Polar bear (fragment)

Faux-fur, faux bear, furry polar Flaubert,
Madame, it's beau, very soothing to stroke,
And the real bear keeps padding on,
Big paws as it pauses,
Slips into the sea,
Sleek seal-foe flowing,
From ice-floe to ice-floe,
Trailing cubs in a row.

Nyger, Nyger

Feeling poetically silly, so here's a bit of doggerel Blake-ishness...

Nyger, Nyger

Nyger, nyger, black as night,
Seeds so tasty, in plain sight,
Goldfinch, redpoll, brambling too,
In the garden, down they flew.

What the feather, what the beak,
Drains the feeder thrice each week,
Beady eye and perching claw,
Flits about, demanding more.

Glossy plumaged, plump of breast,
Each finch feeds with hungry zest,
Some they squabble, some they wait,
But all eat whether first or late.

Nyger, nyger, black as night,
Seeds so tasty, in plain sight,
Goldfinch, redpoll, brambling too,
The feeder hangs there just for you.

13th Night

Now we're back at work again,
The tinsel and the paper-chains
Seem out of time and place,
So down they come,
Stuffed back into bags and boxes,
Stored another fifty weeks,
But not the strings of cards because
Some of those we think we'll keep,
("Oh look, we didn't send them one")
("That one's not FSC, how come?")
A few are put aside 'til later,
To be reborn as tags on wrapping paper,
And then it's done,
Yuletide's dismantled,
Merry undecoration all,
Except the tree with stars and baubles,
It seems quite happy as it is,
I think we'll leave it 'til tomorrow.

The Wrench

I'm a manky little monkey
With mischief on my mind,
I want to switch the machines off
And leave their works behind.

Send their operators off to tend
The land that they once raped,
And sit among the floral fields
That nature, not us, shaped.

I have no patience left to wait
For 'them' to make this change,
When so many still say "ooh, no"
And hide inside their cage.

And so I walk on, wrench in hand
And sing towards the sky,
Taking action as it comes,
An (anti)social butterfly.

The true names of sparrows

Bold Investigator turns up first,
When we garden or put out washing,
Watching us just out of reach,
Wary, yes, but not afeared.

Seed-queen's next, the coast is clear,
She's perched close by, the bold one's mate,
Well rounded, sleek of feather,
Precious eggs to make and young to raise.

Meanwhile, Garden Scout's away,
Checking out new places, eyes darting,
For new-found food to tell,
Avoiding cat below and hawk above.

Wily old Four-winters sees,
As many times before,
Where danger lurks in bush and shrub,
Approaches slowly, grey of wing.

Swift young Crumb-prince dashes by,
Unheedful of the feline foe,
But today it's curled asleep indoors,
Morsels safely taken in the beak.

Others follow, a village-flock arrives,
In hopping waves from fence to post and tree -
Peck-your-head who fights and bickers,
Dust-keen bathes and flutters in the dry,
Twig-maiden seeks a nest to fill,
One-foot and half-tail, still alive,
At last the fledglings, as yet un-named,
Taught how to bathe and where to feed.