Hare Affairs – Week 42 #52weeksofnaturepoetry (A fundraiser for the RSPB)

You’re likely to have seen their boxing skills

and zigzagging, daring sprints.

If not in person, then captured

in documentaries and photographs;

zoomed in on amber eyes

and tattoo-tipped lengthy ears.

You may have read about their likenesses,

woven into literature and myth.

But, if you were to ask yourself honestly,

how much do you truly know

about brown hare affairs?

A naturalised species,

harking back to Roman times

(possibly before!),

their litters are often frequent,

up to four wide-eyed leverets each,

never to be found in burrows

but shallow, earthy depressions

nicknamed ‘forms’.

Arable fields, grasses, hedgerows –

a mosaic of hares’ favourite spaces –

let’s not forget woodlands, either,

good grazing on young bark!

And those punch-ups they’re known for?

Not the macho tests you might think;

more a lady making her disinterest quite clear

to any amorous suitors.

So, for these serious-faced fluffy runners speeding up to forty-five miles per hour escaping predators,

keep in mind:

attending everlasting tea parties

isn’t the only thing they do.

This poem is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. If you’d like to help, please share this poem to encourage others to take joy in nature, and if you have the time and means to donate, you can do so here. Let’s help keep our wildlife wild!

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Spy Me A Lizard! – Week 41 #52weeksofnaturepoetry (Fundraising for RSPB)

‘There, on the step!’ you call. Once again, I miss them. But the botanic garden, with its arranged rockeries, cavernous, thick-rooted trees, stone outcrops and glorious hidey-holes, proves to be their ideal home.

My heels calcify, locking me in place as I trace the ground’s grooves and cracks, locating the lizards’ vanishing point. Holding pose, breath light, I’m rewarded by a sandy brown, scaled nose and tiny, gemstone-chip eyes.

Nothing but a pebble to anyone glancing over. Sweet secret solely for us.

And another, bolder. Hopping – no, leaping – from rock to rock, testing each before settling to bask in the noonday sun. Smaller than I imagined, swifter too. A jerky motion up a still tree or scuffle in ground cover; invisible otherwise, unless you already know they’re about.

Eventually, I drag myself on, wary of drawing too much attention to these tiny, tailed ninjas.

Except, discovering an enormous rock pile, I spot a whole fleet of them: dark and tan browns, brilliant, speckled greens, some even wearing turquoise neck chains. Ranging from short as my little finger to long as my palm. Resting in full sight while others watch from crevices, ready to dart if need be.

Or inspect a hand hovering inches away, curious yet guarded – both human and lizard, for neither know quite how to react.

This poem is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. If you’d like to help, please share this poem to encourage others to take joy in nature, and if you have the time and means to donate, you can do so here. Let’s help keep our wildlife wild!

Anguis fragilis: Secretive Slithers – Week 37 #52weeksofnaturepoetry (Raising money for RSPB)

Dusk edges in, tingeing

the toasted sky with rich indigo,

complimenting the petrichor-sweet air.

Responding to this fading light,

gardens clear of boots and digging tools,

tatty footballs, hula hoops,

water pistols,

and saliva-drenched chew toys.

Whispering, Safety announces its arrival;

golden-grey faces appear

from rockeries and log piles,

tongues flick-flicking, sampling opportunity.

Bellies empty, these legless lizards

emerge like streams of liquid metal rippling across the lawn.

Each individual chooses its prey;

some take earthworms,

letting the pink wrigglies touch their nostrils,

roll towards their mouths, even,

before stretching jaws wide

to swallow the creature whole.

Others capture insects, spiders, slugs –

maybe a snail, if up for the challenge –

retreating to cosy hideouts

only when their energy is spent,

resting for the next adventure.

This poem is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. If you’d like to help, please share this poem to encourage others to take joy in nature, and if you have the time and means to donate, you can do so here. Let’s help keep our wildlife wild!

[Apologies for how these poems are formatted. I do write them in stanzas, but WordPress rarely decides to keep them, no matter how much I argue with it.]

All potted up

I have a little seedling,

it’s just sprouted green leaves,

it waves about in the wind

and makes our cat sneeze.

 

I want to give it a home,

so I’ve found a neat brown pot

and filled it with earth

all the way to the top.

 

I’ll make a small hole

using an old lollipop stick

and put my seedling in it

so the stem grows nice and thick.

 

Then for the important bit,

I’ll need to give it a drink.

I heard rainwater’s best,

not just water from the sink.

 

After that, I’ll have to wait

and care for it with love,

only then will it flower

from its tender buds.