#52weeksofnaturepoetry, Poetry

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!

Poetry, Uncategorized

Cover reveal of A Book for Pandora, my debut poetry collection!

Hello everyone, it’s been a while in the works, but I’m finally able to show you the final cover design for my first poetry collection. Here it is:

A Book for Pandora

Many of the poems in this collection originated as drafts right here on this blog, so if you like the style of my works here, I’m sure you’ll enjoy this collection. I’m incredibly proud of it and how it’s come together, and I hope it’ll be just one of many collections yet to come.

The release is early next week, and I’ll provide links for where to buy it up on my home page nearer the time.

Here’s the blurb, and thank you to all of you lovely readers for always checking out my work:

The poems in this rich and imaginative debut collection speak of people, of life, loss and love. They weave threads of myth and fairy tale into commentaries of society, explorations of self, nature and humanity.
Sometimes surreal and sinister, others playful and light, A Book For Pandora is a collection with an array of flavours that will delight any reader.

Trouble and Strife for Seven Days

Right, my love,

let’s put away those pants,

move those bin bags,

tidy up like sturdy worker ants.


Come, now, dearest,

pick up your feet,

get that motor in your head going,

you’ve got time this week.


Shall we go dancing

under the stars,

waltz time away

and have the night solely ours?


Look, my darling,

I know I’ve made a mess,

my dungarees are covered in paint,

but I’ve done my best.


Wow, my dear heart!

Did you really make that?

Everyone will love it,

they’ll play it wherever they’re sat!


Oh, honeybun,

I just can’t get this bit right,

could you read this passage

and make sure it’s not a terrible fright?


Sugarplum, what a week!

Shall we kick back tonight,

watch some films

and then conk out like a light?




A gentleman’s hair

Fear not, dear lady,  for I do declare

that is not a rat, just a mound of hair!


It escaped from beneath my top hat,

and now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall be taking it back.


Dear sir, perhaps I may enquire

as to why you hair fell towards my fire?


Is it perhaps one of those fancy toupées

that gentlemen such as yourself wear to conceal their true age?


Why, madam, I am affronted at such an accusation,

and must inform you such finely crafted hair has nothing to do with my generation.


I simply seek to add more fullness to my locks,

and if that does offend, I’m afraid I care not a jot.




Bard Dance

We paste on our faces and squelch down our thoughts,

produce positive, can-do attitudes to adhere to the court.

Seething inside, maybe; overwhelmed, swamped under,

forever unable to give in to our thunder.

The days melt under the heat and converge into one,

a conjunction of swarming bees whose tasks are never done.

Bodies we are close too, silent they must be,

still encourage us with a gesture only we can see.

And after the hour-chains finally let us retire,

we crash under waves that we have perspired.


The Noise

It rumbles through bones, teeth and jaws

down to the ground, past all six floors.

Shaking the doors, cracking the windows

disturbing old dears absorbed in their bingo.

They try and try to stop The Noise

offering food, books and free toys,

but the little green ball that resides at its core

simply widens its mouths and screeches some more.


The Switch

There was once a young witch,

who suffered with a twitch,

and, though tragic,

it affected her magic.


One day she cast a spell

in order to help her sell

her newest healing potions

and soothing skin lotions.


Then she felt a slight itch–

oh, no, the beginning of the twitch!


BANG! The spell went wrong

and she ended up in a throng

of market-goers looking

for simple ways of cooking.


Everyone pushed and shoved;

the witch felt a tug.


Someone tried to steal her magic

but it let off such static

that thief and witch

felt their bodies switch.


So witch became thief

with missing teeth,

and thief became witch,

taking on her twitch.


Now they have to work together,

or they’ll be stuck that way forever!