NaPoWriMo #26: A Fox and a Bulldog

The fox forages on the open field,
eyes turned from the glare of sunlight,
black clouds swirling ahead.

He digs through the furrows,
hoping treasure lies beneath his paws
while rooks shadow him from the hedges.

White tail-tip swishing behind him,
the fox spots something emerging
from the hedgerows, scattering the rooks.

Short and barrel-shaped, lolling tongue,
wide face and button nose,
the bulldog tumbles out of the leaves.

Never has the sharp-nosed fox
seen something so ungainly
as the bewildered beast before him.

As the bulldog approaches, smiling,
the fox appears to cough, then chuckle,
and the rooks watch on from the hedges.

NaPoWriMo #16: Horses on the Road

A pair of horses trotting
along a narrow country road.
Higher than the hedges,
with views sheep and pigs crave,
taking in the spring fields
flourishing with renewed greenery.

The riders steer their steeds
past the hedges
and over the crossroads.
The clip-clop of their shoes
on sun-baked tarmac,
a familiar percussion
in the usual farmyard tune.

Cows and sheep line the fields
as the two mares pass,
eyeing the riders with bemusement.
The barn beckons up ahead,
with the promise of fresh hay.

Chickens and geese herald the mares,
a cacophony of honks, quacks and chattering.
No other denizen of the farm
gets to tour the lanes.
A foal leans over a gate,
watches the celebration in the yard,
dreams of the day
when he'll roam the roads.

NaPoWriMo #16: Easter Jamming

It's been a long time coming, but to celebrate Easter I've brought Flying Hare and the River Band out of retirement to play a suitably off-the-wall NaPoWriMo gig.

Easter Jamming

The band gathers in a field
just outside a market town,
Flying Hare, Roving Otter,
Father Vole, Smoking Goose,
joined by Manic Owl.

They go looking for eggs,
which an industrious bunny
had hidden the grass.
Goose finds his first,
Otter second, Hare third,
Owl fourth, and Vole last.

With the sun in midday zest,
the man grabs their instruments
and plays a grooving, mellow tune.
A tribute to the egg hunters
around the countryside
who are taking a break at noon.

Hare flies into rapid-fire
on his blistering archtop guitar.
Otter thrummed on his shimmering bass,
Vole rattled his drums,
Goose trumpeted like a wild fowl,
and Owl played his sax all over the place.

At sundown the animals go home,
bags full of chocolate eggs,
their instruments well-played.
They feast on the eggs till midnight
and go to bed with full stomachs,
ready to start jamming the very next day.