The Social Butterfly

No hawk moth, I'm a butterfly

In morning dew I love to fly

And check out flowers' sweet perfume

Their gentle petals make me swoon.

All shapes and sizes, tall and short

Each unique and finely wrought

All have their own enticing grace

A home-from-home with shining face.

Bees and wasps compete with me

But where else would I wish to be?

On summer days in gentle breeze

I hover under leafy trees...

Ants and insects far below

Put on an acrobatic show

By crawling up those tender stems

To reach the flowers, nature's gems.

My life, alas, is poignant, brief

Birds may swoop down on a leaf

Where I've paused with spread-out wings

To meditate on higher things.

Attracting predators is worse

My fragile beauty is a curse

For I must do before I die

Under summer's waning sky...

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

The graceful mating of two Monarch butterflies ...

A Hippy Day for Isabella

Isabella swirls her all

In silver footwear, fringe and shawl!

At rakish tilt, moiré bandeau;

Behold wee hippy in the know!

Long folds and drapes in loose array

A mirrored fashionplate display

What has she fished from dress-up box?

No contest - as her choice is tops!

How self-assured - though not yet three

Her innate style quite plain to see

She emanates her own mystique

Captured in one word – unique!

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

A Case of Staying Put?

Goldfish in life's large glass bowl

We dart and swirl, achieving nought

Because of COVID we've no goal

«New-Normal» times unravel thought...

In culture venues - empty seats

Big festivals seem out of place

Masked - all people whom one meets

Deep fault line in the human race...

Gold certainties of life «before»

Melt like morning dew in sun;

Unemployment figures soar

«Curse of an Angry God!» say some ...

Invisible yet everywhere

The Virus turns big cities red

Journeys must be planned with care

Public transport causes dread ...

Conflicting rules and regulations

Each country dreams theirs up alone!

Corona laughs and blights bold nations;

What lies ahead is dark, unknown ...

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

Check, Mate!

Nothing's static, so we run

To find ourselves where we've begun

Like Lewis Carroll's bold Red Queen*;

These clever chess moves can't be seen.

We often move across life's board

With rooks and castles on the sward

Or risk a sudden sideways slant

Hellbent to meet our goal, but can't ...

As pawns we must beware attack

Proceed with caution, watch our back;

With crafty players on the board

A dodgy move we can't afford.

Is life a game, or is all planned?

Will we roam unscathed or damned?

Our inner Queen won't hesitate

To protect her hapless mate.

But rashness often pays the price

Our shining Knight makes us think twice!

We diligently play the board

But only God knows how we've scored!

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

 * In Lewis Carroll's fantasy novel "Alice through the Looking Glass" (1871).

Note for the curious: The history of chess goes back almost 1500 years. The game originated in northern India in the 6th century AD and spread to Persia. When the Arabs conquered Persia, chess was taken up by the Muslim world and subsequently, through the Moorish conquest of Spain, spread to Southern Europe.

Crossing the Rubicon?

Finite are the Earth's resources

Our consumption rate surpassed

Wasteful Man must now join forces

Otherwise - the die is cast.

Each year we override this date

Oblivious of our decay

Corona barely slowed the rate

Scientists are in dismay.

A rocky road now lies ahead

As forests burn and streams run dry

Fierce monsoons extend their spread

Harsh drought and floods cause crops to die.

Profit-seeking Moguls clash

On ways their coffers to refill

They plunder nature to make cash

Self-interest their constant thrill...

Our hearts know something must be done

But who will dare to draw the line?

This is our world - our only one

We live, alas, on borrowed time ...

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon in 49 BC ...

22nd August 2020 is EOD: Earth Overshoot Day = The term "overshoot" represents the level by which human population overshoots the sustainable amount of resources on Earth. 

Note: crossing the Rubicon means  reaching a point of no return ....

Masking the Truth?

Mask rules keep changing – life is grim;

A deep frustration has set in

Those with glasses peer though mist

And cannot read their shopping list!

Cyclists, out of breath, distraught

Find masks a challenge to their sport

But now exempt, they pick up pace

Enjoying cool air on their face.

While those on public transport ride

Find their ears besieged inside:

The STIB* still feels we must be told:

«Think of those more frail and old!»

