unkempt drey
a winter white bone tree of lungy dew
grey squirrel in an urban way
curious for shelter
checks out the drey
      and scuffs about
      but the scruffy drey
      falls into its pieces
     (in spring to decay)
the creature is left
      startled
      grappling for a purchase
      and a posture of dignity

I went into the woods today
to feed the little birds
the squirrel in his little  drey
and the roe deer in their herds
went in feeling confident
walked out tired and grey
now I need some counselling
and this is what I'll say!
Those little ******* birdies
had set a trap for me
dug a hole with mickey the mole
they knew I would't see
fell right down
and bashed my head
they laughed so much,
thought I was dead
all they wanted was my seed
No! not my *****!
Oh, please take heed
the rabbits kicked earth into the hole
****** lagomorphs got no soul
except for hares
they are classier
even though
the females are sassier
I climbed back  out
the birds got miffed
"there is no doubt,
he must be biffed!"
so into the fray
they sent their trump
a ****** great stag
to give me a thump
spent ten minutes dodging round
running like a good'un
until I ran into a tree
solid and pretty wooden
"my sodding nose,
that ****** hurt!
I'm bleeding down
into the dirt!"
tough they told me
with their eyes
that tree will cut you
down to size!
I got away at half past six
how was purely luck
I fed the stag some weetabix
and he got hit by a truck
So now we're having venison
and gravy for our tea
and if I go to the woods again
I'll take some friends with me!

The fallen leaves that spun in leaps
and bounds at every chattering gust
now lie trapped in rustling heaps
or whirl about as drifting dust.

These leaves that once the sound
of wind moved in whispering green
revealed those birds that found
cover in their shifting screen.

Lone in a park’s summer shade
a single homeless man has found
some shelter – his bed he made
safe under bushes dry and sound.

Weeks into months he slept unseen
and squirrels peeped from drey
on sheltered form as the green
canopy thinned to brown and grey.

One Autumn day as gentle breezes flayed
the leafy blanket off the man concealed
top deck bus commuters saw revealed
the curled up body in death decayed.

TOBIAS

In the forest, there’s few things I find more to please
Than to walk woodland trails, strewn with fallen leaves.
But by their rustling underfoot, they sing a sad lullaby
Which serves to remind, that autumn, in the short by and by,
Brings closure to our delights, now summer’s passed.
Though it too, as do most things in Life, will not last.

My walk under branches, when bared of all leaf cover
Allows an observant eye to search for and discover
Abandoned nests of last spring’s long flown brood,
Or a squirrel in his lofty drey. This agile and shrewd
Forest dweller, is ever prepared to take instant flight
Should an untoward move of mine, cause him fright!

Moments later a ruffed grouse takes off in panicked flight
Though its presence was sensed, I’d glimpsed no sight
Of this woodland denizen.  At home within the forest scene
It haunts the undergrowth but often goes, sight unseen!
Next a snake, sunning, poised alert, quickly slithers away
Having sensed intruders were abroad and coming his way.

Unexpectedly from overhead, staccato sounds startle me,
As a busy downy woodpecker, intrudes upon my reverie.
Whilst a roving shrew, in never ending search for tasty prey,
Snuffles through the leaves: pounces, then scampers away
Replete with a fat slug delicacy for its brood of young.
Though its actions benefit man, they frequently go unsung.

The leafy paths of forest floor are bustling alive this day
With various sights and sounds.  When time allows, it’s my way
To fill hours that all too swiftly pass. But reality encroaches
Upon my walk.  I hasten my step, for darkness approaches,
So with one last lingering look, I take my leave and steal away
Determined to visit these arboreal woods again, another day.

Rhymer.

Shakespeare pondered names,
We are all given names at our birth;
Some are well-placed, others unknown and ill-fitted.
We spend our teenage years trying on new names, seeing if they fit, throwing them away when they don’t.
Movie stars and musicians shorten their names; Madonna, Oprah, Prince, Beyonce and Drey.
YouTube celebrities create their fame,
Based on their ordinary life.
We, who watch on, add to the myriad of followers,
Playing into their game, adoring their name.
But have we pondered the power of names, for our good?
When we speak, are we breathing life,
Or simply just air?
How can we grasp the life in words?
How can we live out from our true names?

