ENDANGERED

A poem about my favourite wild animal - the beautiful tiger.


Endangered.


Sleek-striped sinewy beast,
my constant fascination.
For me, you are the King
of a far off destination.

In a swamp or jungle deep
nothing can compare.
Your majestic lope prevails,
when others would not dare.

The envy of the fur trade;
your pelt coveted by fools
and a body-part for man's desire,
is breaking Nature's rules.

J

WE ARE UNIQUE

To understand the sound of laughter,
a sigh, a shout, a baby’s cry.
The composing of sweet music,
to rock a cradle by.

To speak those tender words,
“I love you, I just do”
Separates us from all life forms,
we are unique, this me and you.

To hear a Prima Donna sing,
or see Leonardo’s work, so fine.
Yes, we people have been artists,
from the beginning of all time.

To plough the land and grow the produce,
for a hungry world to eat.
Fields of waving barley
and a haze of golden wheat.

To hear a voice so far away,
from a telephone so near.
The internet at our fingertips,
a welcome e-mail brings us cheer.

To understand and keep on learning
Is so natural for us all;
always striving for a better life,
till greed and avarice comes to call.

We pollute our beautiful planet,

Oceans, land, the air we breathe.

Can we reverse the damage? 

It's far too late, I do believe.

To be indifferent to the suffering,

Exporting arms that kill or maim.
Yes, as humans we're inventive,

but we must take the blame.

This is another of my poems written about 12 years ago when I worked as a care assistant. These are my own thoughts and observations.

Inside/ Outside

Your memories are many,
locked up inside your head.
Sometimes you don't remember
the wife you love is dead.

Inside you're young and able
but your mind is telling tales.
You're in a wheelchair at the table
and your bed has safety rails.

Your care plan doesn't mention
that you fought a bloody war.
Now your elbows take the battering
as they wheel you through the door.

Your care plan never mentions
hopes and dreams you planned to share.
Those life savings you worked hard for,
now pay towards your care.

The carers try their hardest
to keep you clean and smart.
So many regulations now,
no wonder they lose heart.

Sometimes you may remember,
your children visit you.
You're lucky if they stay an hour
but it's hard for them to do.

It breaks their hearts to see you now,
this frail person you've become.
Old photographs bring memories
of a personality, now gone.

Sometimes a little flashback
will give you some recall.
Though few and far between now
as dementia takes it's toll.

So with affection, they remember,
the great man you used to be.
A kind and loving father
Still there inside, but sometimes hard to see.
 

And all this for what?

This poem is pretty graphic but it is short. 

Wrenched from her finger,
her gold wedding band,
from a bloodied and torn,
paper tissue thin hand.

Stray coins on the carpet,
lay steeped in her blood.
Brain matter seeps..
in her curls, like black mud.

Twenty pounds has gone missing,
It’s all she had left.
The thug, in his violence,
leaves a daughter, bereft.

And all this for what -
Just a smoke or a snort?
He’s gone  - job accomplished
and gives them no thought.

©  Ann Wilson

I wrote this poem a few years ago when we lived in a house with a very large, wild garden.  We had lots of bats flying around at night. It was quite creepy, but I loved walking down the full length of the garden at night and hearing the foxes calling, owls hooting etc.  I let my imagination run riot, hence the poem.

The Wild Garden

It's totally wild - out of control,
haven for hedgehog, mouse or vole.

But come out rodents, if you dare,
the vixen's stirring in her lair!

Dark trees are looming up above,
Do I feel a hand, giving me a shove?

Eerie sounds, I hear this night,
would give the bravest soul a fright,

A cat, as black as coal glides by,
only visible by her glinting eye.

And on this ink-black, starry night,
I sense the swish of broomstick's flight.

That cackling witch, she's on the prowl,
alerted by a hooting owl.

Large bats are circling overhead
I'm feeling sick and full of dread.

Will I make it to my house?
I'm just glad I'm not a mouse!



 

THE TALE OF PENGUIN PETE.

Little penguin Pete,
was quite wobbly on his feet,
but on contact with the ocean;
he swam with stream-lined motion.

From steep rocks he made a dash
and produced a mighty splash
and Pete soon got his wish;
with a beak of tasty fish.

Pete loved to play and lark;
one day he chased a baby shark.
Mrs Shark was not too happy;
being protective, made her snappy.

She didn't think to pause,
as she snapped Pete in her jaws.
Pete became a quivering jelly,
as he passed from jaws to belly!

But Mrs Shark was off her food;
spat Pete out, which was quite rude.
He was battered, bruised and beaten,
but at least he wasn't eaten.

The experience left its mark,
he'd never chase another shark.
The moral of this little story?
don't get mauled and end up gory.

Whilst little penguins are delightful
Adult sharks can be quite spiteful!

One Life

I wrote this poem a while back. I must have written well over 300, most on AllPoetry.  I'm adding a few more poems and stories from there to my blog.  All comments welcome.   

 

You only have one crack at it
So make the best of life.
You never know when it may end,
Beware! - the reaper with his scythe.

He is always in the shadows
Hoping for your sticky end.
So cherish waking moments,
Let kind thoughts be your friend.

Treasure friends and family
And never let them go.
They will care on darkest days
When life deals a fatal blow.

Face up to disappointments;
Appreciate those simple things
Like ever changing seasons
And the beauty each one brings.

Your life is full of chances,
But blink and they are lost.
Grab every opportunity
Or regret it at your cost.