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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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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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
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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 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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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?
God's World
Thin as hair are the shadows of sunset
When they follow drawn-out every tree.
On the road through the forest the post-girl
Hands a parcel and letters to me.
By the trail of the cats and the foxes,
By the foxes' and by the cats' trail,
I return with a bundle of letters
To the house where my joy will prevail.
Countries, continents, isthmuses, frontiers,
Lakes and mountains, discussions and news,
Children, grown-ups, old folk, adolescents,
Appreciations, reports and reviews.
0 respected and masculine letters!
All of you, none excepted, have brought
A display of intelligent logic
Underneath a dry statement of thought.
Precious, treasured epistles of women!
Why, I also fell down from a cloud.
And eternally now and for ever
To be yours I have solemnly vowed.
Well and you, stamp-collectors, if even
Only one fleeting moment you had
Among us, what a marvellous present
You would find in my sorrowful stead!
poem by Boris Pasternak
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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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Monsters of the Night
Inner demons who seem to rule my fate
for me I feel its far to late
for deep within they always hide
these monsters eating away at me from the inside
inner demons that scream
my thoughts some how not what they seem
monsters that creep out at night
Oh hell! ! this does not feel right
inner demons, please find another soul to torment
for me this torture is no longer meant
My deeply feared monsters of the dark
here no longer will you park
inner demons leave me be
my scary monsters of the night
I beg of you, please finally let me be
for my soul craves, needs the much healing light
inner demons, cast yourselves away
no longer do I want you to have any say
monsters who taint my soul to black
no longer will you haunt, for I will someday find my way back!
poem by Jill Ferrey
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Better be a tail for the lions than the head of the foxes.
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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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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Babylon
If you could bring her glories back!
You gentle sirs who sift the dust
And burrow in the mould and must
Of Babylon for bric-a-brac;
Who catalogue and pigeon-hole
The faded splendours of her soul
And put her greatness under glass -
If you could bring her past to pass!
If you could bring her dead to life!
The soldier lad; the market wife;
Madam buying fowls from her;
Tip, the butcher's bandy cur;
Workmen carting bricks and clay;
Babel passing to and fro
On the business of a day
Gone three thousand years ago -
That you cannot; then be done,
Put the goblet down again,
Let the broken arch remain,
Leave the dead men's dust alone -
Is it nothing how she lies,
This old mother of you all,
You great cities proud and tall
Towering to a hundred skies
Round a world she never knew,
Is it nothing, this, to you?
Must the ghoulish work go on
Till her very floors are gone?
While there's still a brick to save
Drive these people from her grave!
The Jewish seer when he cried
Woe to Babel's lust and pride
Saw the foxes at her gates;
Once again the wild thing waits.
Then leave her in her last decay
A house of owls, a foxes' den;
The desert that till yesterday
Hid her from the eyes of men
In its proper time and way
Will take her to itself again.
poem by Ralph Hodgson
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In Angola
In Angola I wondered
how the land of the free
had the power,
to launch soldiers
from another country
into the arms of eternity.
How could
the sly foxes of the CIA
find a way,
to sway
a country into it’s war.
What fools
had the politicians
of my country become,
to rise and let boys
of eighteen bare the brunt
for the most unpopular war.
Although the victory
was sound
more was lost than gained
and coming back from war,
I will never be free
from the demons
that torment me.
War kills hope and joy
and leave it’s scars
in every soldiers soul
and the innocent
pays the highest price.
From history
and into posterity
the USA does not
fight it’s wars alone
and at times
let others pay the toll.
In Afghanistan and Iraq
some allied soldiers
still fall and die...
poem by Gert Strydom
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Creativity And Illusions...
in the most noisy world
you can close your ears
and the sights you see
can have your own music from your soul
you can choose
what to hear and you can also pretend about what to see
or feel
you started doing this a long time ago
on that day when the birds of dawn broke their wings
when the light from the moon bent a little to have the illusion
of quiet, too early to learn
how is it to be a dove amidst the bats
how is it to be a lamb around the foxes
the world since then has become one big square
and then you create a scene: a green river flowing inside the forest
singing like a maiden
nude as she arranges her black hair
long enough to cover her breasts... and then
you place a man along the banks
paddling a boat towards her nipples
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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He who wants to catch foxes must hunt with geese.
Some Reasons Why The Dog Is Chasing Its Own Tail
it could be that there is a flea at the end of its tail
and it is wanting to remove it
it could be that it simply wants to call your attention
the way you laugh
and it simply wants to please you
it could be that he is a chaser by nature
instinct, its history of chasing sheeps and foxes
in the farm in the forest
or it could be something else
beyond our comprehension
because we have not been dogs
for once
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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With foxes we must play the fox.
quote by Thomas Fuller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With foxes we must play the fox.
Thomas Fuller in Gnomologia (1732)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have always brought home stray animals - everything from squirrels to wild rabbits to foxes and turtles.