Now comes the hard part...

For the last few days, I've been really odd. Not sleeping properly, waking early, headaches and all that AFTER a cold.
I know I'm down.
I know I've not to let it get to me.
Problem is that My daughter is here & I really don't want her to see just how bad I am at the moment.
We went out to lunch today. I really am doing my best not to go OTT and give in, and at the moment, I'm winning, but it might go to penalties...
An early night I in order, mainly as I have writing to do, but with a house full, I cant sit here & write all night, so its bed for me & then resume work later.
Managed to slip on the bloody ice as well, so my ankle is REALLY hurting me ATM...
Anyhow, poem time.

Taxidermy

 

An owl hang-gliding in suspended flight,

An arrowheaded fox in mock attack

Beneath a northern pike

Whose pinking shears are open for a fight

That never comes, a lynx's ears pinned back

For some decisive strike. . . .

 

No dove is ever featured in a heap,

No walleye belly up.  This art contrives,

Although the eyes are glass,

To reawaken from their real sleep

Breakneck ferocity when the falcon dives,

Grace in the largemouth bass,

 

And overlooks their fixed, affected stare.

A more organic form would represent

No animal at all,

Its lifetime having melted into air,

But in a fairer attitude present

An empty pedestal.

 

Greg Williamson

 

 

From The Silent Partner, Story Line Press,

© 1994.  Reprinted by permission of the author
and Story Line Press, Ashland, Oregon.