On Seeing My First Fox
Travelling on a train through Surrey, close to Virginia Water –
Due to engineering works, my route had been slightly altered –
I decided to look out of the window, so I turned my head,
And it was then I spotted a lightning flash of orangey-red.
Of course, I’d seen many pictures of foxes in books and on TV,
But an actual living, breathing one, had never been seen by me.
Thrilled by what I was seeing, I gave a small gasp of delight;
It was the first time I’d seen a fox, so it was a memorable sight.
I was excited at seeing the fox, and I was unable to hide my surprise.
Foxes are one of my favourite animals and I couldn’t believe my eyes.
He was on the embankment, and, from the train, he headed away.
I only glimpsed the fox quite briefly, but it really made my day.
I’ve been lucky enough to glimpse a few more foxes since then,
But you never can tell where they will turn up or, indeed, when.
On a train journey to Birmingham, I was as watchful as can be:
Luck was with me that day, as I saw not one, not two, but three!
I spotted a fox, carrying its prey in its mouth, crossing over a field.
Foxes need to eat to stay alive, but I felt sorry for the rabbit it killed.
My sightings of them, over the years, I have noted down in my diary.
I love their sleek outline, long, thick bushy tail, and their fur so fiery.
They are a fine animal in appearance, but they can be a real pest;
They can cause havoc, when they hunt like a mad thing possessed.
Despite having been on many trains, sightings of foxes are rare;
So if I’m lucky enough to spot one, I can’t help but sit and stare.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sound Of Sheep
The sheep are soundless in the snow,
Sleepless for the night as it stoops;
Aggression has appeared for the lairs,
As I have risen for the keeping of foxes.
Exhaling now and then, we are gray in the mind,
Life is dazzling with a vortex of guidance;
Anger has stunned us for the hope is near
For the foxes to retreat and rout, the auction is so near.
It is agitated, and been clear at hand
That foxes number the dozens in sleep.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Helpless Woman
He and she and they can persecute
Number of times knowingly
Torturing her by many means they invent
Pleasure is theirs.She, wounded unhappily
No way of guarding herself.
God! Foxes should be spiked only by God
Will they be sorry? no, hope not
Some are born to repent not
When they turn to be repaid themselves
Will she redeem her happy youth?
Gone are her days in the den of foxes;
Foxes harassing others into the flaming hearth.
One foot onto the threshold of death
Dire her wish to be rescued
Ere fastened in her burial sheath
Frowning are her words'cursed
Are you! others treated
Vehemently under your feet crushed
You be crushed by the fury of God! '
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Dragon of the Black Pool
Deep the waters of the Black Pool, colored like ink;
They say a Holy Dragon lives there, whom men have never seen.
Beside the Pool they have built a shrine; the authorities
have established a ritual;
A dragon by itself remains a dragon, but men can make it a god.
Prosperity and disaster, rain and drought, plagues and pestilences—
By the village people were all regarded as the Sacred Dragon’s doing.
They all made offerings of sucking-pig and poured libations of wine;
The morning prayers and evening gifts depended on a “medium’s” advice.
When the dragon comes, ah!
The wind stirs and sighs
Paper money thrown, ah!
Silk umbrellas waved.
When the dragon goes, ah!
The wind also—still.
Incense-fire dies, ah !
The cups and vessels are cold.
Meats lie stacked on the rocks of the Pool’s shore;
Wine flows on the grass in front of the shrine.
I do not know, of all those offerings, how much the Dragon eats;
But the mice of the woods and the foxes of the hills are continually drunk and sated.
Why are the foxes so lucky?
What have the sucking-pigs done,
That year by year they should be killed, merely to glut the foxes?
That the foxes are robbing the Sacred Dragon and eating His sucking-pig,
Beneath the nine-fold depths of His pool, does He know or not?
Winter Terror
As the days grow shorter and nights longer,
the rabbits change color and the foxes change too...
While trappers grow excited,
to go out and get a few.
This is because the change of color,
and the money for pelts...
Some make the fur and skin into,
fancy leather belts.
During winter rabbits and foxes,
need to run and hide...
If they were caught,
you'd bet they died.
Family
Family can be difficult,
sometimes even hard...
Either way you always get,
a birthday card.
You may disagree,
wtih Mom or Dad...
Then you might remember,
all the good times you've had.
You'll start to cry,
and then they say...
