You Will Follow Us

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You Will Follow Us

We are birds in a tree.
Shooting, trapping, pollution
and building have destroyed
most of our kind.

For the moment, those left
sing happily,
but one by one we are going,
going, going…

One day you will not hear us sing
and another sound will be heard –
it will be of the world caving in,
not bit by almost invisible bit,
but with a tired roar,
and you will have followed us into
oblivion.

Andrew Pender-Smith

One of my greatest concerns is of the need to conserve the environment. Those of you who read Green Monkey Publications posts may have read ‘Popping Off’. If you have not yet done so and you would like to read it, you will find the poem by scrolling down. 

 

 

How Goes it?

How Goes It?

Yo, I’m still swinging here.
I’m still swinging dere.
So, how goes it wid you?
Me, my bro? I’m mighty fine.
Creatively, I still move here
and I still move dere.
An you, my bro? I hope it’s
so with you.
Don’ lose de rhythm of creativity.
Let your imagination go wild.
Let your imagination fly high
like one mighty swinging monkee
over a big banana tree.

Your art won’t happen if you just
sit around.
Get your feet and your behind off
the ground.

Loop-de-loop. Swing by de tail of Art’s
best thing.
That will be you, my bro,
if you let what’s in you grow.

Sebastian de Vervet

It has been a long time since the inimical Sebastian de Vervet wrote a poem for the Green Monkey Publications website. As so often before, he once again encourages individuals to believe in their own creativity and to do something positive with it. Sebastian chose these images to go with the poem because he loves pink and because he thinks those who created the images have more than a flair for creativity. How is the creative in you progressing?

In Poetry

sunrise-poem1.jpg

In poetry I have found many teachers. Yes, I have. Over the years I have read a tremendous amount of poetry. These have included poems from centuries ago to poems recently written. One of the reasons why I have gained as a reader, thinker and communicator is because I have not restricted myself . I have spent years enjoying poetry in different genres dealing with a wide variety of subjects. Reading and discussing poetry has helped me to think better and express myself with greater accuracy. How much reading of poetry are you doing? If you haven’t read many poems, I urge you to start now. You will grow. 

Popping Off – Why we desperately need to keep the bees.

bees and lavender

Popping Off

They are flying gold
to me and those who know them.
Bees thrumming harvests.

Nature’s bullion
sparking flowers to fruit,
now dwindling slowly.

So many have gone.
The humming golden ones
are dying, dying.

Abundance is a myth.
Bankruptcy is fast coming.
Some flowers are dead.

When the bees teemed
forth, the crops sang happily.
Silence approaches.

They are winging off.
Those who toil within petals
are almost, almost lost.

There will be no grave
to mark the final passing.
No burnished plaque.

The pollinators are popping
off, and then so will we,
lamenting: ”Too late!”

Andrew Pender-Smith

Written by the author as an answer to the question: If the bees go, what happens to us?

In pushing the bees into a losing position, it is worth considering that we could be doing the same to ourselves.  I encourage readers to give it careful thought and to ask, ”What can I do to see this does not happen?”

I Am Glad

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I Am Glad

They are barely there
the people in the before-
work crowds

Sometimes I catch impressions
of their smudged
and
jostling shapes
amidst the rush and shove,
the hooting,
the we-need-to-get there
quickly

For a second I might glimpse the
almost-faces of so many,
then it is all a jumble in the
push-and-pull of
traffic lights, subway swallowing,
cars and buses, pavement
rushing,
swearing drivers
and road crossings

Those are the days I just want to sit
on a warm park bench
munch on sugary doughnuts
hold hands with someone and say,
‘’I am glad I have you.’’     

