Aunty Nellie's Party

I found something I wrote some years ago. I don't remember when. Maybe it will give you a giggle.

Aunty Nelly's Party.

Shelley and Kelly were watching the telly
when who should arrive but their old Aunty June;
she’d just come from Delhi with great Aunty Nelly
whose 90th birthday was coming up soon.

Being quite hearty she wanted a party
with all of her relatives present to boot.
Not so much tarty as ex-glitterati,
Nelly was known as a bit of a hoot.

The party arranger was June’s cousin Grainger
along with his know-it-all wife Gabrielle
but she was the danger; this dog in the manger
was not known for making a party go well.

June’s sister Gemma was in a dilemma
‘cause she didn’t think that poor Grainger could cope
but that just left Emma, and she had a tremor
and June said that Emma just hadn’t a hope.

So, with much trepidation, without a relation
June started to get everything underway
but with one stipulation: this great celebration
was not an excuse for a drunken display.

With everything ready her youngest son Freddy
acted as chauffeur for most of the guests.
They could get unsteady, and some were already,
and this way there shouldn’t be many arrests.

Grainger’s friend Duffy provided the buffet
and what a magnificent effort he’d made;
the soufflés were fluffy, the vol-au-vents puffy,
and each single item superbly displayed.

The first to come in was a woman called Lynn
with her husband, and old chap who looked like an elf;
she asked with a grin for a bottle of gin
and made it quite clear it was all for herself.

Then in came Theresa, a bit of a freezer,
who only drank straight bitter lemon, on ice.
No one would tease her or come near to squeeze her.
Theresa thought that sort of things wasn’t nice.

Then someone spilled cola on June’s gorgonzola
and June didn’t think that was funny at all
so, hurriedly, Lola got out her viola
and played a duet with the pianist, Paul.

This prompted Hedley, whose singing was deadly
and likely to send everybody to sleep,
to accompany Sedley in singing a medley
of songs guaranteed to make anyone weep.

Great Aunty Leah, who’s rather a dear,
said their accomplishments just wouldn’t do.
She picked up a beer and, shedding a tear,
poured it all over the heads of the two!

A cousin from Derry was getting quite merry;
he put on some music and started to jive
with terrible Terri who’d had too much sherry,
which greatly disgusted her fiancé, Clive.

A woman called Corah was dancing the Hora
and trying to make everybody join in
when Great Aunty Nora upset Aunty Dora
by telling her she was as ugly as sin.

Dora cavorted, her face all contorted,
“Ugly I may be but you’ll go to hell!
You should be deported,” she loudly retorted,
“and all of your jailbird relations as well!”

Just then young Mary, dressed up as a fairy,
got up to give us her best party piece
but June all unwary said, “Look! a canary!”
and Dora said someone should call the police.

Her daughter, Priscilla, whose face was a killer,
ran to her mother, to Nora’s delight.
“It must be a thriller. Here comes a gorilla!”
she said very loudly. Priscilla went white.

She grabbed hold of Pam who was carving the ham
and asked her to carve up Aunt Nora instead.
“I’ll get you some lamb, or we’ve even got Spam,”
she replied. Well, she isn’t quite right in the head.

Cousin Matilda kissed Cyril, a builder,
and asked him if he was a man or a mouse.
This just bewildered poor half witted Hilda
who burst into tears and ran from the house.

She ran down the street with no shoes on her feet
and was picked up by neighbours who took her right back
but she mumbled some stuff about things getting rough
which caused them to wonder if she was on crack.

The party was done, well it wasn’t much fun,
just too many idiots all in one place.
The big celebration, devoid of elation,
had caused some relations to leave in disgrace.

The great aunts were fine as they finished the wine,
giggling like mad as they kicked up their heels
whilst June swore she’d never do parties, not ever,
as long as she lives. And I know how she feels.

© CS 2018

I Don't Like Children: Confessions of A Great-Grandmother.

Take this with a pinch of salt, if you need to.  But not too large a pinch.



I don’t much like people.  Present company excepted. You’re ok.  Just people in general, you know. Ok, some people are better than others, it has to be said but, on the whole, I’m not keen.

And I especially don’t like little people. Wait - I don’t mean fairy-type little people, elves, pixies, goblins, what have you.  I don’t actually know any of those so I can’t say.