'A family we are,
a family we'll stay.'
poem by Cally A. Nixon
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Song of Solomon 2: 15
Catch for us the foxes,
the little foxes
that ruin the vineyards,
our vineyards that are in bloom.
Identify the sons of bitches
Those littered curs
Whose gluttonous manner
Leaves naught for us and ours.
Catch for us the greedy
The avarice few
Who take that which is earned
collectively with toil and tears.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Causes of War
On January 1st, foxes deeply irritated overnight by
Black dogs barking demanding Political Scepter
In the Morning, the foxy Governor stood by hind legs
Looking side to side, which dog to be thrown to
Finally, to wrong the red dog that fluked in the next desert
And the foxes left, the red dog became the new master
Began saying a black dog can’t rule, lead or govern
“No black dog shall hold public office”
National constitution first Article reads
This political injustice, inequality and discrimination
In such prinking sensation principle caused
The black dogs to sharpen their teeth
On January 1st, the foxes deeply irritated overnight by
Black dogs barking demanding the Social rod
In the Morning, the foxy Governor stood by hind legs
Looking side to side, which dog to be thrown to
Finally, to wrong the red dog that fluked in next desert
And the foxes left, the red dog became the new master
Declared Gemono – his religion, as state religion
Virgono – his culture, as state culture
And said all dogs be Virginian – his nationality
He outlawed the black dog religion and culture
As heresy and Immoral
This blasphemy and sacrilegious in such
Manner caused war between the two dogs
On January 1st, the foxes deeply irritated overnight by
The black dogs barking demanding the foxes to leave their land
In the Morning, the foxes left, the red dogs rushed in their houses
Became the new owners of the houses
Began using Gemonoic laws to govern the black dogs
“If a black dog picks a slice of meat from butchery
A tooth of the dog is removed
If black dog tail touches gown of red dog
The dog’s tail is cut off
If black dog steps on the red dog mate
The leg that stepped on the mate is cut off”
This cruel and inhuman punishment caused biting between the red and the black dog
On January 1st, the foxes deeply irritated overnight by
The black dogs barking demanding the foxes to leave
The foxes left, the red dog became the new master
Began stealing taxes, gold and oil causing
A cycle of poverty and disadvantages and uneven development
Calling the black dogs slaves and sub – humans
Even the black dog that don’t lick the eye of their puppies underwent this economic injustice and humiliating racism
Caused bloodshed between
The black dogs and the red dogs
Note.on January 1 1956 Sudan got Independent from Britain
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Better be a tail for the lions than the head of the foxes.
Three Kinds of People
The books of my history
Begins with comedy
And end with tragedy
“Son”, do you know this
Spontaneous?
If you don’t know
Don’t mind
Your father will tell you.
There are three kinds of people
But the history knows only two
The first are foxy foxes
Who do right things and
Great good deeds
They stand at the top of history
The second are mad dogs
Who do wrong things and
Great evil deeds
They stand at the bottom of history
The third are piggy hyenas
Who are neither wise nor foolish?
Who cannot do right or wrong?
The history doesn’t know them
They have no chapter in history book
Can you choose among them for
Your inspiration and if you
Can heed my advice
The foxes are the best stars
To stick to.
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Sleeper Train
Written by dewey bunnell, bill mumy, and robert haimer, 1994
Found on hourglass.
I was on a sleeper train
Bound for anywhere
And I was gazin out the window
In a long stare
Watchin the sage brush go by
And a pink and yellow sky
Thinkin bout your eyes
Feelin good to be alive
I was dreamin of you
Feelin lucky
I was dreamin of you
Feelin lucky
And I was watchin the towns drift into view
Listenin to my thoughts of you
And the rhythm of the wheels
And the shadows on the hills
Leavin one more life behind
Never knowin what Id find
Such a distant great expanse
And the dust-devils, they dance
And I was dreamin of you
Feelin lucky
I was dreamin of you
Feelin lucky
Abandon everything that went before
Ahead now lies another open door
Abandon everything that went before
I was on a sleeper train
Bound for anywhere
And I was gazin out the window
In a long stare
Watchin the sage brush go by
And a pink and yellow sky
Thinkin bout your eyes
Feelin good to be alive
I was dreamin of you
Feelin lucky
I was dreamin of you
Feelin lucky
I was dreamin of you
Feelin lucky
I was dreamin of you
Feelin lucky
The train kept rollin
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who wants to catch foxes must hunt with geese.