              Andrew Pender-Smith

 

what has touched me

fish

what has touched me

 

a blue butterfly

balancing upon a new leaf

resting briefly there

 

singing in unison

dawn birds welcome the sun

forage in a tree

 

fish splash and circle

break the sun’s filtering rays

love this morning’s time

 

an old beetle sits

in silent contemplation

a little Bhudda

 

the soil shifts slightly

an earthworm is barely here

then down and gone again

 

velvet buttons swim

they are tadpoles exploring

loving the algae

                                                                                                     

a dragonfly’s wings

catch and shout the day’s light

disperse it for free

 

I have sat watching

slow to move and quick to see

what has touched me

        ©  Andrew Pender-Smith

I composed this lyric a few weeks ago. Anyone looking at it carefully, and I hope you do, will see that it is comprised of eight separate haiku designed to link through, to create a lyric. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spinning Away

red moon

Spinning Away


The sky cracked open

and I spun away

with whirling lights in my head.


The great bird beneath me

opened its wings

and flapped from

one fantastic place to another.


Moons sang and suns

danced in one wild, weird place,

while delicate frost touched trees

of rainbow hues in another.


The black bird opened its orange beak

and sang us onwards

until we came to a frozen lake.

Silver children skated its

myriad-coloured surface

and butterflies of sparkling ice sang:

‘’Isn’t this nice.

Isn’t this nice.’’


We journeyed on past planets

of indescribable blue

and shot up a waterfall

that roared and rushed into

valleys vast and mysteriously deep.


We came to a full, red moon

that was spinning and jigging to its own

private tune.

It smiled at the black bird and

waved at me before floating away

over a long, green stream

of ribboning bubbles and delicate spray.


Finally, the air turned wonderfully warm

while a billion waltzing stars

catapulted in exotic, endless display.


Then, down, down we planed

in a golden moment that

jetted us over a gleaming sea.

‘’Home again. Home again,’’

the black bird sang with me.


I was now on soft beach sand.

I turned around once and the bird

was gone, flying on to I know not where.

I lay down on the fine, fine sand and

held onto memory after mad, marvellous memory

as one wild moon after another

looked down and winked at me.


© Andrew Pender-Smith

 

The Spaceship Shook

pink planet
The Spaceship Shook

 It was suddenly midnight blue

and a light flashed through

the hitherto unreachable galaxy.


Mars, Jupiter and Neptune were fun

but travelling beyond the Milky Way we spun

out of control on the intergalactic highway.


The spaceship shook and veered to the right.

Before our eyes was the most spectacular sight:

a purple and green place filled with shooting stars!


Our hair stood on end as we dropped

between multi-coloured, popped-

open comets and angry-ganged asteroids.


We left our craft, clambered on a falling

star and went pink-planet exploring.

This was whizzing- wild alien territory!


A whispering breeze took us from planet

to planet as a cold, crystal blanket

of singing ice sighed and parted.


The planet’s floor was creviced and black.

Pale purple mountains moaned as a crater began to crack

open and we drifted to a satin lake.

We glided out into luminous night

in a boat of curious sight

and entered a most peculiar city.


Buildings rose and dropped and bopped around

as a billion silver people danced upon the ground

and waved while a vanilla river swept us away.


At last we came upon a catapulting star

that shrieked and shot us up, out far,

till we landed back on the now invisible spaceship.


In full throttle and changing gear

we began to steer

our way to earth.


From far, far off we thought we

heard the sounds of mirth,

of a billion silver people laughing.

But a little blue moon put out

its arms to dance with our craft

and we never did find out who laughed.

Instead, we clapped and we wept

for it had been fun

but we couldn’t remember

how it had all begun.

And we wanted to do it again,

and again, and again.

                 © Andrew Pender-Smith

solar-system-emergence-spitzer-telescope-telescope-41951

This poem has been used as a choral verse in schools, appears in an anthology of the Speech and Drama Association of South Africa, and in a collection of poems called ‘Fantastic Spacey Racy Thing and Lots and Lots of Other Poems’ by Andrew Pender-Smith. Those interested in using the poem are free to do so provided full acknowledgement of the author is made. If you enjoyed this fantasy poem, you may enjoy ‘A Strange, Sweet Lullaby’ published on Green Monkey Publications on the 12th of February 2018.

With good wishes,

Andrew Pender-Smith