#brock - Hello Poetry

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

Toy: a thing or matter of no value or importance Doll, plaything, trinket Handled, moved, manipulated; Exploited, fondled, groped These words should send a chill down every girl's spine They should raise the hair on their arms, Make them look over their shoulder one extra time when they go outside Replace a few hours of sleep with nightmares of terror. Because here, you are nothing more than a toy. You are not human with hope, dreams, and aspirations. You cannot conduct yourself with dignity, maturity, and respect. You are nothing but a body, here to be a toy. Remember that, as a woman, your safety is worth nothing. Remember that a rapist's fear for his safety is more concerning that a 15 year old girl's. Remember that your dignity, your self worth, your self respect, your entire identity Isn't worth more than a couple months in county jail to a man. A woman’s ability to create life is not even her own. It is something that is debated between men a thousand miles away. It is something that is controlled by the hand of a man. The most basic right and role of a woman is stripped from them. To a man you an object. There is no difference between you and the doormat into a man's house. You are thrown on the ground, covered in pine needles, and walked all over. No difference. A woman’s concerns can be dismissed because this is just “locker room banter” You are used as a ploy to further a man’s political presence. This is a part of our daily lives now. Get used to it. We will no longer teach our children to stay away from drugs and be safe around wild animals We will teach our daughters to fear a beard instead of the click of a gun. We will teach them to be afraid of their fathers and their brothers, simply for their own safety. They will be forced to cover themselves. Hide their joyful smiles. Cover graceful legs. Mask skillful hands. Because otherwise, they will be blamed for their maltreatment, told that they asked for it. They still might be, because, remember, a woman’s word means nothing. Toy: a thing or matter of no value or importance. Doll, plaything, trinket. Handled, moved, manipulated. Exploited, fondled, groped. I am a woman. I am no more than a toy.

0

Nov 3, 2016

Nov 3, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC

maxime

Toy

Toy: a thing or matter of no value or importance Doll, plaything, trinket Handled, moved, manipulated; Exploited, fondled, groped These words should send a chill down every girl's spine They should raise the hair on their arms, Make them look over their shoulder one extra time when they go outside Replace a few hours of sleep with nightmares of terror. Because here, you are nothing more than a toy. You are not human with hope, dreams, and aspirations. You cannot conduct yourself with dignity, maturity, and respect. You are nothing but a body, here to be a toy. Remember that, as a woman, your safety is worth nothing. Remember that a rapist's fear for his safety is more concerning that a 15 year old girl's. Remember that your dignity, your self worth, your self respect, your entire identity Isn't worth more than a couple months in county jail to a man. A woman’s ability to create life is not even her own. It is something that is debated between men a thousand miles away. It is something that is controlled by the hand of a man. The most basic right and role of a woman is stripped from them. To a man you an object. There is no difference between you and the doormat into a man's house. You are thrown on the ground, covered in pine needles, and walked all over. No difference. A woman’s concerns can be dismissed because this is just “locker room banter” You are used as a ploy to further a man’s political presence. This is a part of our daily lives now. Get used to it. We will no longer teach our children to stay away from drugs and be safe around wild animals We will teach our daughters to fear a beard instead of the click of a gun. We will teach them to be afraid of their fathers and their brothers, simply for their own safety. They will be forced to cover themselves. Hide their joyful smiles. Cover graceful legs. Mask skillful hands. Because otherwise, they will be blamed for their maltreatment, told that they asked for it. They still might be, because, remember, a woman’s word means nothing. Toy: a thing or matter of no value or importance. Doll, plaything, trinket. Handled, moved, manipulated. Exploited, fondled, groped. I am a woman. I am no more than a toy.