And I’m not talking about persons of restricted growth, as I believe is the correct term these days. They seem all right though I don’t know any personally so I can't be sure.

No, what I mean is small people. Very small people. Ok, children. I don’t like children. 

I know it probably seems odd, a woman not liking children, but I’m sure I’m not alone. Children are manipulative.  Don’t you think?  Some are very cruel. And sneaky. And frequently sticky. Or snotty.

I’ve never been the kind of woman who squeals and coos over babies, or who wants to squeeze their little fat cheeks, or bite their bottoms, or whatever. Never saw the attraction. It just isn’t me. I find the phrase "I could just eat you up!"  rather disturbing. 

In case you were wondering, yes I have children. I had three. You might think it’s odd that a woman who doesn’t like children had three of her own. And in quick succession I might add. But sometimes what you want and what you get are two different things.

I suppose I must have liked them a bit. To begin with. Once they get into their teens they become a totally different kind of creature. And then they grow up. I must have done something right as mine did, in fact, grow up. Now I more or less tolerate them. 

Yes, they grew up and had children of their own. Lots of them. I have ten official grandchildren and at least one unofficial one. I’ve heard that there is another one somewhere, lurking in the woodwork, ready to spring a nasty surprise on me. But then again, that may never happen. One can only hope. Though the OCD in me thinks a dozen sounds preferable to eleven.  Is that odd?

To be fair, as children go, they’re ok. The ones I know. I don’t mind them. I’m quite fond of them on the quiet, but don’t tell anyone. 

But as if that wasn’t enough to contend with, those children are now having children of their own!  I currently have six great-grandchildren and don’t imagine it will stop there. I haven’t met any of them so I don’t really know whether I’d like them or not. But these are all family, with family resemblances. It’s other people’s children that I find unattractive.

I’m not sure why I don’t like children. I was a child myself once, after all. But even then I didn’t like children. I suspect there is something missing somewhere. A bit of wiring that went wrong perhaps. In school I never really played with the other children. I might have have played with the boys but they didn’t want a girl in their midst - and seeing how high you could pee up the boys toilet wall wasn’t an option anyway - and the girly games held no interest for me. 

The only children I had at home were a cousin who gave me Chinese burns (which she always denied and was believed because of her ridiculously slender fingers. And her huge brown eyes), and my little brother who I didn’t really see much of.  There was another cousin - a boy- who I played with occasionally.  I remember using the old brass bedstead in the attic as an imaginary stagecoach.  Goodness only knows what the game was.  Cowboys and Indians perhaps?

I had a sort of friend who walked to school with me sometimes. She was a kind of mother hen figure. She used to do up the buttons and belt of my gaberdine coat and straighten my tie so I looked respectable. But I can’t honestly say we were close. 

There was a boy I walked to school with sometimes too. I did like him, I must confess. On the rare occasion I got to play kiss-catch in the street with the other children I always managed to let him catch me. But then they moved to Canada so that was that.

Maybe my feelings, or lack of them, have something to do with my mother’s attitudes to the local children. I wasn’t allowed to talk like them for one thing. They were “common” and so was their accent. They never wanted to play in our garden because we had flowers. And a greenhouse. Which meant being careful, not rushing about.  No ball games. They didn't like that.

I was rarely allowed to play in the street. That was “common” too.  Sometimes I’d stand and watch them through the front room window.  Clearly we weren’t common, though I’m not sure why. We were nothing fancy, they had previously been more countrified than townsfolk though so maybe that was it.

Up the road a way lived a girl who owned a horse.  Her name was Patricia.  The girl, not the horse. I never knew the name of the horse.  She used to ride it down the road sometimes and I longed to get to know her. And her horse.  But that wasn’t allowed. They were “Catholic”.  We were not. Apparently that was enough to stay well away from her. I doubt the horse was religious but I'll never know.

Funnily though, although mum sent me to Sunday School every week I only ever once saw her in church, when I persuaded her to come to Midnight Communion with me one Christmas Eve. I think she sent me to Sunday School because the two elderly sisters who lived next door were Sunday School teachers and no doubt it got me out from under her feet for an hour or two. I think they were called Annie and Bessie Clegg but I could be wrong about that.  It’s a long time ago.

