GOLD AND SILVER SUN
A fleeting perfect world displays its shimmering gold,
so rare, the glimpse is there to feed the hungry soul.
The gold and silver sun has pierced the shroud of mist
with interface of orange hue a halo pure and rare.
What else can feel so pure as in the morning dew,
the white and silver mist conceals most all, except
the deep throat roar of stags in charge of does.
Drifting clear above the trees a flash of brightest green
as pairs of paraquets wing swiftly through the air
announcing now their flight with chattering talk.
While down amongst the mist the flatfoot hoards attend,
where rabbits take their time to munch and chew.
Six, twelve, twenty, bounce and flash their tails,
as curly tailed and slim the squirrels take their chance
from fence to branch and scramble up the tree of life.
The life for me is there to feel, and smell and see,
my heart in boundless joy at this a perfect world.

Moya 25/ 02/01

DUSK IS MAGIC
Now in winter dusk in the park
There is magic in the quiet calm
The so pale sky of grey to pink
A backdrop to the silhouette trees
The sounds are easy to the ear
A clash-clash of bone on bone in tryst
The stags are there at dusk to play
The caw-caw sounds of the crows
Black in black of the silhouette trees
The silent pad-pad of runners on grass
The whirr-whirr of the pedals fast to go
Of bikes now seen as flashing red.
Above the search light of the chopper
Droning just above the silhouette trees
Then in the dusk a couple on the bench
Just black and merged but separate too
All this I see and feel as magic here
A calm inside to stay with me alone

Moya 27/11/08

BUSHY Again
BUSHY You have a history:
Between your past and present
I’m sandwiched by destiny;
I nestle amid all the luscious fillings.
Let nothing mar this moment;
Let me rejoice in all the trimmings
Of your plush delicatessen, and ask
For more -like an esurient urchin.
Your woodland gardens are irresistible,
Where in all quietness I bask.
I’ll do no more searching
For greener grounds. Here I’m able
To feast like a king at your table
And inwardly feel replete on leaving.

Jeewan Ramlugun, 19 April 2009

DISAPPEARING SKYLARK
In the sky you lark,
But down to earth
You nest on the ground.
I saw a notice in the park:
It spoke of your species’ dearth-
You cannot be easily found:
Over the past twenty five years
You have dwindled to fifty eight percent.
This has ruffled conservationists’ feathers.
Man’s and his best friend’s habits are meant
To be at the root of this predicament.
Could it be you’re mating less?
Or do you reproduce more wisely
So that you’re missed when seen more scarcely?

Jeewan Ramlugun 04.05.09

DEAR DEER...
Why do you bear a black bird
Or a chaffinch on your back
Displaying such nonchalance?
Whereas, on my approach you appear perturbed.
Do I lack a certain knack
To put you at ease, so you don’t nervously prance?
It’s said St.Francis of Assisi had a gift
Of befriending nature’s creatures,
And who serenely associated with them.
Being blithely numbed by your beautiful sight
I’m prepared to be taken unawares
Concerning my own comfort zone, as I think of a poem
I can write about this experience,
When I ecstatically depart hence.

Jeewan Ramlugun, 12 June 2009