January, January….
Ice, thick,
as I have never seen
on Cherwell.
Jagged, floating towards Isis.
Low mists of ice-dust
drift on Christ Church meadow
and cool the blood
of long-horn cattle
standing
ankle-deep in mud.
A lame roe deer
beneath the trees
pauses, where
the sudden call of coots
splits the air.
In the gardens of Trinity,
all is order and harmony.
January blossom from Japan,
well-kept paths and lawns.
Controlled
and quiet.
Magdalen is a small, medieval town;
courtyards and golden houses,
a Tower and a Park.
Along Addison’s Walk,
tall trees like sentries,
follow the stream
which sidles out from Magdalen Bridge
to turn and twist
past the Deer Park
with its white deer,
(living, condensations
of the mist) .
poem by Brian Taylor
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Going Shopping
En route to go shopping at our local grocery store,
I came across something which I hadn’t seen before.
A rustling sound within the trees, by me, was heard;
I just imagined it was either a cat or some kind of bird.
But what emerged in front of me, gave me a surprise;
A surprise which made me question my very own eyes!
Out of the trees, there very suddenly appeared,
An extremely lively, little brown deer.
I know that large herds of deer do reside
In the big forest, in the nearby countryside.
But never before in my life had I ever found
Any deer this close to the centre of our town.
As soon as he saw me, away he sprang,
But in my mind, alarm bells loudly rang.
For the deer, I began to feel a little scared,
As I wondered how, in a town, he would fair.
He was quite far from where he had grown,
And now, here he was, having to cope alone.
The countryside compared to the town are different places;
Here, he was faced with houses, cars and people’s faces.
I imagined the sheer panic which he felt inside,
And for that poor little deer, I almost cried.
To help him, there was nothing I could do.
He was so far away from all that he knew.
I thought about him for the rest of the day,
And couldn’t believe how far he had strayed.
A deer in the town was a strange thing to have sighted.
I just hope that, with his herd, he was safely reunited.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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A Horse For Dinner
A horse A horse
My kingdom for a horse,
A horse A horse
For the main course
Muscles of might
Pulled so tight,
A body of organs
All for a meal
Why a horse?
Why not a deer?
A horse does the work,
A deer will just peer
A horse is strong
a deer has no uses,
so there for a deer
suffers the abuses
Condemned is a deer
as from the day it's born,
until the day it dies
and its meaty flesh torn
So why a horse
if a deer has no uses?
because I am a man
Who too, has suffered too many abuses
poem by John McAdam
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Waiting
Magdalen’s grounds
are full of life,
full of space.
Space, which is mown
and cleared,
tended and enclosed,
its waterways unchoked,
brown and sparkling clear.
It is home to ducks
and coots,
to dragonflies and deer.
Grass and paths and gates
and streams
and yesterday’s undergraduates
are waiting.
Not for the return of the past
nor the coming of an awaited future.
The past once gone
is a steadily fading photograph.
The future, once conceived,
is never as imagined.
No. They wait
for someone
with an empty heart
to play his part
without reluctance
or reserve;
to acknowledge
all this labour
of hand and eye
and the genius of the green and living.
To see
and bless
it all
and say, “Yes! ”
Then it can all begin,
the breathing out of being,
the eternal sigh,
the letting go at last
and surrender
to the sleep
of not being planned,
of not having to remember,
of not having to hold apart
future and past.
Of being at peace again.
poem by Brian Taylor
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How About Me?
doe, a deer, a female deer
ray, a golden ray of sun,
fa, a long long way to run
....
me, a name i call myself.
you are right.
me is my name. I call it myself.
and it is pushing us
to an illusion, an allusion, of a self,
identifying too well with it.
it. just it.
me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Visiting The Taoist Priest Dai Tianshan But Not Finding Him
A dog's bark amid the water's sound,
Peach blossom that's made thicker by the rain.
Deep in the trees, I sometimes see a deer,
And at the stream I hear no noonday bell.
