Online People

Sunday, January 22, 2012



Dark shadow lies beneath, no movement;
Not even a twitch of the delicate tail
While it seeks its food.
More than hidden, it is part of the river.
It darts, too quick for eye to follow,
You see it in its new position.
The upward stab, the plucking bite,
The munching seconds, invisible to you.
You see only spreading ripples,
Then the golden glint, the creamy belly,
In the evening sun.
You cast, the sudden tug shocks you,
Despite your expectation.
It pulls and judders at your soul;
Such beauty, as you take him out,
Designed for hunting fly,
To feed its perfect muscles.
Body sculpted to living perfection;
Colours glisten, yet as deep as the river.
The hazel eye stares you out
Long after the death.
It hunts your soul.
Thank God for procreation.

Copyright Dr. William D. E. Mallinson


A figure, hunched on the bench,
Bags never far from his fingers;
Or peering into a bin, ignoring the stench;
All the time in the world, and thus he lingers.

What was his past,
What is his future?
How long will he last,
What became of his stature?

His home he eschews,
Until the approach of death.
In distant parts he’s paid his dues,
And so returns for his last breath.

Copyright   Dr. William D. E. Mallinson


Words describe, proscribe, decry, insult, consult, attempt.
And paint in words more words.
They link, conflict, depict and plead,
Are uttered for self’s inner need,
Be they from pen or mouth.
They move and flow, and stroke the ear and tongue;
They fight the eye,
As does the lie.

Copyright   Dr. William D. E. Mallinson


To your beauty-hunting body,
Oh grant some time to feeling.

To your love-thirsting heart,
Oh grant some time to harmony.

To your self-seeking soul,
Please accord some time to thought.

To your success-hungry ego,
Just grant some time to others.

To your power-seeking eyes,
Oh grant some time to introspection.

To your adventure-seeking feet,
Oh grant some time to knowledge.

To your God-seeking soul,
Please give some time to prayer.

Copyright   Dr. William D. E. Mallinson


The tiny frog, cold yet tender,
Little throat quivering in tune to heart,
In the cold dawn.
It looks across the fells,
The morning drizzle glistening its skin,
Yellow eyes alert.
The first sheep coughs.

Copyright   Dr. William D. E. Mallinson


The grey becomes silver-lemon sky,
Etched upon by charcoal-black branches,
With twigs dripping gossamer,
Like the enquiring, twitching nose
Of the squirrel, as it quivers.
The ground smells earthy fresh.
There is no hint of wind.
The needle squeak of the tit
Lances through the clearing mists,
And its tiny eyes turn gleaming towards the sun.

Copyright   Dr. William D. E. Mallinson


That trout-like sharpness and manner, enquiring,
Belied by that smoothly squiggling eiderdown body:
The undulating bundle.
There lurks the leopard: each mouse is a zebra.
The innocent look, but the eyes are ancient,
Going beyond  Osiris, beyond the grave.
The controlled lope, the sudden stop:
It is time to guard your throat, before the rush;
For they do not let go, except in play;
They are the body of night in day.

Copyright   Dr. William D. E. Mallinson


In those small and silent moments
When the birds suddenly pause,
And your heart again grows sad,
There’s no need to seek the cause,
For there’s really nothing bad.
Just remember that such peace is rare,
And the birds again will sing.

Copyright   Dr. William D. E. Mallinson

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