For Many years unable to identify
this haunting whoo whoo sound
Could it be an insect or a bird up in the trees
An amphibian by the creek perhaps ?
or something, else not identified, rising from the ground
The hoot was mostly early morning but sometimes through the night
unable to get vision of this creature
perhaps through camouflage it kept itself from sight
The mystery, finally it was solved
in the middle of the day
When the haunting hoot erupted,
not too far away
In desperation as a result of an attack by a marauding crow
the sound was emanating from a desperate immature creature
A frog? no not really but part of the name,
of a bird, that's how it does feature
In appearance it much resembles some owls
Its called a Tawny "FROGmouth"
a name with several vowels
A few metres from our house there are up to four
perched upon the same branch roosting
and sleeping through the day
They are nocturnal feeders, intermittently the branch is vacant
as they opt to stay away
If I ever find my mind in a smog from heaven
Or ever blind as a frog in an earthen oven
I’d hop my hump back down to earth
And finally fix my ass, for what it's worth
Real heaven can exist in the commotion of a threshold
Reckon if you can and resist the devotion to what you’ve been sold
Through faith we create those things which brings us to believe
True faith will negate the strings on our wings we can’t perceive
I like the crazy notion that every day is nowadays today
I live this lazy devotion that times are eternally now this way
Push my timid tush up to the threatening door
Mourn the twitching toad on the rainy road
who cannot embrace the face of the killing floor.
Oh, the vexing amphibian -
from the Nile or Caribbean.
Is it a toad or a frog,
a tadpole or polliwog,
a newt or salamander,
crocodile, alligander?
Oh, the vexing amphibian -
from the Nile or Caribbean.
Cool comforts from the moon shining in Spring
diverge from coming Summer's scorching sun.
Sweet honeysuckle lifts its trumpet string
to set swift tempo for the Springtime fun.
The peonies follow in their due time,
shout scented secrets to boisterous birds.
Hornets send buzzing timbre to sublime,
heights of rowdy rhythm in unspoken words.
Loud melodies of frogs bide time with drums
in gurgling creek beds or towering trees.
The bursting bomb of bleeding redbuds comes
to speckle color through sonorous breeze.
Spring buzzes, bleeds, gurgles, or bursts out loud
through its short months, the frenzied, shouting crowd.
surfacing in spring
a spotted salamander ~
subtle seducer
voices rise in zest
after a slumber party ~
moonlight serenade
I ride on Ryley Rhino
as down the river we go.
He knows things I want to know.
I said, “There’s a flashy fish!
Watch it swirl and swish!”
Ryley Rhino said, “I know.”
I said, “There’s a crocodile!
Look at its smug smile.”
Ryley Rhino said, “I know.”
I said, “There’s a sneaky snake!
I wonder if its name is Jake.”
Ryley Rhino said, “I know.”
"Ryley Rhino you're so smart,
I love you with all my heart!”
Ryley Rhino said, “I know.”
My mind foggy with too much stress,
I chose to saunter along and imagine
pastoral scenes that I had seen.
I dreamed of fields and meadows
all in green, painted with the colors
of the multi-hued perennial Spring.
As I walked, I felt my mind easing into
a comfortable stride with me.
We passed a calming stream
with fish and frogs and dragonflies.
Each bird sang its soliloquy
and I had only tranquil happiness,
peaceful rhythms, and floating
clouds that billowed and shape-shifted with the wind,
so grateful that I had found the clearing.
the Fiddler played and sang a tune
all the while the sun became moon
Sir Frog was dancing
and sometimes prancing
but then the music died too soon
“Fiddler,” cried Frog, “why do you stop?
I’m still in mindful mood to hop!”
Fiddler said, “Sir Frog,
bring me honey grog
and I’ll play the night till you drop!”
Though I'm ugly and I'm old,
And I'm fat and I'm bald,
And I'm grey and I'm cold;
I've still a story to be told …
I've never been a handsome prince
As far as I can tell;
Unless I lost my memory
During a witch’s evil spell!
I started my spawned life in a pond,
In that valley, there beyond,
I haven't always been a 'toad-in-the-hole',
I was once, a cute tadpole,
Hmmmn … those were the days.
I'm a source of fear for superstitious folk
The hapless butt of many a joke,
I'm not endearing, or the least bit cute,
With all the charm of a hob-nail-boot.
I’m not a worshiper of the sun,
My warty skin preferring it dank,
So I make my home in a shaded hole,
In a man-made stone hedge, or a bank.
You might think that I'm between
A rock and a hard place,
That I've got my back to the wall,
But it's me that's never worked,
Paid tax or had a mortgage,
And never had to go to school!
peculiar frog
on a rock-
reptilian gargoyle
angry wind
sweeps across land-
stumbling bird
Being the infant
that you were,
there you sat;
hunched knees
and settle butt looking
with piercing eyes
reflecting stand-off thoughts
as you huffed and puffed.
Like a water pump
pumping out,
your lungs pumped in
balancing the nature of life.
In your emerald grey
and black polka-dotted sheen
your thinking eyes
momentarily pondered
my raised foot;
you flashed a broad smile
and suddenly hopped away...
leaving me innocent
of a crime of ignorance
of nature:
Later in the night
your croaking echoes flowed
into the empty vase of my ears.
I am an amphibian
Living in and out of my own truth
With you one day,
Totally against you the next.
Personalities swirling inside
Staring into a mirror wondering
Will we like me today?
Will we be kind to this face?
Will we have positive self-talk?
Will we be able to salvage any kind of love for self?
You look old, I think. Not a good start.
Is that a skin tag?
Dhram!
Worse start now.
What about trying to like ourselves today?
One of my personalities begins to whine.
I hate whiners.
Are we even going to try? Another personality inquires.
I turn away from the mirror, but not before thinking I look old.
My hands are old too.
Grandma hands.
Spotted. Freckled more than my face ever was.
A face I used to like.
Come on! One of my selves pleads.
Let's be our prancy, dancy self today.
Shall I call in sick? To play in my art studio?
To write my poetry? To salvage my joyful side?
I look back into the mirror. I look younger. I see my twelve.
I am excited now. The possibility of having a mental health day.
My muse is twirling and swirling, dancing.
Amphibian me laughs, as we reach for the phone.
I love it when my bliss comes out to play.
Coal, oil, and fossils were not always here.
Neither were fish or land plants my little dear.
They preceded Mesozoic,
And were clearly Paleozoic.
Do you want to know more? Please come sit right here.
Our forefathers were sailors
they were travelers and warriors
the amphibians of the archipelago.
The sea was their playground
they swung their Krises blades
the enemies cannot missed.
They love peace
and they live by peace
they fought to defend faith.
I love you peace. Let's sail together. Layag Sug!
SaniH, Putra Road
2:11PM.300415.
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