Enforcement's tough, but each one tries

To find a personal compromise;

Most wear their mask below their nose

On barmy days - it hardly shows!

Although the crisis figures dip

It's not yet time our guard to slip;

COVID lurks for the unwary

Beware bare faces – they are scary!

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

*Brussels intercommunal Transport Company

On Separation

Does absence make the heart grow fonder

Or contrarywise – to wander?

When distance forces love apart

There are dark stirrings in the heart...

To keep the faith and feeling strong

So both sides want to tag along

One must needs weave a deep bond

It's not enough to just feel 'fond'.

Beware indifference and neglect

It's little things that souls connect

Reminders of the good times past

Reviving memories that last...

Believing that the light will shine

Beyond this COVID-ridden time

When we can drop for good our mask ...

Surely not too much to ask?

Many, caught upon the hop,

Found themselves obliged to stop

And quarantine on foreign shore;

With all flights cancelled; how long for?

Invisible this worldwide threat

Alas,  it isn't beaten – yet

But Zoom and Skype come into play

As love will always find a way!

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

Land Ahoy?

Time's wingèd chariot never stops

It has no brakes and gently rocks

Along each one's allotted span;

Time and tide wait for no man!

Whirlwinds or maelstroms flip our boat

Or there's a lull, so we just float

The Gods mete out our golden thread

Resilient - we forge on ahead.

Fear slows us down, joy gives us wings

Love turns every day to Spring's!

Squalls arise, the skies look black

But somehow we are kept on track.

Buffeted in sudden storms

But then – Oh, marvel – bright new dawns!

Friends join us or abandon ship ...

Life, sadly, is no picnic trip ...

Amazingly, we all survive,

For better or for worse, alive!

Our destination quite unknown

Until the shoreline bids us home ...

(c) Poet in the Woods 2020

The Hunt is On!

OK, it's weird, the world's not right

Harsh restrictions our lives blight

We suntan but with faces white

In sweaty mask ...

Too leery to troll round the sales

Too hot to hike on nature trails

The Grand-Place flower carpet fails!

What next? We ask...

Day travel in this August heat

In crowded trains without a seat

With beach police on sandy beat

Does not inspire;

Our social bubble shrunk to five

To keep our joie de vivre alive

We dine al fresco to survive

And still perspire!

Hunt for a vaccine now dictated

Frantic research syncopated

Commercial profit keenly waited

But for whom?

Though worldwide people are at pains

To find a cure for COVID strains

The bald and ugly fact remains

Few answers loom!

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

A Deep Pool of Thought

Have you noticed how this heat means drought?

So don't get your sprinklers out

The dusty car must so remain

For once the prayer goes up – for rain.

Home paddling pools cannot be filled

For water profligacy, we're billed.

Three-minute showers the new norm

We scan the skies for clouds each morn.

It's the extremes that cause us Angst

Gardeners check their water tanks ...

We put out bowls for thirsty birds

But how do farmers cool their herds?

In the normal run of things

we have full reservoirs and springs

To take a bath is not a crime

But maybe it will be – in time ...

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

The Conversion - the Kitchen cometh!

On hearing noise out in the street

Through wisteria leaves I peep

A large white van is parked outside

With both its rear doors open wide ...

New fridge and cooker neatly packed

Stand on the cobbles, soon unwrapped.

Two porters heave them into place

A clever fit – it's a small space.

Water and sewer pipes are laid;

Some final touches to be made

Before the house becomes a home

With electricity and phone.

Despite the heat, all skylights shut

Umbilical cord not cut ...

With frequent movement to and fro

The new incumbent soon will show!

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

Feeling Heated?

I muse about our constant rain
As Belgians, bless them, all complain;
So don't you think in blazing sun,
They'd be overjoyed, not glum?

But no, their grumpiness shines through
They don't know what to wear, or do
It makes them tired, their pace is slow
They hope a cooling breeze will blow ...

Grass and weeds sport brownish tinge
Sunflowers shoot up straight; they whinge
«More heat is on its way!», we're told
Forgotten, thank God, months of cold...

No cheers, no shouts of heartfelt joy
You'd think these sunny days annoy ...
But roasting August gets my vote
As torrid weather floats my boat!

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

Blankenberge Beach Fight!