My gran, though, she was different. My grandparents lived with us. Or we lived with them. Either way we lived in the same house.  My gran - if I remember right - was or had been “Chapel”.  Or possibly Salvation Army.  She would sometimes sing the kind of songs sung in such gatherings. Anyway, she was low church and clearly not meant to mix with those of a Popish persuasion.

Oddly though, the church I attended was High Anglican. No morning or evening services for me. We celebrated Matins and Evensong. And chanted the psalms. I liked that.  We also had a crucifix beneath the pulpit. I liked that too.  There were no bells and smells however.  Just the bells which rang out before the services to call the faithful to prayer. I liked those too. And the wonderful feeling of ancient calm in the place, though it wasn't an ancient church.  Red brick rather than stone. I never realised that until many years later when driving past one day, after it had been cleaned up.  Or maybe it had been rebuilt in brick as I had always thought of it as stone.  But memory is a strange thing. 

Maybe you’re thinking I was rather a strange child and perhaps I was. Alone a lot. Didn’t mix. Never felt I fitted in.  But one thing is sure. Whenever I hear that advert that says “Always keep away from children,”  you can bet I’m saying to myself, ”Oh, I do. Believe me.”

Aspects of Christmasa

 Another View of Christmas

It’s snowing out tonight,

the garden looks enchanting.

Beside an open fire

the dogs are lying, panting.

Right here in my lap,

so satisfied and cosy,

the cat is fast asleep,

and even I feel dozy.

Reflected in the window

I see the Christmas tree,

the tinsel and the baubles,

the fairy lights and me.

Oh yes, I’m here, of course

but where are you, you peasant?

You promised you’d be back,

you promised me a present!

There’s holly and there’s ivy,

there’s mistletoe (for kissing)

there’s softly glowing candles.

There’s only one thing missing!

It’s you, you rat, you bum!

You’re driving me insane, dear.

Just get yourself back home.

You, and your wretched reindeer!

CS

Good Yule

Winter solstice chills the ground;
festivals of light abound.
Now, in winter's cold dark tomb,
candlelight relieves the gloom.

As the soft flames dance and flicker
hearts beat just a little quicker.
Celebrations cheer the soul,
lift the spirit and console.

Religion, too, will play its part
in nourishing the hungry heart
at this time of long dark nights
with its attendant fears and frights.

Ivy, mistletoe, and holly
help to make the houses jolly;
gold and frankincense and myrrh
combine to make the senses stir.

Christians celebrate the birth
of the Christ-child come to earth
so, for all with faith sublime,
Blessings at this Christmas time!

If by faith you are a Jew
Happy Hannukah to you!
Menorah candles gaily glow
in memory of long ago.

Agnostics also deck the halls -
Season's Greetings to you all -
and if you live by Wicca's rule,
Merry meet, my friends.  Good Yule!

CS



An alternative 12 Days for these days of austerity:

On the 12th day of Christmas my lover sent to me:

Twelve plumbers plumbing
Eleven gripers griping
Ten ladies weeping
Nine chancers chancing
Eight traders sinking
Seven dealers skimming
Six fleeces fraying
Five old things.
Four plastic turds
Three cheap pens
Two rubber gloves
And a cartridge for my HP

CS


Bah, Humbug!

Christmas comes but once a year
and when it comes it brings good cheer
cheer to all the girls and boys
with their stockings full of toys.

Stockings? Nowadays it’s sacks!
Christmas Greetings sent by fax
fathers boast of what they’ve bought
mothers just get very fraught
go on endless shopping trips
fret about expanding hips
shopping trolleys overflowing
where is all the money going?
Have we got enough to drink?
God! the TV’s on the blink!
So much food it’s going rotten
presents bought so soon forgotten
decorations thrown away
that’s it - end of holiday.

When you really work it out
what is Christmas all about?
Buy and sell and wads of cash
generating tons of trash.

CS


Sonnet

It’s Christmastime and snow is all around.
The moon is shining brightly up above
and, listening quietly, I can hear the sound
of carollers, proclaiming God’s great love.
In almost every home there stands a tree
bedecked with tinsel, baubles, fairy-lights.
With all this going on it’s plain to see
that this must be the merriest of nights.
And yet, it must be said, there’s something wrong
with merriment that’s only now and then;
Despite the loud festivity and song
where is the peace on earth, goodwill to men?
For Jesus did not come to earth for this.
Is Christmastime the modern Judas kiss?

