#badger - Hello Poetry

An old ***** wandered around locally When I was young man in my early teens I used to see him daily wandering around in a daze Dressed in an old ***** jacket and well worn out jeans But what made him so memorable, I still think about him to day Was what was with him was a Badger on an old black lead With its short legs and Weasel like black and white stripped head On a seat near an old railway bridge they would often stop to feed Eating any scraps they found checking out local litter bins Whatever they found would be their meal of the day Sometimes they would sit there till night time came Then they get up and go on their merry way Where they would spend the night nobody knows But they were always up bright and early and out on their round Always walking along cheerfully Cyril whistling a tune But Bertie his Badger making nary a sound Passer’s by would just nod and wish them good day Walk by with smile and a look of surprise and an inquisitive look Occasionally giving a few pennies as they went passing by With Cyril and Bertie heading for the old brook Where they could both par take a drink from the freshwater steam Eat what morsels of food they to help them through the day Sitting there silently admiring the view Enjoying life in their own indomitable way A more stranger couple it would be hard to find But they never bothered anyone in their indomitable way It was strange to see these two stalwarts of the road One Human one Animal a strange combination to meet at any time of day They got together on a dark late evening in December Cyril wandering through the local woods on this winter’s night Looking for shelter, just a place to lay his weary head, When he heard this loud noise which gave him a fright Investigating, he found Bertie caught in an old trap He freed him immediately and used an old rag to bandage his wound Then they spent the night together sheltering from the wind and the rain From that time onward their relationship just bloomed They have been together now for many a year I see them quite often out and about on their walk And always say hello with a smile and give Cyril a ten bob note I wonder what Bertie would say if only he could talk

0

Apr 10

Apr 10, 2026 at 5:02 AM UTC

owen-cullimore

Cyril the *****

An old ***** wandered around locally When I was young man in my early teens I used to see him daily wandering around in a daze Dressed in an old ***** jacket and well worn out jeans But what made him so memorable, I still think about him to day Was what was with him was a Badger on an old black lead With its short legs and Weasel like black and white stripped head On a seat near an old railway bridge they would often stop to feed Eating any scraps they found checking out local litter bins Whatever they found would be their meal of the day Sometimes they would sit there till night time came Then they get up and go on their merry way Where they would spend the night nobody knows But they were always up bright and early and out on their round Always walking along cheerfully Cyril whistling a tune But Bertie his Badger making nary a sound Passer’s by would just nod and wish them good day Walk by with smile and a look of surprise and an inquisitive look Occasionally giving a few pennies as they went passing by With Cyril and Bertie heading for the old brook Where they could both par take a drink from the freshwater steam Eat what morsels of food they to help them through the day Sitting there silently admiring the view Enjoying life in their own indomitable way A more stranger couple it would be hard to find But they never bothered anyone in their indomitable way It was strange to see these two stalwarts of the road One Human one Animal a strange combination to meet at any time of day They got together on a dark late evening in December Cyril wandering through the local woods on this winter’s night Looking for shelter, just a place to lay his weary head, When he heard this loud noise which gave him a fright Investigating, he found Bertie caught in an old trap He freed him immediately and used an old rag to bandage his wound Then they spent the night together sheltering from the wind and the rain From that time onward their relationship just bloomed They have been together now for many a year I see them quite often out and about on their walk And always say hello with a smile and give Cyril a ten bob note I wonder what Bertie would say if only he could talk

40

A badger meets a snake, in a field. A laugh, A confession, A goodbye. The wind blows all the same.

0

Aug 21, 2019

Aug 21, 2019 at 12:25 AM UTC

Unwinded

Sic Semper Tyrannus

A badger meets a snake, in a field. A laugh, A confession, A goodbye. The wind blows all the same.

6

Wild Honey Badger: The Punk Rocker of the wild. Fight for your right to party. Wild Honey Badger: The Chuck Norris of the wild. Fear itself fears you. Wild Honey Badger: Comedically psychopathic, Like Frank in Blue Velvet. Respect the Honey Badgers and they will, most likely, Still not respect you.

0

Dec 12, 2018

Dec 12, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC

eryri

Honey Badger

Wild Honey Badger: The Punk Rocker of the wild. Fight for your right to party. Wild Honey Badger: The Chuck Norris of the wild. Fear itself fears you. Wild Honey Badger: Comedically psychopathic, Like Frank in Blue Velvet. Respect the Honey Badgers and they will, most likely, Still not respect you.