40

The water is cold and touches the parts of me that feel foreign I am still pulling needles out of my hair Bits of broken green and mud spiral into the drain in quick motions The more I scrub at my skin, the harder it becomes to erase the damage I can't remember For a moment I wonder how many inches of water is required to drown When the moment is over I carefully step out of the shower My eyes connect with the nurse, she tells me that I can wear these clothes because mine had to be thrown away Only half an hour ago I reached to pull down my underwear to find nothing I needed to be inspected A black hole with a past I didn't know needed to be examined This felt like the kind of dream where all the images are blurred and control is lost, the character moving forward doesn't resemble the one that fell asleep I nod and begin to dress myself in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants My sister comes to pick me up, she is in tears I try to make a joke To recall the person before She doesn't laugh I am not the same A gravity weighs down the air, like a wolf fetching for the **** it bites down on the neck of my spirit and draws blood It remains there for months And will come to claim it's full prize in a court room Full of men defending men With reasons that vary depending on the sport, the class, the color, the *** I was unconscious that night but I am awake to see the picture of you they use in the news You are smiling Eyes wide You are a "good boy", a "future will be destoryed", a "made a mistake" kind of man I am a "binge drinker", an "attention seeker", a "should of known better" kind of girl You feel you have won But I never finished fighting I will declare a war Not for you But for the girl before For the victims whose voice was once unsure I hear you And we will shout together

0

Jun 30, 2016

Jun 30, 2016 at 4:40 AM UTC

e-hartwig

To girls everywhere, I am with you.

The water is cold and touches the parts of me that feel foreign I am still pulling needles out of my hair Bits of broken green and mud spiral into the drain in quick motions The more I scrub at my skin, the harder it becomes to erase the damage I can't remember For a moment I wonder how many inches of water is required to drown When the moment is over I carefully step out of the shower My eyes connect with the nurse, she tells me that I can wear these clothes because mine had to be thrown away Only half an hour ago I reached to pull down my underwear to find nothing I needed to be inspected A black hole with a past I didn't know needed to be examined This felt like the kind of dream where all the images are blurred and control is lost, the character moving forward doesn't resemble the one that fell asleep I nod and begin to dress myself in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants My sister comes to pick me up, she is in tears I try to make a joke To recall the person before She doesn't laugh I am not the same A gravity weighs down the air, like a wolf fetching for the **** it bites down on the neck of my spirit and draws blood It remains there for months And will come to claim it's full prize in a court room Full of men defending men With reasons that vary depending on the sport, the class, the color, the *** I was unconscious that night but I am awake to see the picture of you they use in the news You are smiling Eyes wide You are a "good boy", a "future will be destoryed", a "made a mistake" kind of man I am a "binge drinker", an "attention seeker", a "should of known better" kind of girl You feel you have won But I never finished fighting I will declare a war Not for you But for the girl before For the victims whose voice was once unsure I hear you And we will shout together

35

i love your versatility you pair as charitably as a free agent i want your bold bits and knobby ends on my tongue mid-conversation i like you soft or solidly jealous green or dark hibernation I admire your growth's autonomy with capacity for toleration i always cook it sloppily blinded by the destination i like to go for quantity when i'm feeling most impatient i know that it's an oddity to get off on steamed inflation i have considered that possibly it's just about my own temptation it's not worth the vagrant comedy to divulge that hot equation i'll cycle back to ecology since i don't want medication i can believe in botany and your scents of motivation i can't explain it audibly just that it's instant gratification i'm lucky that gastronomy is so easy with your engagement i think your critics are a monstrosity to the spirit of entertainment i don't think you need a recipe you're good fuzzy, chunked or shaven i'm a hungry wanton holly firmly stalked in imagination

0

Sep 11, 2018

Sep 11, 2018 at 1:00 AM UTC

aranciolightning

i

i love your versatility you pair as charitably as a free agent i want your bold bits and knobby ends on my tongue mid-conversation i like you soft or solidly jealous green or dark hibernation I admire your growth's autonomy with capacity for toleration i always cook it sloppily blinded by the destination i like to go for quantity when i'm feeling most impatient i know that it's an oddity to get off on steamed inflation i have considered that possibly it's just about my own temptation it's not worth the vagrant comedy to divulge that hot equation i'll cycle back to ecology since i don't want medication i can believe in botany and your scents of motivation i can't explain it audibly just that it's instant gratification i'm lucky that gastronomy is so easy with your engagement i think your critics are a monstrosity to the spirit of entertainment i don't think you need a recipe you're good fuzzy, chunked or shaven i'm a hungry wanton holly firmly stalked in imagination

32