Tuesday, January 23, 2007


They call the dog black.
A perennial stealth that feeds
at the centre of my love's soul.

The lamb was black too
a spark eyed bounce of spirit that
fed from the joy of her hand.

We found the lamb alive
standing, leg shredded
and throat deeply torn.
The mother was already dead
flesh at centre gnawed and red.

The dog?
We have not learned the colour.


Inconsequential said...

powerful image.

Will the lamb be ok?
Are you ok?

Don't know if it helps, but you have my sympathies, and good wishes.

ish said...

I appreciate your comments inc. The vet put the lamb down. Too much lost blood. Marion is fine although she was rather fond of that lamb. Me too. We picked up a couple of new lambs on Sunday. "Suffolk Cross" Nice looking: black faces, Roman noses, long ears. Someone could get the impression I'm into sheep. (I'm not particularly.) They are lawn mowers but also soothing (like gold fish) and amusing to watch. And recent events have been a mine for poem imagery.

ish said...
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Radagast said...

Hope the black dog has left.

ish said...

Ah yes Radagast, thank you. Marion has been hugely well in the last few weeks. A blessing and answer to prayer.

Inconsequential said...

Hi Ish, was wondering if you are gonna have a stab at the sunday scribbling this week, don't know why, but this weeks seems really hard...chronicle? isn't that what every blog is in a sense?

Oh well, of to go ponder for a while, might need to run a bath for this one :)

ish said...

You're right inc, there was no immediate breeze of inspiration for me either. I had a go, but ended up dong a bit of an oblique to get there. And the result is no epic. :-)