ARCHIVE 2010/11
Our Writers/Artists

NEW POEMS from Elaine Christie, Kay D. Weeks and Math Jones 

BORN FREE

In his infinite wisdom, God took a paintbrush
And unleashed his muse upon a derelict landscape.
Magically, rhythmically, poetically
Blood wept where no wounds were.
Fiery embers soaked canvas contours
Giddy trees, glowing hills, grassy plains,
Mighty beasts were woven wondrously within.
Birds in freckled riffs, swam in melodious skies.
The Kings superior crown, tawny or wintery white,
their animated tails, twitch like puppets on thread.
Jaguars a strikingly sculptured race, have perfect ebony rosettes.
While Leopards have broken rings,
they morph magnificently from coppery-gold
to cream with the seasons.
Elegant black Panthers expose shimmering spots in sunlight.
Both Amur and white Tigers boast their dark flickering cinders.
The  entertaining atmosphere of whimsical cubs playing,
Swirling fireflies swizzle, like swirling spitfires
In this delirium of natures charter
Could Heavens labyrinth be as glorious?

by Elaine Christie ©




Neighbor

I pace a lot.
My blue eyes turn to green.
I clamp the urge to scream or growl
or vent my spleen.

My walnut chairs erupt
into jungles so dense
the primitively stocked
refrigerator is hidden, hence:
They go for me!
They prey among the trees.

I run a lot across Terrazzo floors.
I feel my fur at trot
in a stale, household breeze.
Can you hear me howl?
I hear a knock.
I claw and rage and scowl,
but my green eyes turn to blue.

It is you
from a higher civilization
with a different set of words,
rampaging like a flood.

You seek a relationship.
You want a tribal cup of coffee.
You want to drink my blood.

by Kay D. Weeks ©


TIGER DEAD

You would think,
That dead,
The cat would vanish,
Like the flame it embodies
Blown away.

But of course,
The corpse,
Now cold, - light banished, -
Stripped of brain, eye and penis...
Just remains.

Except,
When the last
Of their number, so diminished,
Is snuffed, such fire will never
Burn again.

by Math Jones ©

Signs of Life

I prise the red tiger’s eye
from its pink drawstring pouch,
peel back soft tissue to reveal
crocidolite-striped quartz.

Strands of hard red, brown, orange…
polished to round smoothness.
I’ve never stroked a tiger’s fur
but imagine it this sleek, only

warmer, moving. The pebble’s
shine lacks the light and depth
of even a dying animal’s eyes, though:
“This gem is bound to attract good luck.”

I don’t need crystal words to make it symbolic
as I let the stone roll to the grass.

Sarah James ©


ISABELLA TIGER MOTH

GREETS THE WOOLLY BEAR CATERPILLAR

‘A single stripe,’ she said, ‘of cinnamon:
is that your only band of coloured fur?
       Why do your bristles stand on end like hair?
       You look like burning embers on a fire.
You crawl but never run:
I’m told you are my son.’

‘How can this be?’ he asked, ‘I am a bear.
I hump about: you tigers chase the moon
           and fold in two. Your symmetry would span
           infinity. That thought has made me spin
cocoons of silk. I fear
I’m changing by the hour . . .’


© Caroline Gill



DISAPPEARING

The tawny Kings crown
merges with the dry Savannah grass,
lazily dozing after their fill.
Tigers camouflaged in river-reeds rainforest
Cheetahs sink into rugged crags and hills,
viewing vast landscapes.
The Leopards golden-red coats,
melt in trees against sunlight rays.
Jaguars morphing into bushy terrain,
only their whistles can be heard
echoing to one another,
disguised, over the call of Condors and Hyenas.

Elaine Christie ©


Tiger Lou’s Nail Bar

 
At Tiger Lou’s Nail Bar the cool cats creep in
To straighten their whiskers, thread hair from their chin,
to polish those nails of retractable claws -
too sharp and too deadly for velveting paws.
They chew on the gossip, confess they’ve the hots
for the jackals, the cheetahs, the ones with the spots.
Their fluttering eyelashes tell how they’ll tame
the leopard inside him – it’s always the same.
Tiger Lou listens. They’re saying he’ll be
faithful …  exclusive… quite different with me.
Sometimes she warns them he won’t change his spots
… but reasoning’s useless when cats get the hots.
So she thinks of her tiger who’s burning and bright,
fearful in symmetry, blessed by the night,
stretched on their bed: lick of stripe; breath of bite.
Then she closes the door and she turns out the light.

