There once was a forest upon the Moon
that flourished for a while
but vanished too soon;
a realm of trees upon her face,
a woodland there in outer space.
.
And all the creatures of the trees
lived happily, life was a breeze;
swinging through the branches high
the monkeys laughed, and then did cry;
for, when the forest realm could not rebirth,
they all fell, back down to Earth.
There once was a forest upon the moon
that flourished for a while
but vanished too soon
a realm of trees upon her face
a woodland there in outer space.
And all the creatures of the trees
lived there happily, life was a breeze
Swinging through the branches high
the monkeys laughed, and then did cry;
for, when the forest realm could not rebirth,
they all fell back down to Earth.
New Forest Poetry 10-10-2015
The tree that fell
It wasn’t well
It lost its grip
Began to slip
And…
Sad to tell
It lay on the ground murmuring –
A sad sight
Quite profound;
Whilst all around
Were none to see
The tree
Fall
Without a sound.
Posted in Hampshire, New Forest, Trees, Woods
Tagged #Fallen, #forest, #newforest, #Tree, #Woods
I’m a fun guy
Would you like to meet me?
You could cook
And then you could eat me
But,
You might die
If I’m not the right guy
The right fun guy
So, perhaps it’s best
Not to lie
I might just be
The wrong fun guy.
Posted in Funghi, Mushroom, New Forest, Toadstool
Tagged #forest, #Funghi, #FunGuy, #Mushroom, #Toadstool
From the Forestal of New Forest 08-08-2015
Here I stand
The Forestal
The Guardian of this Forest;
The New Forest
And here I have stood for nearly a thousand years; seeing men, women, kings and queens, come and go. I was strong; my Forest has survived and flourished.
Until recently.
The Trees know that their days are numbered; some still sentient enough to be counting down that number.
I have seen much and weathered many storms; but, I am no fool – I know that I cannot rule when there is nothing left to rule for.
It seems that the end is nigh.
Posted in 100 Word Story, Flash Fiction, Forest, Forestal, New Forest, Woods
Tagged #flashfiction, #forest, #hundredworder, #newforest, #prose
In the cool of the shade
And the relative silence of the glade
Along paths newmade
By us
We recharge
Our selves.
Amongst the trees
With subtle breeze
And a pace of ease
Just so
We wander
Along.
A lone Mistlethrusslewotsit
Chirps plaintively
From an unseen perch
Asking…?Warning…? Just happy to be…?
Perhaps seeking another Mistlethrusslewotsit
To join her
In her ullulations.
A destinied silver vehicle
Flashes across the blue
First heard, then seen, then…
A gradual diminution of her…
I think they were all at the windows
Looking down upon the glory
Of the morning forest;
They are not as lucky as us
Walking here.
Then
A hunting horn is heard
But, only in my mind
This one is from nigh
A thousand years ago
And the sound
Has only just reached me.
The ‘clip-clop-clip!’
Of a three-legged horse rider
(I jest, as I cannot see either,
And if either had three legs
I would be a little surprised)
Anyway the sound
helps me to route
Our way away
From them
As the dogs are still young
And I am not.
We reach the barely moving stream
They plunge and slurp
I watch and smile
They cool their paws
And slake their thirst
The sleepy river keeps us a while.
I capture moments
In words and film
To replay when
I am stuck within
Four walls
No trees
No comforting,
Companionable breeze.
I laugh and grin
At the pups’ games
Chasing round, across the bridge,
Through shallows;
Making waves.
A dragonfly flits atop the water
Too fleet of wing
To be captured by my lens
Its hues glimmering
As it wends upon its way.
We walk alongside the stream
Not rowing, not even gently
And life is but a dream.
Or so the song says,
And then we return to the forest walk.
And we walk for a goodly time
With few words between us
As we embrace the joy of our trek.
And I sense this is a good forest;
Not a Mirkwood or a Garroting Deep
As I have read
An old forest
Gainsaying the name
But a kindly one
To me
A Narnian forest
In good times
I expect to meet a Mr Tumnus
But, sadly, don’t.
“Walking in the forest
Walking back and forth
Walking East then walking west
Then I’m walking…
South?
North?
Lost in the forest
Walking back and forth
Trying to get out of here
But, just walking back and forth!”
Just a made up song
As of yet.
I know. As it’s morning
Sun rises in the East
So depending on where the sun is…
It’s 11:54 and the Sun is high above
The direction I need the least is up
Even when push comes to shove.
But, my sense of where I am
Does lead me on
And soon we’re at the stream again
As I knew we would be
My doubts which grew are gone.
Walking back on my last legs,
Sorry, ‘the’ last leg of our walk in the forest
We have all had a work out
And no harm has befallen us
I’m sure we will all be pleased
To get back to see Home.
Posted in HaikutheLabradoo, New Forest, Vegathedoggerelpoet, Walks
Run to me
Run as fast as the wind
Run to my call
Run as if running is all
And when you reach me…
Stay a while
And chew the breeze with me
For that would be good.
Somewhere, a screen-door slams
A car horn is punched in irritation;
A baby cries for milk;
and the city mill keeps on turning;
But, I am here
Where a twig cracks underfoot
Birds are heard
And space there is to think the word.
I shuffle through leaves
And breathe the air
Releasing the concerns
Renewing the care
One soul in a forest
Alone for a while
In this underpopulated wood
In this overpopulated world.
Posted in Forest, Hampshire, nature, New Forest, Woods
Tagged #forest, #hampshire, #nature, #newforest, #Trees, Poem, Poetry
Barely has a Thursday passed without somebody somewhere writing a short story about the plight of the stares.
Well, in recent history, anyway.
The stares were a small breed of mammal (akin to the marmoset) and that ‘were’ earlier in this sentence means that they no longer ‘are’ – so, I am talking about a lost species from long ago.
They had huge eyes that would lock onto yours (if you were looking at them) and they would never blink or lose eye contact until you were forced to break that link and then they could carry on their foraging for the tiny leaves that were their staple diet. Obviously, their tendency to do the weird eye-contact thing led to them being called ‘Stares.’
The last Stares were seen in the late nineteenth century in their native South American habitat. But,, as is the case with mankind’s attempts to see how something works they take it apart and can’t always put it back together.
The Stares (or Oculi Maclamutus) were thought by the native South Americans (mainly in Peru and Chile) to be a sign of the evil eye and many Stares were short-lived and only those in families (called ‘Lukks’) in the deepest darkest forests were able to flourish (their eyesight was most useful in the darkness).
All the above is obviously false and just an exercise on writing something with a tinge of believability. So, my apologies if the plight of the Occuli Maclamutus was at all distressing to you – It is, sadly, the case that a lot of other species are going / have gone this way.
So, spare a thought for the little ones that dwell in the jungles and the forests of the world – something must be done or we shall lose them (the little ones, the forests, and the world!)
Graeme Sandford 