A Dream of Foxes
fox
who
can blame her for hunkering
into the doorwells at night,
the only blaze in the dark
the brush of her hopeful tail,
the only starlight
her little bared teeth?
and when she is not satisfied
who can blame her for refusing to leave,
Master Of The Hunt, why am i
not feeding, not being fed?
the coming of fox
one evening i return
to a red fox
haunched by my door.
i am afraid
although she knows
no enemy comes here.
next night again
then next then next
she sits in her safe shadow
silent as my skin bleeds
into long bright flags
of fur.
dear fox
it is not my habit
to squat in the hungry desert
fingering stones, begging them
to heal, not me but the dry morninngs
and bitter nights.
it is not your habit
to watch, none of this
is ourrs, sister fox.
tell yourself that anytime now
we will rise and walk away
from somebody else's life.
any time.
leaving fox
so many fuckless days and nights
only the solitary fox
watching my window light
barks her compassion.
i move away from her eyes.
from the pitying brush
of her tail
to a new place and check
for signs. so far
i am the only animal.
i will keep the door unlocked
until something human comes.
one year later
what if,
then,
entering my room,
brushing against the shadows,
lapping them into rust,
her soft paw extended,
she had called me out?
what if,
then,
i had reared up baying,
and followed her off
into vixen country?
what then of the moon,
the room, the bed, the poetry
of regret?
a dream of foxes
in the dream of foxes
there is a field
and a procession of women
clean as good children
no hollow in the world
surrounded by dogs
no fur clumped bloody
on the ground
only a lovely line
of honest women stepping
without fear or guilt or shame
safe through the generous fields.
poem by Lucille Clifton
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I have always brought home stray animals - everything from squirrels to wild rabbits to foxes and turtles.
Amongst Foxes
Take me on a banquet table
With seats engaged by five people
Or three with superfluous orifices
And vindictive but superficial visions
Such obsequious fanatics, such prissy sticklers,
Such laggard cajolers of idiotic beliefs
Worse, no fancies or beliefs at all
Take me unto this vulpine table
And I might as well abscond my supper
And gnaw upon reticence and the taciturn
Reservations, for in notching the hinges
Of my mouth may expose the famished gulch
Inside the fractures of the skinned skeleton
Or worst, display the daunting jagged fangs
That gyrates and scintillates from friction
From riling the presence of each other
Because in the deep alleys of my soul
I might be one of the hoodwinked monsters
In cordial suppers, elegiac malls, or crowded rooms,
In corridors where people saunter
Like lewd hounds, like stray cats,
In the abundance of roaches and mice
In pairs swooned in love or in despair,
Or even one on one, tooth on tooth,
There is a madness hulking on the viscera
And they are all instigated by the same paranoia
That we have in alluring festivities in banquets,
In riling the reflection of a beguiling fox
We fleetingly saw as we walk in a mirror house
Distorting our visage and vision and filtering
Our bloods to reduce that we are all famished
With different hungers and carnal seeking
But the same scheming and volitions
To puncture the walls sundering us
From our very own dinner tables
And so we dwell amongst the foxes
Amongst foxes, you cannot be a sparrow
And fly relentlessly with the innocuous trance
You find in the affable tackles of the climate,
Nor can you be the lion that you are
For you will beckon an unwelcomed signal fire
From the pregnant belly of a burning forest
You cannot be anyone else,
But the fox that you are not
And you cannot be yourself
But inside the cloisters of your cave
Amongst foxes, you have to play fox
And from the stench of their dwellings
You have to educe a frivolous park
And perhaps, struggling isn't apt
For the more we fight the demons of fate
The more we loosen our ends and swagger in blithe
And, inexorably, start to become one of them
The demons that you eschew in the mirror house
There is no death that can surmount
The bereavement in squandering yourself away
And become a faceless name, or a nameless face
Or the echoing wails of a voiceless shame;
Dead amongst the world of the living
Especially when you are amidst the prancing
And cunning melee of the foxes' stares
But then again, why dwell in a crowd
Of these carousing sleazy perfidious rogues
Who would not hesitate to filch
What you have and who you are?