 CS


 12 Drunken Days


On the first day of Christmas my hubby put away
a gallon of home made beer.

On the second day of Christmas my hubby put away
2 whisky sours  and a gallon of home made beer.

On the third day of Christmas my hubby put away
3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the fourth day of Christmas my hubby put away
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the fifth day of Christmas my hubby put away
5 single malts
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the sixth day of Christmas my hubby put away 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts
 4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the seventh day of Christmas my hubby put away 7 small sherries, 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts,
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the eighth day of Christmas my hubby put away 8 port and lemons, 7 small sherries, 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the ninth day of Christmas my hubby put away
9 brandy cobblers, 8 port and lemons,  7 small sherries, 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the tenth day of Christmas my hubby put away10 Bloody Marys, 9  brandy cobblers 
8 port and lemons, 7 small sherries, 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my hubby put away 11 prairie oysters, 10 bloody marys,
9 brandy cobblers, 8 port and lemons, 7 small sherries, 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my hubby put away 12 Alka Seltzas, 11 prairie oysters,
10 Bloody Marys, 9 brandy cobblers,  8 port and lemons, 7 small sherries, 6 gin and tonics,
5 single malts
4 rum and cokes, 3 gin slings, 2 whisky sours and a gallon of home made beer.

CS

SMITH and MARIAH : An Allegory

 SMITH and MARIAH

Smith 3661(a Single Minded Individually Tasked Humanoid) was going about his business in his usual competent way. This is what he was programmed to do. This particular task and no other. At any point he could reprogram of course and would then carry out that task with equal efficiency. People like him, that's what they were there for. To just get on with the job at hand.  Nothing would distract him, or interfere with his single minded devotion to his set task.  He was hard wired that way and nothing anyone said would change it. 

Back at home  Mariah 2750 (a Multi-tasking Auto-Response Inter Active Humanoid) was also doing her job.  Smith didn't understand people like her at all.  Why she was constantly thinking about so many things at once was a mystery to him.  How she did it was even more of a mystery.  He simply couldn't see that this is how she was intended to function.

Unfortunately this did mean that occasionally she would suffer from an extension overload, and then would freeze up or even crash, but on the whole she functioned very well, carrying out many jobs simultaneously. Smith, however, was frequently impatient with her inability to concentrate fully on the task at hand. Especially if that task involved pleasing him.  Why couldn't she just tune out the kids for a while? Was it too much to ask? He was sometimes heard to say that the M in her name stood for Muddle-headed and the I for Incompetent.

She for her part, didn't understand people like Smith.  Being hard wired the way she was meant that she was sometimes impatient with his inability to think about more than one thing at a time. It irritated her when she left him alone with their progeny and he failed to notice what they got up to, being totally engrossed in whatever he had chosen to do.  Why couldn't he just take his mind off the damn game for a few minutes; keep one ear open? She laughed with her friends that S stood for Stupid and the I for Inefficient.

It may appear to the casual observer that both of these types of people had design flaws but no, they were each well designed for their respective purposes. It just seems a shame that no one had thought to integrate understanding of the other's strengths and weaknesses into their intelligence banks so that misunderstandings would not arise so often.

The designer could have explained to interested parties that Smith's mental processes were somewhat akin to that marvel of natural engineering, the honeycomb. Every part of Smith's life was neatly compartmentalised, filed away under its own heading, and although there were obviously some fringe connections, nothing really affected anything else in a serious way.  So when he came home and Mariah asked him how his day had been, he had already switched programmes and had nothing to say on the subject.

Mariah's mind, on the other hand, more closely resembled that other bit of ingenious natural design, a spider's web. Each thread or strand was equally important, and all were closely intertwined to make a coherent whole.  What affected one part would affect the whole design, and that's just the way it was.  Nothing he could say would affect her inability to see things as he did. Which was why, when Smith became interested in a programme involving another Mariah, it was fairly predictable that Mariah 2750 was likely to be less than understanding. 

Smith had the two Mariahs neatly filed away under different headings. One under "Home" and one under "Outside Interests" and this worked fine for him. Neither impinged on the other, so he couldn't see why it should worry anyone else. 

