Posts Tagged fox
WISHES
Posted by David Selzer in Poetry on October 29th, 2011
For Evelyn b. 13 1.10
Born to good music by strong women,
Ella’s ‘isle of joy’, Nina’s ’it’s a new dawn’ -
how you nestle in your parents’ untrammelled
love, how you suck with unrelenting hunger!
Born into a world of rubble, with children
buried alive, a world of chicanery
and hatreds – you have entered a difficult,
place, little Evie, somewhere remarkable,
full of tears and amazing kindnesses!
Born into a world of snow, a fox’s
nocturnal tracks in the white garden
of the tall, Victorian villa, a Blackcap
at the bird feeder, a Redwing sheltering
in the laurel and, away on the Downs,
boys and girls, freed from school, tobogganing
over the fossils and flints on the steep shore
of a palaeolithic sea – how you squirm
with hunger, how you bask in so much love!
Three wishes then for you, little bird:
may you be lucky, may you be gracious,
may you always have someone to love!
WISHES
Posted by David Selzer in Poetry on February 22nd, 2010
For Evelyn b. 13.1.10
Born to good music by strong women,
Ella’s ‘isle of joy’, Nina’s ‘it’s a new dawn’ -
how you nestle in your parents’ untrammelled
love, how you suck with unrelenting hunger!
Born into a world of rubble, with children
buried alive, a world of chicanery
and hatreds – you have entered a difficult,
place, little Evie, somewhere remarkable,
full of tears and amazing kindnesses!
Born into a world of snow, a fox’s
nocturnal tracks in the white garden
of the tall, Victorian villa, a Blackcap
at the bird feeder, a Redwing sheltering
in the laurel and, away on the Downs,
boys and girls, freed from school, tobogganing
over the fossils and flints on the steep shore
of a Palaeolithic sea – how you squirm
with hunger, how you bask in so much love!
Three wishes then for you, little bird:
may you be lucky, may you be gracious,
may you always have someone to love!
BESTIARY
Posted by David Selzer in Poetry on November 29th, 2009
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A swan, standing, preening itself obliviously
in the nearside lane of the overpass,
diverts the chance commuters into
storytellers for the day.
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                              ii
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One morning, perched on a bird table, a kestrel
was tearing a head.
A pheasant, late in the afternoon, whirred from the terrace
and over the privet.
Earthbound, a hedgehog tripped the security light and waited.
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                             iii
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In one late September week, I saw three foxes:
one crossing the car park at Sainbury’s in sunset,
its lean head scanning;
another approaching the motorway across meadowland, loping
securely in wilderness;
the third, dead, and laid, like any dog or cat,
on the trimmed verge.

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