Set For Encounters
In A Lonely Place
A Parking Lot For An
Alien Race
A Lava Bed
A Volcanic Drey
Cloaked In Hostile
Alien Grey

Set For Encounters
In A Lonely Place
A Parking Lot For An
Alien Race
A Lava Bed
A Volcanic Drey
Cloaked In Hostile
Alien Grey

Aldrin and Armstrong allegedly informed NASA after they landed on the moon that they were being observed by UFO s that were parked on the rim of a giant crater ( Known as the Sea of Tranquility )

Its the state of mind and the things
your on
The sky opens up and they are gone
Its not so strange that they are here
Its the fact they disappear

Dont shoot me

On a tiny little island
In the middle of a small pool
Stood a very, very tall tree
That was ever so tall
That it's top was allowed
To brush the clouds
Near the top of this tree
Lived a small family
Of tree sprites
And late at night
Would often be seen
Creating clouds of a misty green
As they flew, one, and all
Just above the very small pool
Sometimes, when twilight was nigh
They sat astride dragonflies
Their wings often skimming the water
Like stones
Whilst shrieking with pleasure
In a myriad tones
The wise old owl
That lived a few branches lower
Would blink open its owly eyes
Would hoot loudly, and occasionally glower
As the shy squirrel, would hide away like a flower
So would clean out its drey
Which was tucked away
Within the tree
Using its big bushy tail
To sweep away the nut shells
(The sprites would gather these together
To wear on their heads, in stormy weather)
Below the squirrel
Which lived just below the owl
Who in turn
Lived below the tree sprites
There lived a cuckoo
Who
When quite alone
Would waltz around her home
And practise what she would sing
Upon the arrival of Spring
Below the cuckoo, lived two pigeons
Who sometimes teased the cuckoo
By taking it in turn to coo
Coo, coo, what a hullabaloo!
Beneath the pigeons
Lived a woodworm, called Woody
He never made a sound, he could not, how could he?
And just below him, lived a witch so profound
Where the tree, joined the ground
The witch, was called Harriet
She had a broom, as fast as a jet
The wood for the broom, had grown on the tree
As had her wand, of great mystery
The tree
Was called Ogilvy
He was very old, and wise
His aged limbs, touched the skies
His roots ran deep, deep underground
Spreading far, and wide, and all around
He, like the woodworm
Never spoke a sound
Other than to rustle in the breeze
Like most other trees
And when there was a gale
Seemingly seemed, to sometimes wail
As he was pushed sideways, with the wind
Creating a somewhat loud, creaking din
But protected all those, that lived within
And in the Summer, and the Spring
Ogilvy did a magical thing
As all his blossoms, and leaves would grow
They'd reveal the colours, of a beautiful rainbow

by Jemia

Lady Life

In the fly ****** fruit I see her,
In the bloated morning gall,
In the proud pheasant’s colours
And the old oak’s acorn stall.

She dances with the sunbeams
As they play upon the hearth,
Russet passions burning sprightly
As old autumn walks her path.

I see her in umbellifer,
In heather coarse and bright,
In broom and storms and sediment
Where larvae hide from light.

She creeps upon a spider’s web
And buries with the jay,
Then watches as the hazelnuts
Are lardered in a drey.

I hear her music at the brook
That chuckles over stones
And in the heavy evening air
That hosts a Buzzard’s moans.

She inspires awe and wonder when
The day’s eye lingers low,
His wake a silent orange roar
That rakes the evening’s glow.  

I see her in the fingers
That grip an Elder’s bough
And in the quaint expression
She has painted on a cow.

I see her in the water
That’s woven by the waves
And in a silent, starry night
That whispers over graves.

I know her when I seem alone
Yet sense a soft cocoon
That cradles carefully a child
Who’s lost beneath the moon.

I hope my love may know at last
A happy final home,
And oh I wish with all my heart
I’ll never feel alone.

i saw a little squirrel playing in a tree
jumping all around as happy as can be
gatherning the nuts that were hanging there
there were lots and lots growing everywhere

climbing up and down having so much fun
with his bushy tail that glistened in the sun
a lovely little creature as cute as cute be
playing all day long in his a squirrel tree

then when he got tired he climbed into his drey
gathered all his nuts stored them all away
crawled into nest that was warm and deep
closed up is little eyes then fell fast asleep