And who would never understand
Why you don a fox's risqué guise
And loathe the approaching pangs
Of slowly becoming one, and still opt
To die while trying to conquer death
Amongst the foxes, the injuries are not evident
So you sully in an indiscernible fissure of your soul
We can never have espy the elusive answers
For before we comprehend the queries
They were already feasted by the agile beasts
But amidst the inebriations we hope to find
One dissimilar; shrewd and coy fox
Or perhaps a soul withholding similar scars
And humble conceits, and tail, and tales,
One who isn't very different from what you are
In the same veneer but still:
A prey under the steam of the foxes
And perhaps there is one soul
One who would not eat your tail in your slumber
And one who wouldn't define you
For what you have and have not
But give you a definition
Whilst you hunt amongst the foxes
And prowl a jeremiad in duet
Sewing tales that never meant anything to any fox
poem by Norman Santos
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Train Long Gone
(Gone!) Well, I hate how that word
Rattles all around in this room
(Alone,) with a memory so strong
I could sweep it up with a broom.
(Tears,) if I shed anymore I'm afraid
They might wear out my face
(Clear,) Yes, It's clear to me now
That her love can never be replaced.
Love may be gone but never forgotten
The memory won't leave you alone
And the train may be long gone from the station
But you still hear the whistle moan.
Still hear the whistle moan.
--- Instrumental ---
(Time,) time got so slow and thick
That the clock hardly ticks anymore
(Crime,) it's a crime how I sit here
And stare like a dog at the door.
(Blame,) Aw yes, I'll take the blame
I admit I did not treat her right
(Shame,) It's a shame laying here
All alone on this cold, windy night.
Love may be gone but never forgotten
The memory won't leave you alone
And the train may be long gone from the station
But you still hear the whistle moan.
Still hear the whistle moan.
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh
Train gone, long gone train.
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh
Train gone, long gone train.
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh
Train gone, long gone train.
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh.
Love may be gone but never forgotten
The memory won't leave you alone
And the train may be long gone from the station
But you can still hear the whistle moan.
Still hear the whistle moan.
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh
Train gone, long gone train.
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh
Train, long gone train.
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh
Train, long gone train.
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh
Train gone, long gone train.
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh
Train, long gone train.
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh
Long gone train.
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh
Train, long gone train.
Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh
Train, long gone train...
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Train
I wanna talk 2 U 'bout this love affair
Is it really true that U don't care?
Seems like every day U grow farther away
Tell me what can I say 2 make U stay
Cuz if U really don't love me anymore (If U don't love me)
I just don't know what 2 say
There's a train that's leavin' in the morning (Train)
That will take U straight 2 Santa Fe (All the way) (Train)
If U feel this thing we got just can't go on (Train)
Then I won't stand in your way
I won't stand in your way
I won't stand in your way, no, no
I'm so in love with U, U're all I wanna be
Whenever U go away, babe, U take a part of me (Oh, yes U do)
A man's gotta do what he gotta do
But remember, babe, wherever U go, I'm with U
Cuz I need ya
CHORUS:
If U really don't love me anymore (If U don't love me)
I just don't know what 2 say
There's a train that's leavin' in the mornin' (Train)
That will take U straight 2 Santa Fe (All the way) (Train)
If U feel this thing we got just can't go on (Train)
I won't stand in your way {x3}
CHORUS
I won't stand in your way, no, no
(Train leavin' without delay)
No
(Train headed 4 Santa Fe)
Oh no, I won't stand in your way
(Train leavin' without delay)
(Train headed 4 Santa Fe)
Mm yeah
Train, train
(Train leavin' without delay)
(Train headed 4 Santa Fe)
(Train leavin' without delay)
(Train)
I just can't go on
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When it rains and the sun comes out, foxes make love.
In The Land Of The Bumbley Boo
In the land of the Bumbley Boo
The People are red white and blue,
They never blow noses,
Or ever wear closes,
What a sensible thing to do!
In the land of the Bumbley Boo
You can buy Lemon pie at the zoo;
They give away foxes
In little Pink Boxes
And Bottles of Dandylion Stew.
In the land of the Bumbley Boo
You never see a Gnu,
But thousands of cats
Wearing trousers and hats
Made of Pumpkins and Pelican Glue!
Chorus
Oh, the Bumbley Boo! the Bumbley Boo!
That's the place for me and you!
So hurry! Let's run!
The train leaves at one!
For the land of the Bumbley Boo!
The wonderful Bumbley Boo-Boo-Boo!
The Wonderful Bumbley BOO!!!
poem by Spike Milligan
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He who has to do with foxes must look after his hen-roost.