Parasols thrown through the air
Sand ammunition everywhere
The thin blue line rushed off its feet
As angry voices won't retreat...

I speak, of course, of Belgian coast
Where happy punters like to roast
In this unaccustomed heat
What better place is there to meet?

With extra beachward trains non-stop
All social distancing forgot
The burgomaster in despair
Day trippers bans from coming here!

But trains continue unabated;
Coastal towns rejoice, elated
As hordes arrive expecting thrills
And silver tingles in the tills...

A powder keg! These social norms
Thwarted as the crowd now storms
With angry cries and won't obey;
For the police – it's not their day!

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

On a Hot Day

This ice cream summer, keeping cool
While we swelter, can be cruel.
Seedlings, once so cock-à-hoop,
Suffer and begin to droop...

The soil around them parched and dry
So daily water keeps them spry
Bees, pesky wasps and butterflies
Buzz and swirl with tiny flies...

Bright-coloured beetles land nearby
Against the wall they start to fry
I wear a broad hat as I weed
This is thirsty work indeed!

Above, stark herringbone in wisps
Vegetation all sun-kissed
Our movements fraught, reduced to slow;
How shall I put it? Women glow!

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

The Fatal Flight

Enola Gay* its weapon shed
On this day: 80,000 dead
The Empire of the Rising Sun
Crushed at last, like beaten Hun.

6th of August Forty-Five
Left marks on many still alive ...
A second bomb**, a tip-toed peace
Though this was only of short lease...

The Cold War kept us on our toes
As Man is ever bellicose.
Korea, Vietnam, genocide
Names we'd so much rather hide.

Still overshadowed by this threat;
On this day we recollect
Haunted, saddened Hiroshima ...
The Atom Bomb - a tough redeemer.

The Fall-Out (in more ways than one)
Is much more deadly than the gun...

(c) Poet in the woods 2020


*The Enola Gay is a Boeing B-29 Superfortress bomber, named after Enola Gay Tibbets, the mother of the pilot, Colonel Paul Tibbets. 

** the first atomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, Japan on 9.8.45





Hiroshima, Japan 1945

Isabella with Peppa Pig

Isabella runs and leaps
And has no need of «little sleeps»
It's rare she pauses, this wee one
Life's not a picnic for her Mum!

She takes her long locks in her stride
See how she's rugged up warm, hair tied
Look! Mummy's made a pony tail
A cute coiffure puts wind in sail!

Today, so smart in her new rig
Her gaze is caught by Peppa Pig
Who fills the screen of big TV:
So Mum and Grandma Pam are free

To clean the house, prepare a meal
And keep the house on even keel.
At not-yet-three, she's a live wire
So keeping her engaged can tire!

She's on the go from dawn to dusk
«We need time off!», say all of us
While big boy Thomas likes to look
And get involved with a good book ...

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

Fine Talk - in the Market!

An early start, warm sunshine calls
Let's venture out to market stalls
Perched prettily in Wiener Square
Tempting us with tasty fare!

But what is this, amid the trees?
We cannot stroll just as we please
On the asphalt, Sunday morn
It's now one-way, chalk arrows drawn ...

Fruit and veg stacked up with flair
Roast chicken odours fill the air
Jams and clothes are on display
But - there are gaps along the way ...

The atmosphere is quiet, subdued
Despite the August sun, the mood
Is slightly cautious, people walk
In single file, there's not much talk.

Is this the shape of things to come?
Fear of contagion worries some
Corona lurks but bides its time ...
We mask up well - why risk a fine?*

(c) Poet in the woods 2020

* €250 - COVID restrictions

People queue for ready-cooked chicken!

Hot Prices!

Are we breaking records once again?
This time for heat and not for rain
Sapphire blue skies with no cloud
It's rare for Belgium, we are wowed!

Friends tell me that their veg run riot
We share our produce on the quiet
Plums, salad greens and gold courgettes
This is as good, folks, as it gets!

Supermarkets pile fruit high;
A vibrant choice so punters buy
Berries of all shapes and sizes:
Sweet popping-in-the-mouth surprises!

With COVID, eating out's curtailed
Why leave a name so you are trailed?
We're spoiled for choice on market stall:
Home cooking is the best of all!

(c) Poet in the woods 2020