|
If We Spoke Sheep If we spoke Sheep (the language), what might be Flocks' message for us? Maybe sheep would say: Wool fleeces are the goods we trade, in free Exchange, for summer pasture, winter hay, Spring shearing (lest we start to overheat), Protective shelter and the watchful eyes Of shepherds, but we trade no right to eat Kebabs composed of lamb, or mutton pies ... Eye contact for us humans with our sheep Speaks volumes though: the silence of their stare Holds disappointment magnified by deep Emotion, since their bargain's so unfair— Except if we agree to only eat Plant products. That is Sheep's unspoken bleat! (First published in the March 2026 issue of Snakeskin) |
The Caterpillar The caterpillar's multitude of legs Hold up a greedy gut, as soon as all Emerge at once from tiny insect eggs, Completely formed and engineered to crawl All over cabbage leaves to feed the maw They undergird. The larval butterfly Eats constantly on leaves for making slaw, Regrettably for growers. Yet it's why Pupation happens: food a larva pigs Itself on, burgeoning a hundredfold, Lets lepidopterans be flying rigs Launched from a chrysalis ... When you behold A pretty butterfly, you see the fun Result of what a caterpillar's done! (First published in the Spring 2026 issue of WestWard Quarterly) |
Glass Sculpture Glass sculpture's hues of azure, cobalt blue, Light sky blue, lapis lazuli, teal, bice And other shades of blue entice you to Sail over placid seas to paradise, Serenely undisturbed by hints of squalls Seen faintly in far clouds. A shipwrecked mast Cocoons the glass in umber, but recalls Unfinished journeys from a stormy past. Low tide reveals their flotsam: shades of brown— Pecan, bone, russet, tan—are in array To caution you that sailors sometimes drown ... Until time ends, to sail away or stay Remains a tug-of-war between two sides Eternally opposing, like the tides. (First published in the Ekphrastic Review on 17th April, 2026 as a response to Glass Sculpture by Belinda Scott) |
|
The Fallow Field The fallow field is where the seagulls are. Here, several weeks ago, a tall and green Expanse of vegetation stretched afar From my back fence. Now only soil is seen. A flock of sheep was herded in one night. Lush greenery concealed its presence till Long snouts emerged, in time, above the height Of vegetation being gobbled still. When they had finished feasting, you could spy Few traces of green leaves: the land was bare. It's earthworms' time to farm the surface by Exchanging subsoil with manure and air. Long beaks may prey on worms—but seagulls' yield Does not deter renewal of the field! (First published in Current Conservation on 25th May, 2026.) |
The Last Drop Inn This real-ale pub in York seems game to serve Half pints or pints to browsing mammal lines, E.g., giraffes, should they drop by and curve Long necks way down to read the window sign's Ad: "PLEASE COME IN & BROWSE." A parched giraffe Sees "WELCOME!" From such patrons on the hoof, Tall orders would, presumably, make staff Delighted—couldn't sales go through the roof? ... Real ale for sale along a parapet, On tap for when one's head is in the clouds? Perhaps 'twould draw no browsers, but I bet It would draw thirsty TikTok-tourist crowds— No matter whether cider, ale or gin Nips be their tipple—to The Last Drop Inn! (First published in the September 2026 issue of Your Local Link) |