Julie Boden ©


PREVIOUS


DAVID CALCUTT

RUTH STACEY

VERA FRANKLIN

ROSEMARY A. BACH-HOLZER

SABA ZAI

NITA LEWSEY

SARAH JAMES

JACKIE FALLOWS 

JENNY HOPE 

ROSEMARIE ROWLEY 

SIOBHAN HARPER

JULIE BODEN

JACQUI ROWE

RICHARD BONFIELD

HELEN CALCUTT 

JANET SMITH 

LUCY JEYNES 

CAROLINE GILL

GARETH PARTINGTON

ANNA - LOUISE PICKERING

 

DAVID CALCUTT Posted 11th October
Encounters with Tigers


"In a world where there are no more tigers
People are dreaming of tigers
In the world where the tiger’s voice is a huge, after-echo ghost of silence
People dance in their dreams to the song of the tiger…"

                                                                              


VERA FRANKLIN Posted 15th October
Jamil and the Tiger

"As he approached, he saw a tiger lying outstretched on the ground. He was sure it was his friend. Her face was white with age and her coat mangy with ribs poking through. The eyes were partly open and he approached, not feeling any fear, but clutching his lucky stone.  A cloud of flies flew up and he could see that she was dying..."

                                                               
                                                                                                        

ANDREW KIRBY Posted 25th October
A.J Kirby: The Writer

"I've never seen as many stars in the night sky as I did there - with no artificial light, the stars simply blazed out - and I've never seen so few people..."


                                                                                                          
RUTH STACEY Posted 25th October

"The Boy who thinks he is a Tiger

only speaks in growls,
replies in snarls.
Purrs when I stroke his skin,
assure him of his stripes..."

                                                                                          
ROSEMARY A.BACH-HOLZER Posted 4th November 

"Billy, Honorary Tiger'

'The name, Billy Arjan Singh, is spoken with reverence in this household. At his home at Tiger Haven in India, Billy exuded care towards big cats, indeed all animals, the only way a human being should. In return he was adored by his animals, and because of his remarkable foresight and solicitude, experienced the type of relationships we cat lovers can only dream about...'

Rosemary'swebsite & blog


HEATHER COOK Posted 4th November 

'Tabitha's Heritage'

'The passing of the tiger is marked by quaking leaves,By strident calls, by golden shadows in the velvet night.
The earth breathes softly as a mighty head shakes diamonds
From dark water, chasing the stars across a purple sky...'



SABA ZAI Posted 15th November                                                 

'First Time' 

‘In dark symmetry, you kissed
my hand, in that same dark,
a Tyger looked down.’


    


SARAH JAMES Posted 15th November  

'Two Poems'

'Do not ask him to prowl the dark like a trapped cat burglar.
He will not lie down in stillness
to whimper and lick his mossed tree-stump paws,
claws etching his days into cracked stone floors...'


'No more striping loaves with a knife or stacking shelves
with cereal packets, smiling sugar and crunch.
Time now to create his own gr-r-reat brand...'


 
NITA LEWSEY Posted 15th November

'Reservations'

People amble by but I am transfixed.

I am impotent, useless, responsible. If not for us, the bystanders, the paying hordes, she would be lying luxuriant amongst the lush green jungle foliage. She would roam her territory in beautiful isolation, untroubled, untamed, free.’




JACKIE FALLOWS Posted 2nd December


'This my earth -
I command its contours,
frequent its forests,
rest by its rivers
watching the slow swirl of a saffron leaf.
this is my earth -
I mould my length to its sinuous warmth,
lay my head on its shoulder,
breathe its musky breath:
this is my earth
of such is the unutterable splendour of my silence.'  



JENNY HOPE Posted 7th Jan 11

'and the tiger grew and grew
             his fur brushed my flesh

woke me from outside in
              felt his tail curl round
                                           
                                     my skin...'

View entire poem here



ROSEMARIE ROWLEY Posted 7th Jan 11


'Keep your brightness for tomorrow

Let your glory shine for us

When we forget this present sorrow

How we thought you just a puss... '

View entire poem here



SIOBHAN HARPER Posted 7th Jan 11

'She had then ‘belonged’ to one human, a male, a short, rather stout one. He seemed to live alone, just as he did. From her enclosure she could see the enormous picture window set into the side of his house, and through it she’d often see him pacing up and down, the way some of the older tigers had done at the park...'

View entire piece here