A few samples from a collection of about 50 animal poems.
I have a long, long trunk, not a long, long neck, and great big African ears. They want my tusks for an ivory tower, but they’ve been missing for years. Inside this body
The universe has a great, big soul that flew like a bird from a big, black hole and scorched the dark with its flaming wings, filling the void with a million things.
The sun is out on the penguin line. Their sea is a china blue. Their suits are pressed for the day ahead as the fish train comes into view. Then, Over the painted rocks they hop and
This poem is normally written in vertical columns and read from right to left. But you can read it left to right or in this case from end to beginning if you prefer!
Buffalo saw the Indian ride. A Bigfoot, Cheyenne, Arapaho Tide. Indian rode the buffalo plain before it was lost to a sea of grain. Chasing the great, black, buffalo cloud,
Cat got up and walked the long, brick wall. Its shadow walked the pavement, four foot tall. It sat and purred and heard the shadows fall. Then, Cat got up and walked the long, brick wall.
Soft, soft slow cat feet walking through the shimmering heat, far above the sea. Cheetah walks like a ballet dancer, face like Vivien Leigh. Slower, slower, slower .............
This winter is a long, long way from home and starless as the pit. The fields, ploughed into trenches, hard with ice are dimly lit and hidden from the road, where khaki-coloured mules
On the hills and the moors and the fells and the craggy steepsides, everything was snow. The farms were lost, the roads wound into nowhere. The Viking lakes were buried far below.
Oh, what a magician the manatee is! (Disguised by his barnacle skin.) He has paddles for paws and a big shovel tail. But there's hocus and pocus within!
The parrot could fly like a paint pot. He just opened his wings and flew. Over the grass and against the sky was the red and the yellow and blue. You could never describe
There's a three-legged dog on Half Moon street whose life is empty of yieldings. It's cold and hard when you have to sleep in the doorways of empty buildings.
The summer was as long as a field full of strawberries. And the wheat smelt warm and dry. And the mouse who had long been swinging on a stalk, looked up at the endless sky.
The dolphin soars out of my arms as if I had dreamt it and dives through the pavement and disappears down, like a laughing, blue clown, to invisible oceans below. So I carry on walking.
There’s the blue of the sky and the green of the hill, and the white of the house and the sun, almost still, and the twist of a branch bent by winds from the sea,
The sloth woke up with a bright idea as he hung like a bag on a nail. It was bold and daring and crystal clear and could not possibly fail. It would change his world in a single glance
The Shire horse came out of the English earth. Out of the muddy field and the furrowed land. Shaped by the endless pulling of the plough. Shaped by the turning farmer’s turning hand.
Down comes the jaguar, down to the water, down from the peace of the drippyleaf tree; green-eyed and elegant, mean in the moonlight, drinks from the water, looking at me.
Down Portishead, on a cold pebble shore, there were all-night fishermen on our all-night tour. And I said to my friend who loved his guitar, (watching star-bright boats on a star-black sky),
The elephant baby walked with his mum In the shade of her great, big elephant bum. When she swayed to the left, he swayed there too. His down was green and his up was blue.
I'm a speck in the dark. I am dust that is blown. I am lost on the way to the endless unknown. Am I lucky or not, when from nothing I came, that I've run out of fortune but shooting to fame?
The rains have come and the river is mean for the depths and the shallows are crocodile green. The river is deep and underneath are a million, trillion, zillion teeth.
Here in the rivergreen leafsoft brushgold longmeadow seedblown bugclicking snakegrassy monkeytemple world, lies Old Stripy: kohl-eyed limb-easy power-yawning stretch-rolling
"What's so funny?" said the hyena, though his mouth was stretched to a grin. The joke on the Masai Mara was wearing a little bit thin. He looked far and wide at the grasslands.
The ground was soft and the air was peaty. Forty soldiers, mad and meaty, burst from their tanks and jumped from the sky, practising war and pretending to die.
The giant blubber submarines tuxedoed through the ocean. Four double-biller, Thriller killer Whales in locomotion. The mafiosa of the deep In glorified formation. A muscle busting,
The owl, with moth-dust wings, Flew on the snowy air, Past silky trees And over sleeping fields Where Saxon gold lay buried Like a prayer. His wings as wide as time, He stilled the night;
It's not against people descended from Normans -probably, all of us - its against people who behave like one!
The leaf breaks and falls, drifts on a lilt of air and falls again, down decades of green light and bounteous rain, still falling…. sweet as a kite,...