Wild bamboo divides the green mist,
A flying spring hangs from the jasper peak.
No-one knows the place to which he's gone,
Sadly, I lean on two or three pines.
Little Stream
The feeling of peace longing for more
Watching reflections move with the flow
The water ripples beneath my toes
And of this place no one knows.
I look with intent at the darkening sky
With solemn face and a tearful eye
Looking across the meadow way
Watching the young deer at play.
The window of light bright once again
Over places dear to my heart remain
I kneel beside the little stream
Peering into the waters gleam.
The deer stops along it's brink
Bending low to take a cool drink
On it flows to a destined place
Along to the sea with impressive grace.
poem by Hazel Connelly
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Empty Houses
I
THERE’S not a person in the street,
This merry-making summer day!
The houses stand in dull array;
No profit on their doors to beat,
For all their owners are away.
The gardens blossom white and red
All solitary in the sun,
Save where some timid creatures run;
Secure across the lawns to tread,
No human dangers here to shun,—
Since men have gone on holiday;
Have left the still, suburban street
For that wide park, where people meet
In pleasures till the eve is grey.
Oh, but the home-coming is sweet!
II
There’s not a person in the street
Where wandering in grief I go.
These strange small houses, set in row,
Send out no human form to greet,
No busy footfalls to and fro.
Tall poplars raise their shafts beside;
And mingled shades and sunbeams bless
God’s Acre, in its quietness—
God’s town, where men are drawn to bide
Untroubled by the world’s distress.
There comes no opening of the gate,
Though to my friend I plead and pray.
‘Patience!’ the trees and sunbeams say.
‘Here only empty houses wait,
While souls are keeping holiday.’
poem by Mary Colborne-Veel
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The Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay!
With your numerous arches and pillars in so grand array
And your central girders, which seem to the eye
To be almost towering to the sky.
The greatest wonder of the day,
And a great beautification to the River Tay,
Most beautiful to be seen,
Near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay!
That has caused the Emperor of Brazil to leave
His home far away, incognito in his dress,
And view thee ere he passed along en route to Inverness.
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay!
The longest of the present day
That has ever crossed o'er a tidal river stream,
Most gigantic to be seen,
Near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay!
Which will cause great rejoicing on the opening day
And hundreds of people will come from far away,
Also the Queen, most gorgeous to be seen,
Near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay!
And prosperity to Provost Cox, who has given
Thirty thousand pounds and upwards away
In helping to erect the Bridge of the Tay,
Most handsome to be seen,
Near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay!
I hope that God will protect all passengers
By night and by day,
And that no accident will befall them while crossing
The Bridge of the Silvery Tay,
For that would be most awful to be seen
Near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay!
And prosperity to Messrs Bouche and Grothe,
The famous engineers of the present day,
Who have succeeded in erecting the Railway
Bridge of the Silvery Tay,
Which stands unequalled to be seen
Near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Save the deer
Tigers are there; deer are there.
Tigers eat deer and deer exist.
Guilt is the tiger and adultery, the deer.
Adultery will not go extinct.
25.03.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Late Aubade & Explanation
Once in a field, in a wide rising stretch of paintbrush
& purple vetch, we stuck down
a tent, like punctuation, and drank through the evening
our bottle of bad wine. When you looked up,
the weather was holding: a few breezes,
a full moon silvering the flowers
to white. In the distance, I heard the ache
& slide of snow, the beginning of crickets. It was twilight—
the landscape was lifting.
•
A mountain. The clouds, further up,
came down. A Book of Hours. A tent in which we twisted,
pressed each against the other, drunk
and when I stepped out into the cool
moonlight, there was drifting through the watery
end of the meadow, a deer
pale beneath pines, beneath those soaring
darknessess. Then there was only darkness, the
idea of a deer.