12

0

May 8, 2017

May 8, 2017 at 9:04 AM UTC

The springs bracken fronds swish and sway and yet there is no wind Lying on the soft verdant grass and observing the fern, there is movement From between the intense greenness appears a black nose followed by a snout Shades of grey, with a little black and as the head with observant eyes appears There is white, although a ***** one, for it is Badger who appears No announcement, no fanfare, in fact quite the opposite, for he has much to fear His strong shoulders follow through as he pushes out into the field He has a muscular body, built for digging and his nose snuffles as he tests the air Behind him, but a little shy, his sow close by his heels as she enters the scene For a moment both stand shoulder to shoulder, their noses both a quiver He is first; he shuffles off into the meadow in search of food, worms and snails The sow is wary, and well so as her cubs join her at the edge of uncertainty They, a boy and a girl are not so worried, for life to them is full if surprises now But they have not yet met the many who would take them for their dinner Their mother and father are a different game, but presently Fox would like a go There is weasel and stoat and owl floats above with buzzard and hawk These hunters all like a youngster of any breed, and if there was chance of dinner And so, as they gambol and play upon the grasses, their mother stands on watch These cubs, they must be taught, taught playing does not feed their stomachs Taught that food is not free and must be hunted each and every night or die And the food they seek, there are also many others who feel their need to gorge With one eye above, mother seeks the juicy worm, and tries to teach her cubs Her youngsters eat all she can deliver, fat juicy snails and the odd slug or two And then, upon the air although very scant, a smell most awful and rank It would appear the lord of the hedgerow is nearby, and he will be out hunting He wears a shiny coat of red; he carries a most bushy tail and fangs of yellow At this time of year, he will have a family of his own and need extra food His home is not near, or the Brock badger would know and challenge Now the sow is worried where her husband is, and if he is near to protect them The scent becomes harder and her lips peel slowly from her teeth and she hisses Lifting from the ground over the green grass she dimly spies a red coat skulking The evening light is falling fast, her eyes are poor, but she can smell her enemy She hears the pad of his paws as he draws ever near, his coat brushed by grasses Hissing she draws her cubs to her side, the decision quickly made to fight here Speedily they run beneath her upraised body, her scent comforting she is mother And on comes Fox, he’s not so stealthy now, he knows he has been seen He skirts the trio out on the meadow; he knows she cannot be guarding two And here he thinks is a quick early evening meal, he is confident, he is Fox Near and ready he crouches to the ground, choosing his meal with care Now ready decision made, he rushes in, his jaws open to grab a tender morsel His eyes are centred on one cub that wanders from his mother’s belly fur Bam out of the blue Fox is shunted away, the brock has returned, his teeth ready There’s a fierce tussle and this Fox learns his lesson, to leave Brocks children alone The male Badger returns his teeth bloodied, his teeth full of fur, but triumphant His wife greets him, his cubs adore him, then he leads them back to the bracken in the night.

0

Dec 8, 2016

Dec 8, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC

don-moore

The Death of Fox.

The springs bracken fronds swish and sway and yet there is no wind Lying on the soft verdant grass and observing the fern, there is movement From between the intense greenness appears a black nose followed by a snout Shades of grey, with a little black and as the head with observant eyes appears There is white, although a ***** one, for it is Badger who appears No announcement, no fanfare, in fact quite the opposite, for he has much to fear His strong shoulders follow through as he pushes out into the field He has a muscular body, built for digging and his nose snuffles as he tests the air Behind him, but a little shy, his sow close by his heels as she enters the scene For a moment both stand shoulder to shoulder, their noses both a quiver He is first; he shuffles off into the meadow in search of food, worms and snails The sow is wary, and well so as her cubs join her at the edge of uncertainty They, a boy and a girl are not so worried, for life to them is full if surprises now But they have not yet met the many who would take them for their dinner Their mother and father are a different game, but presently Fox would like a go There is weasel and stoat and owl floats above with buzzard and hawk These hunters all like a youngster of any breed, and if there was chance of dinner And so, as they gambol and play upon the grasses, their mother stands on watch These cubs, they must be taught, taught playing does not feed their stomachs Taught that food is not free and must be hunted each and every night or die And the food they seek, there are also many others who feel their need to gorge With one eye above, mother seeks the juicy worm, and tries to teach her cubs Her youngsters eat all she can deliver, fat juicy snails and the odd slug or two And then, upon the air although very scant, a smell most awful and rank It would appear the lord of the hedgerow is nearby, and he will be out hunting He wears a shiny coat of red; he carries a most bushy tail and fangs of yellow At this time of year, he will have a family of his own and need extra food His home is not near, or the Brock badger would know and challenge Now the sow is worried where her husband is, and if he is near to protect them The scent becomes harder and her lips peel slowly from her teeth and she hisses Lifting from the ground over the green grass she dimly spies a red coat skulking The evening light is falling fast, her eyes are poor, but she can smell her enemy She hears the pad of his paws as he draws ever near, his coat brushed by grasses Hissing she draws her cubs to her side, the decision quickly made to fight here Speedily they run beneath her upraised body, her scent comforting she is mother And on comes Fox, he’s not so stealthy now, he knows he has been seen He skirts the trio out on the meadow; he knows she cannot be guarding two And here he thinks is a quick early evening meal, he is confident, he is Fox Near and ready he crouches to the ground, choosing his meal with care Now ready decision made, he rushes in, his jaws open to grab a tender morsel His eyes are centred on one cub that wanders from his mother’s belly fur Bam out of the blue Fox is shunted away, the brock has returned, his teeth ready There’s a fierce tussle and this Fox learns his lesson, to leave Brocks children alone The male Badger returns his teeth bloodied, his teeth full of fur, but triumphant His wife greets him, his cubs adore him, then he leads them back to the bracken in the night.

