In the dark forest

 

In the forest of the night

When the moon is beaming bright

And the lords and Ladies pray

Like the deadly night shade

Where the sedges twist, gestate

And the moss foments in state

See the creatures stir and stalk

As alone a wanderer walks

Then he stops then is still

As the willow whips its will

As the fir sways above

And the hill slips its glove

From the hand of darkness to the hand of light

Which spreads ever onwards to the forest’s night

And the owl and Badger, moth and mole

Fly to the light or to the hole

And the wild gooseberry gooses

In twisted bramble briars

Ancient rock and stones in nooses

Of the bindweed nettled lairs

And muddy lay the tracks

Cold and icy lays the snow

Animals watch their backs

As birds start to sing when dawn first shows

Brown Bottle

 Brown bottle, brown bottle

Oh my true only friend

Keep with me, keep with me 

Right til the end

Stay down where it's dark

Or up round the bend

Drink slowly,

Drink slowly

Oh my only friend

Mr Otter

 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

Mink

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

David Thurlow

 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

King Stink the Mink King

 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

Rousseau-esque

 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