Mariah 2750, however, could not be expected to see it that way.  Her life with Smith 3661 was a kind of mini-universe.  Everything involved everything else in some way, large or small. If one bit went out of kilter, eventually the whole thing would collapse.  Extensions would conflict big time in the background until her circuits just crashed and burned. And then, you can be sure,  Smith would pay in some way for his inability to see things her way.

Sooner or later, Smith was going to have to deal with this, but in the meantime all he could do was make darn sure that Mariah 2750 never discovered the new game he was playing.  He would have to make sure his files were securely locked at all times. 

And what of the other Mariah? She of course saw things as her type do. It was hard for her to be just a part of Smith's life. A game. His outside interest. But her involvement was total, She was committed to this game for good or ill.

Mother Nature.

We speak of Mother Nature
but if nature is a mother
she’s remarkably uncaring.
What mother is so sparing
when it comes to being kind?

The world turns, lightening flashes
forests burn, thunder crashes,
sea floods the land,
vegetation and sand
and the creatures within
must flee for their lives or die.
Mother Nature is a lie.

The earth has no pity
yes, it can be pretty
but cruelty is rife -
from a human point of view.

Nature has no point of view
It simply gives us life.
Then live or die or getting by,
easy living or trouble and strife
a death that’s calm or gory -
that’s another story.


CS 2017

LBGTQ

Fan Dancer

Under the spotlight
she pirouettes
glistening
while the crowd forgets
listening
watching her perform

hypnotic rhythms
the pulsing beat
as music invades
the smoke-laden heat
her silken fans
like butterflies
swoop and flutter
before their eyes

applause! applause!
whistles and cheers
help to overcome
her fears

in the dressing room
she lowers a fan
looks in the mirror
sees the man

© July 2002





Mimi

Alone in the spotlight's glare
Mimi performs once more before
an anticipatory crowd.

Bejewelled, bewigged and corseted
dressed in sequins and feather boa
he stands and delivers the risqué jokes
mimes to the tracks of favourite songs
in the crippling nine inch heels he loves.

Another performance over
he smiles and waves to the cheering crowd
"my adoring public, my dear"
then whisks himself off to the dressing room
and home to the tiny top floor room
he likes to call his penthouse

where he sits and relives his performance
the cheers of the crowd, the longed-for applause
and sheds a few tears, but only a few,
over a take out meal for one
before going to bed alone.

© 2002


A Walk on the Wild Side?


Love that dared not speak its name
still dares not in many places
life becomes a guessing game
matching lifestyles to the faces
Will he, won't he, will he, won't he,
will he join the dance?
will he, won't he, will he, won't he,
won't he take a chance?

Walking on the wilder side
doesn't happen hereabouts
here the people have no Pride
here it's full of lager louts
Will they, won't they, will they, won't they
beat me up tonight?
Will they, won't they, will they, won't they
go for me on sight?

Bullied all those years at school
teachers taught the pupils how
all that crap machismo cool
nothing's any better now
Will I, won't I, will I, won't I
ever be myself?
Will I, won't I will I, won't I
wind up on the shelf?

Maybe I should leave this place
seek a living in the city
somewhere I can show my face
somewhere I can dress up pretty
Will I, won't I, will I, won't I
will I make the choice?
Do I, don't I, do I, don't I
don't I want a voice?




July 2002


Mano a Mano

two beautiful bronzed bodies
muscled yet slim
evidence clear
of time spent in the gym
toned and honed and
stripped
ready for action

looking each other up and down
smiling faces belie
the smouldering inner fire
then all attempts at decorum die
the time has come
to get down
to the business at hand.

© July 2002



Lady In Waiting

He hears the whispers, naturally.

"Do you think... No, Really?
Hmmm, she looks so...
well, you know"

Same scenario every day
"It's the Adams' apple gives it away."

True, but whaddya gonna do?
Smile the professional smile
"Yes ladies, what'll it be?"


Sept 2002



While We Wait

So many different backgrounds
rich or poor, black or white.
Different inclinations
straight or queer, left or right.

All that really separates
the good ones from the rest
is how we treat each other
that's the only valid test.

We all have fads and fancies
and lifestyles that seem strange
but when you think it over
it's ourselves we need to change.

