2021-06-30

 

💗Ginny the Ginger Guinea💗 

2021-06-22

 

2021-06-18

 

Yes, my head (and other things) are in the way; please click on the photo to resolve this.

Zelda was Mrs Swan of Pittville Park, shown here with her husband George and their six children.

Zelda died yesterday evening at about 10:00, at Vale Wildlife Centre. She had been brought in to the centre because she had become unable to walk. An X-ray showed that she had fractured a leg, possibly an old injury. Every effort was made to save her, but she had developed a major infection and she slipped away.

George lost his first wife in 2008, when she swallowed some fishing line. That year, he was able to raise the cygnets by himself; we're hoping he'll succeed this year too.

2021-06-12

As there is no hunting tomorrow, by Zadok Ben-David. It was one of the works on the Forest of Dean Sculpture Trail, in place from 1986 to 1996.

2021-06-05

This is Word-Bird, aka Sage Coo, formerly Serenity the peace dove by Ty.

Coo came to live with me following an accident in hospital that left me unable to walk. Her principal role is to assist me in coming to terms with the accident and other things. In this photo, taken in our previous abode, she is sitting on an arm of my recliner chair and winning our staring competition, as usual. We get up as early as possible every morning, to ensure we have sufficient time for work and creative tasks.

Coo is cherished by pleasant persons and enjoys a particular rapport with one Peter Teague :>)

2021-06-03

The following was written on New Year's Day, 2020, for an informal international poetry website. As the focus there is enjoyment, I don't tend to iron my poems much before posting them; and in this non-workshop setting, they are always well received.

The poem features me ('FT') and my colombine companion ('Coo'). At some stage, I might share the story of Coo; for now, here is our poem:

An artist's vision

'Twas early morning, 5 o'clock or so, and drizzly dark,
the birds still sleeping in their nests in hedges, gardens, park,
when Coo and FT found themselves upon a narrow road,
within a well-lit land that seemed quite far from their abode.

'Where are we?' Coo enquired, and 'I'm not sure,' FT replied.
'This road is super-smooth,' Coo chirped, which could not be denied --
it was a straight grey ribbon of a road, from where they stood
as far as the horizon, looking north. Coo nodded. 'Good!'

'The roadside grass, however, isn't smooth,' observed FT.
'Noo, it is crumpled,' Coo defined, 'and somewhat thickety.'
They veered off road a little, then, to take a closer look --
the grass stood all the way along the road, until a brook.

A peaceful scene -- but at that moment, Coo let out a shriek!
'Behold, FT, beside the brook!' Coo stared with open beak.
And following Coo's stare, FT beheld a big brown bull,
near bison-sized, with crusty coat resembling steel wool.

'The bull, of course!' Then FT smiled. 'Of course, FT?' Coo frowned.
'It's Godalming,' FT explained. Coo made a puzzled sound.
'A town in Surrey where I used to live; this brook's the Wey,
the bull's in Almshouse Meadow, on a sunny summer's day.'

'Oo-kay,' Coo clucked, 'and are those poplars, by the water's edge?'
'They are indeed,' FT confirmed, 'five poplars, yet no sedge.'
'They too are crusty,' noted Coo, 'round-leafed, in yellow-gold,
the shade of threepence coins one used to spend, in years of old.'

'It's quite surreal, this Godalming,' Coo mused, beneath a sky
as smooth as road and brightest blue, most pleasing to the eye.
'Yes, Coo,' FT agreed. 'An artist's vision, can you guess?'
Coo thought about the rendering and shortly uttered, 'Yes!'

'The artist was Gran T,' Coo sang. 'She liked to work with oil;
contrasting smooth and crusty subjects was her favourite toil.
And look to the horizon, just beneath the brightest blue --
a boy, a girl, each with balloon? it's Brother G and you.'