Poetry and micro-stories

The Koala

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The Koala
A compassionate breeze caressed his koala face,
communicating a tenderness of acceptance and love
much like his mother’s comforting touch.
She carried his burdening weight upon her back,
labouring to fulfil steady demands for selfless efforts,
for endless patience, for watchful protection
down under the canopy of eucalyptus leaves.
He was unaware that trees like his home
provided comfort and healing for humans too.
There was so much to learn, so much to challenge
his fuzzy mind, so much to know about survival,
but for now he thought only of the gentle joy
he felt from this compassionate breeze.
March, 1992 revised April, 2004

The Ant

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The Ant
The battle-fury now dissipated into the usual calm
miseries and slowly savoured spoils of scavenging pride
such conquests bestowed on the ranks of his species.
Theirs was a long history of unchecked gluttony
for conflict, combat, and conquest
making them the most feared aggressors of their kind.
Their militant society continually advanced
in steps marching beyond survival instincts
into zealously fanatical, constant acts of aggression.
They were a vast army of ants,
a single-minded soldierly race of beings,
each working in a frenzy of duty and self-sacrifice.
They were empowered by their numbers
and unquestioning obedience
to serve the dictates of the common purpose
of their robotic insect lives.
They abhorred the mutations of individualism
which rarely surfaced in their troops,
considering such manifestations
as treacherous treason— as dangerous
as the weaponry of weak mandibles.
He knew he was somehow a mutation,
but had hidden his secret
with desperate cunning and desperate courage.
He successfully fulfilled frustrating demands
to act out his life in the expected ways,
ways tolerated and accepted by his social order.
All eyes were the eyes of spies.
He looked about the battlefield of this new territory,
disgusted by the weakness of this particular enemy.
Their bodies were now grotesque statues
spread everywhere in rigid poses,
some with missing limbs and heads
like the statuary of fallen ruins he’d once seen.
He observed the scene with analytic fascination,
his large protruding eyes unblinking
in their detailed examination of the carnage scene.
The mutated sensitivity of his vision
artfully brushed every raw edge of severed body parts,
carefully noting every angle of captured gesture,
studying the chiaroscuro of light and darkness.
The scene was endlessly repetitive in his memory
yet held him in captive fascination every time.
He understood this far better than
the mystery of caterpillars and harmless butterflies.
Everything about them caused him to question his
natural instincts, his drilled education—
caused him to think more deeply about survival,
aggression, and his own mutation.
He wondered about how many unimagined alien lives
might fill the unknown territories, the vast unknown.
How often such thoughts betrayed him to himself
and he reacted with swift executions
of self-condemnation and guilt.
He detected sudden movement among the dead—
an enemy with the audacious will to survive his wounds,
yet too badly wounded to provide a threat
and soon surrounded by scavengers busily at work.
He turned from the drama,
indifferent to the merciless death
taking over where merciless life left off,
looking up instead.
His ever-alert antennae informed him
of the vibrating drone overhead—
a massive swarm of killer-bees on the move.
Now here was a species he understood,
a breed of aggressors without conscience,
a rigid and militant society much like his own.
His leg twitched uncontrollably
and his body grew strangely colder
despite the summer day’s heat.
March,1992, revised May, 2004

The Mountain Goat

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The Mountain Goat
Sure footed in her climb to loftier mountain heights
where few others were able to reach,
she moved with skilful ease
enjoying every challenge of daring crag
and dizzying, dangerous ledge.
She kept her balance even in the most difficult extremes
of rocky, treacherous situations—
making courageous leaps
on hooves flexible in their experienced understanding
and agile in response to life’s continual dangers.
Born to the aggressive muscularity
of mountain goat temperament,
she was a female much desired by males
of her tough and weathered breed—
males confident and secure
in their own proven strengths upon the heights.
They respected her dominance in their presence—
respect hard-earned when her stiletto horns
boldly argued their points through the tough skins
of many a rump and many a cheek.
She challenged even the much-imagined
goat devil-god of myth so many kid-like adults feared
and slavishly empowered
with their tradition-bound superstitions.
She’d butt that false idol into oblivion
whenever others threw its conjured image in her way.
This was a lesser obstacle
than the ferocious beasts below—
the adversaries of flesh and blood
who sought to corner and pounce.
Even in most vulnerable position
and hopelessly outnumbered,
she used the power of her horns and hooves—
somehow managing to survive
to the season of another rut.
She’d surrender her guard only for a moment,
by Nature’s decree,
to a courting male who’d instinctively crawl
on his belly with tender whispers to gain her favour.
It was a ritual of her species that she just accepted.
Then she’d zealously protect her kids,
teaching them gradually how to cope
with the harsh realities of their environment.
She encouraged free and independent thinking,
showing them creative transcending of limitations
with caution and regard for safety in their gambols
through the high and dangerous passes.
She was a domineering female
in control of her chosen steps.
No matter what, she’d find her way—
determined and decisive in every step.
No mere weak-minded, docile creature of other species,
she was ever questioning all aspects of her existence.
How she loved the rugged, untamed beauty
of the rocky mountain heights!
March, 1992 revised May, 2004