Remember, I never wanted
to be alive, to have
an outline. Better, I knew, to slip
unheld, an opening into mist.
poem by Kate Northrop
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January Saturday
“For Elise” plays in the other room
It is two degrees below zero
On this January Saturday
The sun mid-way in the eastern sky
Brightens the morning but has not yet
Pushed the temperature up to zero
A small rabbit hopped the short distance
From the woods to the cabin
Looked around and ducked under
Today the trees are still
The winds that have battered
For three days are quiet
The lovely frost patterns on the greenhouse windows
So delightful when the cold began
Today look ordinary
Deep snow covers the grasses
A deer ventures from the trees
Browses a low bush
“For Elise” again plays from the other room
The fire gently warms us
Who was Elise?
January 22,2000
poem by Marjorie DeBol DeFazio
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My Fondest Dream
It has always been my desire,
To be alone amongst hundreds of trees, deer and
In solitude beneath the sun as it would shine through the trees in the woodlands,
Casting shadows upon the creek that meanders throughout-
I remember a story my mother used to read to me
When I was none but a child of three years old,
A story about living alone in a little cabin in the woods-
And to this day I believe that that story was written for me-
I can almost envision that cabin built from branches of fallen trees,
Where I would make my home,
Far from the millions of people in this world,
But not far at all from the deer, birds and all of nature-
It is my belief that there are different ways of being lonely.
Alone, far from threatening people who dwell amid this planet, as
When I am amongst these people, I am truly lonely and misunderstood,
While inside the place of my dreams I have escaped these billions of people,
Made a home in the cabin from my storybook, and
Am living amongst the wonders of nature and the world of my own thoughts-
Never alone, never lonely until I awaken and find myself
Rudely thrown back to reality-
Now I know that if I want to escape
What is true loneliness to me, all I have to do is to close my eyes and
To lose myself inside the world of my fondest dreams.
Standing beneath the shadows cast by the tallest trees,
Watching the deer running freely- and listening to the wild geese calling-
Looking upward toward the sky here at nightfall, I wish upon a star,
That my dream will someday come true- because
What I dream shall never harm me- and in my thoughts,
Being misapprehended by a multitude of strangers is
What loneliness truly can be? Being alone with my familiar thoughts,
Amongst the magic of nature is peace, happiness and never being lost-
And being the star of my childhood storybook-living in that cabin in the woods,
Perhaps alone there, but never lonely…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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On The Banks O' Deer Crick
On the banks o' Deer Crick! There's the place fer me!--
Worter slidin' past ye jes as clair as it kin be:--
See yer shadder in it, and the shadder o' the sky,
And the shadder o' the buzzard as he goes a-lazein' by;
Shadder o' the pizen-vines, and shadder o' the trees--
And I purt'-nigh said the shadder o' the sunshine and the breeze!
Well--I never seen the ocean ner I never seen the sea:
On the banks o' Deer Crick's grand enough fer me!
On the banks o' Deer Crick--mild er two from town--
'Long up where the mill-race comes a-loafin' down,--
Like to git up in there--'mongst the sycamores--
And watch the worter at the dam, a-frothin' as she pours:
Crawl out on some old log, with my hook and line,
Where the fish is jes so thick you kin see 'em shine
As they flicker round yer bait, _coaxin_' you to jerk,
Tel yer tired ketchin' of 'em, mighty nigh, as _work_!
On the banks o' Deer Crick!--Allus my delight
Jes to be around there--take it day er night!--
Watch the snipes and killdees foolin' half the day--
Er these-'ere little worter-bugs skootin' ever'way!--
Snakefeeders glancin' round, er dartin' out o' sight;
And dew-fall, and bullfrogs, and lightnin'-bugs at night--
Stars up through the tree-tops--er in the crick below,--
And smell o' mussrat through the dark clean from the old b'y-o!
Er take a tromp, some Sund'y, say, 'way up to 'Johnson's Hole,'
And find where he's had a fire, and hid his fishin' pole;
Have yer 'dog-leg,' with ye and yer pipe and 'cut-and-dry'--
Pocketful o' corn-bred, and slug er two o' rye,--
Soak yer hide in sunshine and waller in the shade--
Like the Good Book tells us--'where there're none to make afraid!'
