Today Jake Waller paid me the compliment of dedicating a poem to me. You can Check it out here. It’s great. When you’ve read that one, I recommend you take a stroll around the rest of his work. He’s the man!
His subject matter inspired me to write a poem, and I dedicate it to him.
I’m sorry I didn’t manage a rap, Jake.
oh it’s very pleasant to be a pheasant
when spring is in the air
forcing coy little hens to be my friends
without an earthly care
increasing my harem with little decorum
and pecking them if they dare
attempt to escape from the viscious rape
that is every cock’s private affair
playing chicken with traffic is rather terrific
if the driver adheres to the rules
indulge if you dare but you have to beware
because most human beings are fools
instead of braking they’ll try overtaking
and end up with more than your jewels
leaving tracks on our wings and blood on our backs
turning pheasants into ghouls
though they’re great in the sack, hens tend to lack
an essential sense of direction
they lay eggs in deep grass, then forget their task
though the eggs need constant protection
and when they attempt to return to the nest
the nest is beyond their detection
so don’t roll in the grass or you may find your arse
gets smeared with an addled confection
now, the hunter may think this behaviour stinks
but what makes him the judge?
he grabs his mighty gun for sadistic fun
and he turns our hearts to sludge
if he did it for the sake of a meal on his plate
perhaps we wouldn’t carry such a grudge
but he does it in his leisure for his grisly pleasure
and that’s what grates so much.
© Jane Paterson Basil