It's time for another animal-themed poem for day twenty five of NaPoWriMo. The animal in this poem is a predatory creature from India; the rest is fairly straightforward.
Jackal Sunset
It darts across the grasslands
under the shadow of green hills.
The golden jackal searches
for food, living or not.
It chases the trails of the wolves,
leopards and the bloodthirsty dhole,
and will sometimes push its luck
when it spots a tiger on a kill.
The jackal's persistence is rewarded
as the night descends on the teak forest,
a leopard throttling a chital doe.
The jackal must wait to be served.
Showing posts with label leopard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label leopard. Show all posts
Tuesday, 25 April 2017
Monday, 17 April 2017
NaPoWriMo #17: Cats in Trees
It's another India-themed poem for day seventeen of NaPoWriMo. This time, it features two of India's top predators in the vicinity of a single tree.
Cats in Trees
A teak tree in central India,
one of many in a deciduous forest.
A leopard with its kill on a branch,
its spotted fur blends into the bark.
A tiger prowling below,
unaware of its rival watching from above.
Cats in Trees
A teak tree in central India,
one of many in a deciduous forest.
A leopard with its kill on a branch,
its spotted fur blends into the bark.
A tiger prowling below,
unaware of its rival watching from above.
Wednesday, 5 April 2017
NaPoWriMo #5: King of Cats
It's time for another tiger poem. This one was inspired by a prompt from the NaPoWriMo site, which encouraged participants to write a poem based in the natural world, in line with the work of Mary Oliver. It could be about a plant, animal or location and preferably one you have experienced often. So here's my attempt.
King of Cats
The last vestige
of a bygone time
when beasts still ruled
and humans huddled
around campfires,
telling stories
of the tiger.
The golden eyes of authority,
the only source of it
in the entire jungle.
No leopard or sloth bear
can match its grace
or the power with which
it pulls down a sambar stag
or duels with a bull guar.
Stripes, oily black,
on a burning coat of fur,
the emblazoned symbol
of an entire nation.
Humans appropriate its image,
worship its primal majesty,
fear its savagery when they step
into its isolated domain.
Yet in the face of a tiger
rests hopes for the future,
a future devoid of fear
of man-made extinction.
All things have their time,
but theirs is approaching sooner
in the form of snares, traps
and the weaponry of man.
Poets attempt to encapsulate
the tiger's immortality,
yet it is a construct,
a poetic device disguising
the battleground of the old jungles,
the trails of skins
leading across Asia.
A tigress sits in her den,
tending to her mewling cubs,
their young stripes help light the flame
which burned for millions of years,
faced with being extinguished
before its time.
King of Cats
The last vestige
of a bygone time
when beasts still ruled
and humans huddled
around campfires,
telling stories
of the tiger.
The golden eyes of authority,
the only source of it
in the entire jungle.
No leopard or sloth bear
can match its grace
or the power with which
it pulls down a sambar stag
or duels with a bull guar.
Stripes, oily black,
on a burning coat of fur,
the emblazoned symbol
of an entire nation.
Humans appropriate its image,
worship its primal majesty,
fear its savagery when they step
into its isolated domain.
Yet in the face of a tiger
rests hopes for the future,
a future devoid of fear
of man-made extinction.
All things have their time,
but theirs is approaching sooner
in the form of snares, traps
and the weaponry of man.
Poets attempt to encapsulate
the tiger's immortality,
yet it is a construct,
a poetic device disguising
the battleground of the old jungles,
the trails of skins
leading across Asia.
A tigress sits in her den,
tending to her mewling cubs,
their young stripes help light the flame
which burned for millions of years,
faced with being extinguished
before its time.
Friday, 11 September 2015
Rudraprayag
after Jim Corbett, The Man-Eating Leopard of Rudraprayag
There is a road in the mountains
between Badrinath and Kerdanath.
Shrines that sheltered pilgrims
for thousands of years.
The road now shelters no one.
Flu-ravaged corpses lined the banks
of two rivers nourished by glaciers.
Coals sat in their mouths
to absorb the stench of death.
The corpses' flesh filled
the stomach of leopard.
The road fell under its shadow.
For eight years it prowled
through the mountains
and found prey in every village.
It leapt through windows,
snatching infants from their cribs
with barely a noise,
just silence remaining.
One of those villages
became its favourite haunt.
A small place on the road,
huddled in between the river
and a forested mountain.
The houses of Rudraprayag are
still. Goats bleat uneasily, while
cows stare dumfounded into the gloom.
A lantern on the headman's porch
cools from the heat of its flame.
A shadow crosses the threshold.
It rips and slashes the locked door,
breaking it down with force of hunger.
Gnarled teeth plunge into the soft throat
so only a whisper escapes.
It tears the man from his bed
into the cover of the night.
(Hi guys, the Tiger Poet here. Hope you enjoyed this poem, there are plenty more on their way. It's been very quiet these last few months, but hope you all had a good summer. See you soon.)
There is a road in the mountains
between Badrinath and Kerdanath.
Shrines that sheltered pilgrims
for thousands of years.
The road now shelters no one.
Flu-ravaged corpses lined the banks
of two rivers nourished by glaciers.
Coals sat in their mouths
to absorb the stench of death.
The corpses' flesh filled
the stomach of leopard.
The road fell under its shadow.
For eight years it prowled
through the mountains
and found prey in every village.
It leapt through windows,
snatching infants from their cribs
with barely a noise,
just silence remaining.
One of those villages
became its favourite haunt.
A small place on the road,
huddled in between the river
and a forested mountain.
The houses of Rudraprayag are
still. Goats bleat uneasily, while
cows stare dumfounded into the gloom.
A lantern on the headman's porch
cools from the heat of its flame.
A shadow crosses the threshold.
It rips and slashes the locked door,
breaking it down with force of hunger.
Gnarled teeth plunge into the soft throat
so only a whisper escapes.
It tears the man from his bed
into the cover of the night.
(Hi guys, the Tiger Poet here. Hope you enjoyed this poem, there are plenty more on their way. It's been very quiet these last few months, but hope you all had a good summer. See you soon.)
Wednesday, 15 April 2015
NaPoWriMo #15 | Eyes of the Forest
So I've reached the halfway point in my NaPoWriMo odyssey. To celebrate, I've written another India poem, this time about gray langur monkeys. These monkeys are found right across Indian, from the forests of Madhya Pradesh to the foothills of the Himalayas. Hope you enjoy.
Eyes of the Forest
A gray langur relaxes
on the highest branch
of a slender sal tree.
A grey mane of fur
around her black face,
with unblinking eyes.
A baby huddles against
its mother as she watches
the silent forest floor.
A younger langur lounges
on a spindly branch.
He barks, stirring the others.
The troop takes up the call
as a spotted shadow slinks
through the undergrowth below.
The leopard retreats into
the greenery, and the mother
and her baby can relax again.
Eyes of the Forest
A gray langur relaxes
on the highest branch
of a slender sal tree.
A grey mane of fur
around her black face,
with unblinking eyes.
A baby huddles against
its mother as she watches
the silent forest floor.
A younger langur lounges
on a spindly branch.
He barks, stirring the others.
The troop takes up the call
as a spotted shadow slinks
through the undergrowth below.
The leopard retreats into
the greenery, and the mother
and her baby can relax again.
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