To be more understanding
more accepting, more mature.
We all live in glass houses
and none of us is pure.

Live and let live - Oh I know
it's all been said before.
If only we could do it
there would be no need for war.

Everyone could try to make
a difference while we're here
by being more magnanimous
to people far and near.

Good will is contagious
but so is fear and hate.
The world may never change
but can't we try it while we wait?

Sept 2002



A Good Day

Today was a good day all in all
Nothing interfered with
the smooth running of my life
it ran uneventfully
like well precisioned cogs
in a really expensive watch
tick tick tick tick

The weather was pleasant too
neither too hot nor too cold
No wind hassled garbage
around the yard
no rain shed its tears
down my windows
no prima donna
impassioned rays
invaded my room
to dazzle and daze

No one called round
nobody phoned
to interrupt in any way
my unremarkable orderly day
It was all so very peaceful

God but it was boring.


Nov 2002


What I Wouldn't Do

Is there anything I‘d not do for you?
Well, I wouldn't break the law;
I wouldn't murder or steal or such
or break somebody's jaw.
I probably wouldn't lie for you,
I don't think I'd have the flair,
but anything legal or moral, hon,
call me and I'll be there!

© Feb.2003



First Contact


Eye to eye across a room
a fleeting, flirty, glance
then a longer, lingering, look,
a raw yet rhythmic dance.

Up and down, and round and round,
our gazes mix and mingle,
then sudden swift awareness
of that old familiar tingle.

I watch his lips, a subtle smile,
and instantly respond.
The body language says it all
as strangers seek to bond.


© 2004



Sting In the Tail

1 First Contact

Eye to eye across a room
a fleeting, flirty, glance
then a longer, lingering, look,
a raw yet rhythmic dance.

Up and down, and round and round,
our gazes mix and mingle,
then sudden swift awareness
of that old familiar tingle.

I watch his lips, a subtle smile,
and instantly respond.
The body language says it all
as strangers seek to bond.

2  Laying Foundations

Preliminaries over now
we down a drink or two
insinuating, subtle hints
of what we'd like to do.

His face is truly beautiful,
his body firm and hard.
His words bewitch as much as any
written by the bard.

We come to a decision but
back to his or mine?
Suspecting he has more than me
I modestly decline.

3 The Sting

We ride the elevator up
in his apartment block.
My heart is pounding harder
as his key turns in the lock

and then the door is open
and I see the stuff inside.
If he wasn't so desirable
I think I'd run and hide.

The horns of this dilemma were
the feelings and the sight.
But some things come with penalties
and he's worth every bite!

© 2004

Animals On My Mind.

 Leave Them Alone

Ivory is simply teeth
something elephants need
they’re used for many things you know:
to dig stuff up to feed,
to fight for mating rights as well
so that they can breed,
digging wells for water,
and so I humbly plead
just let elephants keep their tusks
they weren’t made for your greed.

Rhino horn is keratin,
the same as hair and nails
The thought that it’s a medicine
is simply old wives’ tales.
Any benefit derived
from that, though none is known,
could be got - and free of charge -
from munching on your own!

Tiger bones and body parts
aren’t medicine, at least
they’re no different from the bones
of any other beast.
Superstition tells you that
the tiger makes you strong.
Please, leave the tiger’s bones
and parts where they belong.

Stealing bile from bears is such
a dreadful thing to do.
it causes so much suffering
but not of course to you.
Don’t you know that you have bile?
Your body makes it’s own.
Doing things like this tells me
your heart is made of stone.

All these ancient myths we see
are leading to extinction
Please spread the message
and make clear this distinction:
Animals of every kind
are made like every other.
So think before you cause the death
or suffering of another.

CS 2017


Pity the Poor Pangolin.

Pangolins are beautiful, though you may not agree,
they wear a suit of armour, as you can plainly see.
Their tongues are long and sticky for catching what they eat:
insects, lots and lots of them, not vegetables or meat.

Their coats are made of keratin, like talons, nails or hair
they need them for protection, so predators beware!
But some misguided people seem to think they’re magic
They kill the poor things for their scales, it’s stupid and it’s tragic.

If you tried using nails or hair as medicine instead
those would heal you just as much. Really, use your head!
Instead of paying all that cash for something that is fake
Think about the animals whose lives the smugglers take.

