground
Who’s
mighty girth boasts
Of all
the minerals it has found
Or
when the iridescent greens
Strike
up as if cymbals of a band
Then
in come the greys and hues of blue
That
clash and sound the woodland brass stand
What
can a man find here to satisfy his soul?
Whose
natural constituents entertain so droll?
When
none of it is of real use
Decaying
rotting roots
No
good for man or mole
Yet
just to stand there
As the
shadows play between leaves
And
the sun light cuts up in colours
As if
the earth from heaven was stole
And
catch the sound of a blackbird
Or the
hoot of an owl
That
is the best of this world
And it
gives a place to man’s soul
In it
at peace somehow
When I see yer running sound
To the
forests of the ground
Then I
pity man or mole
Who happen treadeth on your black hole
That
badger trap
That
black pit pole
Which
reaches back for rat or vole
And closes
snap on nose or tail
Oh
what a shame to be slow as a snail
Oh
fail once they call you mouse
Fail
twice its as bad as louse
But
snap that trap
As
fast as a cat
The
tail which tails the vole or rat
Will
bite at that
And
never redeem, though he may bite through
But be
he mouse or be he shrew
You
get his house
He
won’t love you
He’ll
douse and dance
And
pounce and prance
As if
the wood were burning down
And
chance a slip, a skip away from palm
He’ll
dash away from harm
I saw the violence of a squirrel
When
he fights for his last meal
But be He large or be He small
He’ll
be cracking nut and all
The
churlish oak that is his home
Reaches its twisted bark
As gloaming
turns to dark
To Everest
tree top crown
When
the bat gangs come to town
The
squirrel courting the dirty dozen
Happens
to mention he is their cousin
They
fling him long and taper and type
To the
end of an oaken limb pipe
And
there all fluting in their jail bird lungs
Commence
to throw him and there he is flung
To see if this relative kind will revert to type
And
swoop and swipe
But he
slings and slouches and gripes
Into
the leaves which wetly wipe
And
leave him not the sugar glider
More
the salt and pepper provider
And so
he settles back to his nestles
And
cracks more nuts above dreaming nettles
Then
the bats fly off to greet the dawn
Down on the Pond
See
the Swans in their silver robes
Minnow
with willow wings in a bow
Leaves
like tears
Every
kind of seed
Many
things I cannot believe
A man
on the water without any bonds
Down
on the Pond
I see
summer come on a breeze
Winter
leaves on a sneeze
A
bittern booms across the trees
Hills
stand on their knees
Like
baby mountains waiting to feed
Down
on the Pond
All is
filled with song and seed
All is
hope and life and creed
No
one's chained and all are freed
Down
on the Pond
Otters
lift their heads and sink
Salmon
jump as fish in pink
Waders
walk on toppling stilt
As
willows wander sway and wilt
And
timeless teaming Gold Finch wink
Like a
cloud of eyes that turn and blink
Down
on the Pond
The
islands are alive
Old
tin huts corrode survive
Like
supplicated saints baptised
Down
on the Pond
They
live their lives
Down
on the Pond
Many
things I can see
It is
the 'I' of creation, reflection
In
depiction of reeds
And
all living things
Are
catered for
Down
on the Pond
Rain
drops are jumping
Nettles
bow to winds that are bumping
Livid
sparrows and barrow's hawk
Who
come here to do their work
And
tenuous strands to human hands
Stand
like bridges built
And
Hide shutters rot and warp
Down
on the Pond
on the
Pond
down
On the pond