The Dead Crow and the Skylark The heath, spread out and pinned, a frog dissected,The Dead Crow and the Skylark by ~chugglepuff
shuddered under probing winds,
leaves scurrying across its surface like chivvied children.
Trees, in their huddles, bowed inwards and muttered,
weathered gossips tutting at the gale.
There, in amidst such trees: a crow,
not so long dead that it had lost its shine,
but still dead, still empty and flightless.
It lay with dignity, with feathers smoothed,
appearing more to await a funeral
than a fox's eager jaws,
its beak not gaping with a final croak
but closed as hands in prayer.
There, among the brittle branches littering the ground,
it let the air pull dust around it,
and d
A Very English Drought That summer when the soil sprang apartA Very English Drought by ~chugglepuff
and gaped like lizard skin, like fractured tiles,
the air thirsty, snatching—that summer
when leaves hung like shopping bags
from the arms of old ladies, and flies were fat
and drooping—that was the summer
the English lamented.
How low the pond had got,
how dry the earth round the begonias!
The undrifting heat, the purring of the fan,
the hosepipe ban and suntan cream—
how they grated on the English,
the poor, contrary English,
as they perspired with fixed smiles
and sauntered awkwardly in jaunty shorts—
and wished with all their hearts
to moan of drizzle.
Black-Headed Gull Where do you fly to, black-headed gull,Black-Headed Gull by ~chugglepuff
When you're done eating chips on the pier?
Do you casually perch on some great steamer's hull
In a place that's far distant from here?
Do you dive past the waves in the stormiest gales,
Just catching your toes in the foam?
Do you glimpse dolphin fins and flying fish scales
When you travel away from your home?
Where do you fly to, out of my reach—
Some place of which I couldn't dream?
Or do you just flutter down onto the beach
Where you've spied some poor blighter's ice cream?
Winter Winter should be read in heavy tones,Winter by ~chugglepuff
gravelly and ponderous,
and by a voice that weights each word,
a tortoise voice that knows to pause
and does not need to shout.
And it will say,
"It is blue-grey, grey-blue, that misty hue
of sky and muck and road unfurling,
the roofs and sleeping windows,
the naked tree bark, dulled metal of street lamps;
it is blue-grey, grey-blue, the dim shade
of the grudging light
that tints the blind dog's eye,
warms the dead man's skin;
all blue-grey, grey-blue,
daubed heavy-handed,
melancholy,
waiting for the night."
And here it will draw in the biting air
and find its eyes caught in the muddi
The Portrait The rain had stopped some time ago, but drops of water still dripped from the gutters, from the lampposts and the trees. It was late in the evening, and the sun was sinking low as the couple turned into the quiet street.The Portrait by ~samjo989
They walked slightly apart, the man: tall, well-dressed, looking fixedly ahead; the woman: quiet, graceful, her head slightly bowed.
As they walked they passed a bundle of rags against a wall, next to a sign that read, "Sketch Portraits for a Dollar". The handwriting was coarse, but easily legible.
"Look, honey." The woman pointed to the sign.
The man stopped, turned. He seemed distracted. "Hmm?"
"Look," she said again.
Content 
I am just popping by to announce that I have broken my right arm so will be around here EVEN LESS THAN USUAL, and more importantly to wish you all a thoroughly merry Christmas or alternative holiday of your choosing (or no holiday at all if you are that way inclined). And also I demand that you have a delightful New Year and that 2011 provides you with a great deal of happiness even though it is rather an ugly number. 
And thanks for watching back!
Why, thank you! 
I've placed a link to it in the sidebar of my journal page. 
Still at Cambridge? I miss your sort around here . . . 
Hey you ! I was amazed to see that you'd recently popped by my page for a lurk-see, huh?
do you lurk? 
How are you getting on? 
Also, this may be a shocker but I did get married with the woman whom I wrote most of my latter poems for. So all is happy and fun. I guess that's why I chose to not use the old gloomy username before. Haha. Poetry-wise, I haven't written anything worth posting for the past year. However, this photography stuff is getting my creative juices flowing. 
Sta.sh
Happy All Hallow's Eve!