A hundred thousand pangolins are captured every year
and now they face extinction. Can you not shed a tear?
The smugglers don’t care at all, they do it for the money
as gullible consumers pay and lap it up like honey.

CS 2017


Crying For the Dying

So many creatures used and abused
so many stupid reasons given for their deaths;
whales and dolphins, sharks and rays, turtles too and more,
end up as a meal after taking their last breaths.

Some though end up suffering, performing for their keep
stolen from their families and locked up for life -
restricted lives cut short just to entertain the masses,
and reports of unsuitable conditions are rife.

Some tiny creatures - seahorses and turtles -
are caught and imprisoned live in plastic keyring fobs.
what sort of person can think that this is ethical?
How poor do you have to be to do these kinds of jobs?

Baby seals slaughtered, brutally, cruelly,
apparently to save the fish - to have with chips and peas -
totally ignoring the reason for the low stocks
is man’s over fishing and pollution of the seas.

Don’t get me started with what is done to primates -
So many slaughtered to steal a single child
Many die in transit which makes it more distressing
Let the poor things live their lives out there in the wild.

Birds shot or captured to grace somebody’s living room -
honestly the list goes on, there really is no end
to wickedness visited on all our fellow creatures,
each one we could otherwise regard as a friend.

CS 2017


Get it Right!

Do you remember the dodo,
the bird that went extinct?
People ate the very last one.
Clever, don’t you think?
We’re supposed to be intelligent.
Out brains are bigger, albeit
what do we use this intelligence for?
Frankly I don’t see it. 

It’s like the man on the branch of a tree
whilst cutting it from the trunk;
we’re destroying all that lives and breathes
and replacing it with junk.
People, take a look at yourselves,
ask yourself: is it wise
to kill every creature and habitat
from forest to sea to skies?

The planet of course will renew itself
it’s done it so many times
but humans are digging a grave for themselves.
Is this the crime of crimes?
Whether or not you believe in a god
who is watching over all
it’s in our hands to get it right
or prepare ourselves for a fall.

CS 2017


Canned Hunts

Canned hunts:  barbaric,
cowardly, obscene;
hand reared animals
drugged, confined, and shot
by men with guns but no balls,
the young die when the mother falls
and the "hunter" ups and walks.
Animals without a choice
crying without a voice
but oh! how money talks.

© Jan 2003



The Colossal Squid

The colossal squid is a fearsome beast
with parrot's beak and enormous eyes.
It has arms so strong it strives with whales
and grows to an unbelievable size.

It's tentacles are armed with hooks,
swiveling claws that are razor sharp.
Once a legend, now a fact;
no more will listeners laugh or carp.

In Antarctic waters it has its home,
eating whatever swims its way;
it takes exceptional strength and size
to avoid becoming this creature's prey.

If you dream of a life on the Southern Seas
midst howling gales and cliffs of ice,
just think about the colossal squid
and stay away, is my advice.

CS
©2006



Bug Poo I and II


1
Ants on a fig tree
farming bugs.

Diligent, they watch for
the moment of emergence,

greedily relishing
bug poo, honeydew.


II

Dust mites, invisible,
skin scales their bread;
irritate intensely
pooing in your bed.

CS
© 2007


Mostly Fish

Why are dolphins drawn to us?
Hmm, let me think...

A creature of high intelligence
with mostly fish for company...

Yep. That would do it.

© 2005


On Dogs

If I should ever have a dog
give me a quintessential dog,
a dog that doesn't yip or yap
or trip me up or snip and snap.

An honest dog who shows respect
not fawning, but with head erect;
submissive and obedient, yes,
but proud of bearing nonetheless.

A dog of stature, large and strong
who knows that she and I belong
to times more primitive than these
when shelter was in caves and trees.

A dog much like her ancestor
with wolf-like cast and character,
a dog with whom I can commune
and howl beneath the moon.


© 2004


Perfidy

Daughters plot behind their father's back, sister slays sister and steals her lover, and a family are torn asunder - not Shakespeare but everyday stories from the world's largest wolf pack living in Yellowstone National Park.



The dark queen was beautiful but merciless and violent,
her first love was shot but she soon was re-allied.
Now she is dead and her new lover heartlessly
rules in her stead with her sister by his side.

