The protested hunt

The huntsman galloped over the hill,
Chasing his prey as huntsmen will;
Over the hill and into the wood
Where the fox had hidden as best he could.

The fox lay just as still as could be
And peeped to see what he might see;
He heard the horse as it snorted its breath
And he felt the cold, cold wind of death.

The hounds bayed out their dreadful cry
As storm clouds filled the morning sky;
The beasts had found the fox's scent -
They knew their task was imminent.

And they cried their frightful cry of doom
Till the fox, heart beating, flicked his broom
And breaking cover began to chase
Over the hill in a life and death race.

The huntsman blew a victory blast
As he saw the flash of the fox go past.
Then the hounds picked up their hunting pace
As they joined in the fox's fright-filled race.

But what is this?   From a nearby hedge
Appears a protester carrying his badge.
It says: "Long live the fox and damn the rest."
He waved his board at the humtsman's chest.

The horse reared up and the rider fell
And rolled into mud in the ditch as well.
The horse ran off in its fear and sweat.
It began to rain as the hunt was upset!

So what with the chaos of this event,
The hunt wasn't quite as the hunter's intent.
The fox escaped in the wind and the rain
To return to its den where he's safe again.

The huntsman, angry, returned back home
Where he found his horse returned from its roam.
He dressed his wounds, his bruises and aches
But he'll ride again, for he loves the stakes.

How he cursed the man who would save the fox,
And spoil his fun and that of his dogs.
He complained and grumbled to friends that night,
"The hunt," he declared, "is the countryman's right!"

But maybe the fox has a different view
That this is his country to live in, too,
Where he hunts the rabbit and chases the hare;
It's his right in the wind and the country air.

The countryside beckons to all and sustains
All types of life in the sun and the rain.
Should the hunt be allowed?   They will long debate
The merits of this from the morn till late.

Meanwhile the fox does what foxes do,
Hunting to feed his family brood;
While men rant on as to whether they should,
And continue to fight on the edge of the wood!

Seashore

Sand stretches as far as the squint eye can see;
And here is the sea in its striking and beating,
Tiding its way until breathless it climbs
No further.

The eternal motion; yet totally motionless,
Onwards it rolls and it stretches, the ocean
Of hope, death and all life's creation:
Our mother.

The wetness, the winging, the spraying, the crying,
The soaring and winging, the living and dying,
The wind surge, the roaring, the screaming, the sighing:
Forever.

The birds on the waves, on the wing, on the sand,
The crashing of waves as they reach for the land,
The beauty of fury, the death of the bland.
All over.

Love is here present - but violent as death;
Her breeze's soft kiss becomes gale's foulest breath;
The blue azured sky is the storm's closest kith,
Whenever.

The God of creation is present right here
Where the birth of the process announces each year.
Hear the whirling and screaming of gulls in their fear,
Forever.

Shine, Light

Shine light and shine forever in the dark;
Cast light where'er you can, cast light
Into the farthest corners of the night's
Dark depths where there's no light to shine.

Death will come to end the dreadful pain
To take the light of life from now
Rekindling it in vast eternity.
Pain has no dread when it is gone in death.

Light, lead on and leading, lead us where
Your glory shines into eternity
And in that Light lives all infinity
Where Love will lead us into Light.

Bubbles

Bubbles grow on spume topped waves,

Crashing down towards the beach below,

Or, blown by bubble-gum chewing kids

Splattering their cheeks within the burst,

Or sudsing the machine wash as it spins

Splashing soapy cleansing to the clothes.

These are the bubbles of our lives, here now

Then gone within a moment, burst forever.

Whether we believe or doubt it matters not,

But life is one great bubble of its own.

It starts to burst from that first day it's blown

First day at school

My first day at school

I remember as a wondering child -

Wild things on the wall,

An apple, a cat, a ball,

With letters written below

The better to read and recognise.

We slept, that first day in school,

In the afternoon, on camp beds,

With grey coarse blankets.   We slept.

I could not sleep; but at three

They deemed, it seemed, it necessary!

Silence

There is no silence!

Silence speaks with the sounds of creation;
The silent shore is wiled by pounding waves.
In every cemetery wild animals watch the graves
Singing their silent "De profundis" to the resters.

There is no silence!

On distant hills where no man seems to walk,
The peewits and the curlew call; the snipe and lark
Herald the coming evening, or, in fading dark,
The dawn of day when heaven's songsters sing.

There is no silence?

When I but sit in silence, separate from the day
And search the empty places of my heart,
Shutting out the mundane sounds and murmurings
And all my conscience thoughts; within that silence

Comes the voice of God.

Where are the dreamers?

A world of hurt is crying out
For urgent intervention,
A hand divine to reach and touch
And point a new direction.

Where is the vision, where to go
To bring about God's plan?
There is no sense of moving on
But rather, please the man!

The one who weeps, weeps on alone,
The hurt are left to die;
The lonely keep their solitude -
Yet few are asking why?

The problem is not mine, you say,
I didn't make it so.
I didn't ask their help, so why
Would they expect me to.

And so we battle on in life,
In selfish isolation:
The poor remain in dire straits,
The rich hold to their station.

Old men no longer dream their dreams
Nor young men see their visions;
They only stare out into space,
Or at their televisions.