Being Human

In light of the disgusting decision of the British Government to allow for the culling of Badgers. 

Summer blooms but then so does fungus

Wraps round fingers like a ring

Which  clouds the receiver with misty murmurs

Through which people talk, yet birds can sing.

We buy coats, yet other creatures just acquire them

We heel our shoes, if  just to make a sound

And we go to zoos, and it is despondent

When we survey ourselves, then look around.

For man can clothe himself, albeit with cruelty

The only creature that can feel ill with pride

For the better animals are in the cages

And it is the real exhibition which happens outside.

The paradoxical evenings where we drink ourselves dry

 Or calling up when there is no one home

And cry ourselves to sleep, but it’s only natural, as now

The telephone shrilling on its hook of bone. 

Considering Melancholy

For darkness lives where we abide

Through speech and words it shares itself

Like in the opened mouth of churning tide

Dashing life and voice  to hell.

Or the brain with its unnatural birth

Poised for the twisting of the knife

Is the condition many watch, but never learn

And feel, but most do not survive.

It becomes a bliss one cannot medicate

And lies, elevating subject’s ground

So no one runs to catch them when they fall

And still hear them breathe when they have drowned.