It's a story of infamy, unscrupulous conspiracy,
of backbiting treachery and family intrigue;
where sister slays sister and takes on her family
and worse yet, the dead sister's lover was in league.

His headship is challenged, he fights off his enemy.
Now, it would seem, his position is secure
but a stranger appears and attracts the leader's daughters;
he's big and he's handsome, his intentions far from pure.

Caught in flagrante, the daughters go back home again
the stranger then vanishes, for a while at least
but always his presence is there in the memory
like a nasty smell, or the spectre at the feast.

One day he's back there, seeking to consolidate.
The daughters are tempted and go with him once more
along with some others, deserters from the family;
they form a rival faction. This could lead to war.

This isn't history, nor is it Shakespearian;
it happens quite frequently, it could be last week.
A family is torn apart, mercilessly severed,
in a Yellowstone wolf pack, up at Druid Peak.

CS © 2004



 Fox

The fox is often hunted
which leaves some folk affronted.
The handsome inspiration
for so much altercation,
is either loved or hated,
its nature much debated.
Often it is thought to be
just out on a killing spree,
indiscriminate in its slaughter
slaying far more than it oughta.
No, my friend, not so.

It's rep has been corrupted;
if not interrupted
it buries all it slays,
a store for leaner days.
We fail to understand
it has its future planned;
with little ones to raise and feed
such behaviour isn't greed.
Necessity drives every creature,
avarice is a human feature
as our waistlines show.

CS
© 2003



A Basic Need

No matter who or what we are
we all need someone to love
It's a basic need like food or drink
like the air we breathe
or the thoughts we think
all of us long to belong to another
it's what life's all about

A lioness adopting a calf
or a monkey adopting a puppy
cats with rats or rabbits with dogs
donkeys with goats or sheep or hogs
they all have a craving
for close encounters
of this there is no doubt. 

No matter what or who we are
we all need someone to love
someone to share a warm embrace
to acknowledge the look upon one's face
whether furred or feathered
it's fundamental
the solitary life is out.

CS
08/ 2002




Philosophical Ramblings.

Does the butterfly know courage
when first it leaves the cocoon?
Having left it's earthbound pedestrian life
of eating, eating, and yet more eating
to hibernate for many days
on the underside of a leaf
to break down into genetic soup
it now has to start all over again
struggle free, out into the light
stretch its wings and soar on high.
How brave is the butterfly?

Does the lioness know courage
when she faces the male who comes along
and wants to mate and sees her young as
a threat to his own genetic line;
when she drives him away with tooth and claw
to defend her young ones sired elsewhere
does she stop to think "Oh, this is scary"
or just act purely on instinct?
What courage she shows in human terms
but a mother's desire to defend her young
is pretty instinctive under duress.
How brave is the lioness?

A baby bird has to leave the nest
learn to fly and fend for itself
and we put it down to instinct
but is it afraid of the cat and the owl
the predators all around?
Does it have to pluck up courage
to launch itself off that bough?
To struggle at length with its very first worm
which must be a little daunting
and we call it nature, take it for granted
that's just what creatures do.
Is talk of courage absurd?
How brave is the little bird?

I ask because I'm human,
and humans like to know.
We want to know what makes us tick
why we do the things we do
or why we sometimes don't.
Is courage merely an instinct
born of the need to survive?
or is it something we can control
by an act of will, determination?
We like to think we're so brave
ripping our fears assunder
but are we really? I wonder.

CS  © July2002





The Rat


Of all the things that I could praise
this, this the most heroic:
the noble rat, oft much maligned,
is, of all beasts, most stoic

survivor of millennia
despite man's cunning ruses
rats will always be around
and have so many uses!

so many creatures feed on them
the owl and fox and cat
and yet they thrive despite it all
and multiply at that!

Oh noble rat, I sing your praise
Oh oft disparaged rodent
it seems when asked to soldier on
you didn't know what "no" meant

when tamed and kept within a cage
or used for awful testing
we do not then despise your kind
but find you quite arresting

a friendly and most loyal pet
intelligent and and clever
you survive where other creatures
cease from their endeavour

so, noble rat, my work is done.
Although your name is blighted
I for one think well of you
indeed, you should be knighted!

© July 2002