Well!--I never seen the ocean ner I never seen the sea--
On the banks o' Deer Crick's grand enough fer me!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Magdalen
Hey, miss magdalen girl sympathy mind hey, miss magdalen girl power. power off, yeah grant a flesh show meek inherit nothing but death song queen sex go-go moving like a bad dream promised so lo
O blessed art thou among women is this easy come is thi s easy go mingled with fear you get what you wish wish wish wish wish gabriel get out this is my nazareth wicked joy trembling town wicked joy be a raging machine chosen worthy to explode a king a king king king king king king king king drilling down deep inside heartache tests the pain girls on the bar swing around danger does the sam magdalen magdalen magdalen magdalen peace grants suspicious crashing like some animals southern terror claws scream how can this be? mary, mary sex machine mary. mary r aging on beat, beat beat girl this is what you need this is what you need now now now
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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19th September
I cannot walk properly after the gun shot,
But you were the very hunter who shot my leg.
Your gun shot was aimed at my back like,
A virgin lady without a pot;
For i am now a deer to you.
Your were in the same forest that i was,
Looking for a deer to shoot at and you rather got me;
But i do hope that one day i will walk very well.
I have got my papers in order and i still need your care,
But you came as a hunter to get me down!
And in this wolrd of lovers and haters,
What can i say to this act of yours?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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At The Forest
you just shot
a robust deer
and you are
happy taking
it on your shoulder
something for
dinner....
and you walk away
behind your backs
a little deer is looking,
oh, a mother is taken
and the son
is weeping!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Priceless Day
One day,
On my way,
I went to meet my granddaughter
and spend the day with her.
I shared her joy
As she showed me her new toys.
Later we went for a walk
To the deer park.
She held my hand,
But soon ran ahead
Without any fear
As she spotted the deer.
And tried to peer
Into the enclosure.
She would not pay heed
As she tried to feed
Them with her small hands
As they flocked to her like old friends
She laughed and danced with glee
And seemed utterly carefree.
Soon it was four
I dropped her at her door.
It was a priceless day
I felt as I drove away
I looked back and saw she was in her maid’s lap,
Tired and all set to have a nap.
She waved with both hands at me.
I too kept waving till I could see.
Then I put my against the back rest
Could feel the heart beat in my chest.
I recalled how she had hugged me,
And I didn’t want to set her free.
She really has a way
To make you happy and feel gay
She brings out the child in me
And I rediscover what it’s to just be.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The Two Swans
There's a big park just close to where we live —
Trees in a row
And shaggy grass whereon the dead leaves blow.
And in the middle round a great lagoon
The fair yachts sail
In loveliness that makes the water pale.
Last night I went to walk along the road
Beside the park
And feel the kisses of the wintry dark.
It's the best place to watch the evening come
For mists are there
And lights and shadows and the lake is fair
And last night looking up I saw two swans
Fly overhead
With long black necks and their white wings outspread.
Above the houses citywards they went,
An arrowy pair
In secret — white and black and dark and fair.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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No gain without pain
Christmas shopping.
Again, the pain,
a thought so stark
will I even get
into the car park?
I only needed
to nip in,
a quick purchase
to make.
T'was deer steak
I wanted.
Oh dear, it's raining.
So I made a quick dash
oh, that was rash,
no deer steak
just rain
and a beef steak
to boot.
So I'll stay mute
about Christmas shopping.
poem by George BernardBloodyShaw
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A demarche-Cauchy3-tricks
A demarche…
Take a pictured horse as deer.
Who will treat deer as horse?
Gods will say that.
All as pets are teacher pets.
Horse then goes as deer.
Throw the stones to test the water depth.
Games with theorems are centered guards.
Take a test upon aha actions.
With images of horse they all are Tory.
With image of deer they all are foes.
Invite a wolf into house or close the door to kill the dogs are after math after test.
poem by Cheung Shun Sang
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