45

The sunrise burns the sky A carefully coloured explosion Blooded light flooding the low Kent fields that lie Before Maidstone, excreting soundless motion: Yellow carnation shards sway With this violent advent of day. In Hucking Estate diaphanous bluebells nestle Beneath the groping canopy Of Ash. Oak; the encroaching stinging nettle Shields the frequent woodland scree Covering with a verdant flush Brooks that through the stones invisibly rush. Within the hour, the Gorgon-headed sun Sweeps aside the cloud- The red into blue and orange has run And in Lower Fullingpits Wood the increasingly loud Shuffling of badger attacking vole, fox strangling rabbit, All compounded into daily habit. The Kent Downs rise and fall Like resurrected earth-bound music from a time When hill, wood and pool Emerged from unfettered chalk and lime. Before the Cantii hunted in ancient Wents Wood, For deer and boar, spurred not by hunger but for the love of blood. Above the sparrow-hawk attacks the sparrows Claw enmeshed in feather, Beak unravelling neck. The unalterable sorrows Of nature and weather. Cruelty never ceases, but just gets more efficient- Kindness remains deficient.

0

Jun 22, 2016

Jun 22, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC

stanley-wilkin

Deficiency of kindness

The sunrise burns the sky A carefully coloured explosion Blooded light flooding the low Kent fields that lie Before Maidstone, excreting soundless motion: Yellow carnation shards sway With this violent advent of day. In Hucking Estate diaphanous bluebells nestle Beneath the groping canopy Of Ash. Oak; the encroaching stinging nettle Shields the frequent woodland scree Covering with a verdant flush Brooks that through the stones invisibly rush. Within the hour, the Gorgon-headed sun Sweeps aside the cloud- The red into blue and orange has run And in Lower Fullingpits Wood the increasingly loud Shuffling of badger attacking vole, fox strangling rabbit, All compounded into daily habit. The Kent Downs rise and fall Like resurrected earth-bound music from a time When hill, wood and pool Emerged from unfettered chalk and lime. Before the Cantii hunted in ancient Wents Wood, For deer and boar, spurred not by hunger but for the love of blood. Above the sparrow-hawk attacks the sparrows Claw enmeshed in feather, Beak unravelling neck. The unalterable sorrows Of nature and weather. Cruelty never ceases, but just gets more efficient- Kindness remains deficient.

30

Show in contented rest bringing ghosts company wished greenly how did you know? Bleeding on too long they had to be cut down from hooks and ropes in order of feeding. Liars causing problems complicated sacrament with slickness under blackberry briars. Safe from hawks stay in Juicyland where it's prickly free from **** This song triples guessed foxy playing hard around leafy bush only snake does not miss. Dance my badger spirit agile amongst complexity ward off and wander. Kangaroo mouse prance. Survival in stickers only seasonal escape. Where to hide from next your sly rival?

0

Apr 6, 2016

Apr 6, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC

pj-poesy

Code of Kangaroo Mouse

Show in contented rest bringing ghosts company wished greenly how did you know? Bleeding on too long they had to be cut down from hooks and ropes in order of feeding. Liars causing problems complicated sacrament with slickness under blackberry briars. Safe from hawks stay in Juicyland where it's prickly free from **** This song triples guessed foxy playing hard around leafy bush only snake does not miss. Dance my badger spirit agile amongst complexity ward off and wander. Kangaroo mouse prance. Survival in stickers only seasonal escape. Where to hide from next your sly rival?

28

A country lane, which eats animals, earrings and experiences, winds in spools around the oat-house and follows the broken wall. My sister’s bottle green jeep made waves along the hedges, she shook out her hairband and the conversations of the evening. An owl asks on all sides, and would seem to answer himself as the field barracuda, the vast wide eye for the minnow-mouse. She put a pearl in the bushes, dangling spit-like, an orb, a moon-berry, full and dead forever. She drove faster, as the english night slowed down, down by the where the willow covers the road sign. She killed a badger, as if they had both lost something here. Sun-cooked, crisp at the curling edges he’s a dark patch, like a fixed pothole. his bones tested her michelins in the morning again, glassy eyed, stillened, retroflective and blind to the shimmering shadow of flies rising up through his skin like a spirit. But both her ears are full.

0

Jan 10, 2016

Jan 10, 2016 at 3:40 PM UTC

harry-randle-marsh

A Country lane that eats Animals, Earrings and Experiences

A country lane, which eats animals, earrings and experiences, winds in spools around the oat-house and follows the broken wall. My sister’s bottle green jeep made waves along the hedges, she shook out her hairband and the conversations of the evening. An owl asks on all sides, and would seem to answer himself as the field barracuda, the vast wide eye for the minnow-mouse. She put a pearl in the bushes, dangling spit-like, an orb, a moon-berry, full and dead forever. She drove faster, as the english night slowed down, down by the where the willow covers the road sign. She killed a badger, as if they had both lost something here. Sun-cooked, crisp at the curling edges he’s a dark patch, like a fixed pothole. his bones tested her michelins in the morning again, glassy eyed, stillened, retroflective and blind to the shimmering shadow of flies rising up through his skin like a spirit. But both her ears are full.

20