There are just so many of them
And they all have ideas.
Do you know how I’ve scraped and trawled
For a tuft
That hasn’t been trodden, retrodden,
Rucked over by sixteen pairs of aluminium-studded boots?
But now I think I’ve got it –
Just in time, too.
And I tell you:
One unplucked wisp of green
Is worth a mudded life
In sullied nails.
The thing we must say first is that it’s blue;
Next I’d venture comment upon its size;
I fear to ocean lore I’d bring nought new
Without espousing some appalling lies.
But I’ve reasoned that lies can be for good,
And can, perhaps, point to our higher truths;
Those equestrian types would have me rude
If I dissembled not my hate of hooves.
And in this case my verbal reticence,
My sneaky sealing of opinion’s doors,
Shows that I’m conflict-shy (at the expense
Of my contempt for those who would talk horse).
So when I call the tide land’s fading kiss,
Just know there’s nothing in my verse amiss.
Pockets of gold collect above tree trunks,
Leaving each base swaddled in low umbrage;
My quest today is to locate some skunks,
(An ambition of mine since a young age).
Viewed from above they seem to wear medals,
White metal slipped around their unkempt tails;
The forest critters keep them well fed, all!
So that their ‘lympic posture never fails.
But what attracts me most, of course, is stink,
A chance to sample nature’s grim defence;
My nose the beastly odour whole shall drink,
And relish every sensory offense.
Let me ask, before you judge: are my goals
Not just viewing locked doors as unfilled holes?
I just want to live like the trees,
Upright, without strain on my knees;
To feast on human words in the breeze,
Then photosynthesise as I please;
To mutely endure the cruellest disease
And strut the canker like a starchy bleed;
To admit as defence a ring of hippies,
Rattling placards if it a lumberjack sees;
To reserve my dopest fit for when lightning breathes:
Charred, sublime, and misshapen without all my leaves.