The Tenrec

Glenys Barton is one of my cousins. Her husband Peter was a lecturer in mechanical engineering and taught abroad, mainly in Africa I believe. They spent some time in Mauritius. Glenys had one of these in her garden.

Slugs and snails the tenrec eats
a diet for hedgehogs, perfect treats.
At night he plods on delicate feet,
a tailless wonder patrolling the beat.
A nasty shock because of his meat
Madagascans delight, whenever they meet.
Into the pot, stewed at gently heat
part of the food chain man should delete.

Glenys Barton

                       RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

List of Poems

To read or listen to any poem, just click on its title below A Poem                                                                                           Anon What a Difference a Year Makes                                    Frank L Ashen Being Ninety - - - If only ...                                               Frank L Ashen Eighty Five                                                                           Frank L Ashen Was the Dough Really Kneaded?                                   Frank L Ashen Football and the World Cup                                           Frank L Ashen The Eighties in the Nineties                                            Frank L Ashen Thistledown                                                                        Frank L Ashen Moving into the Nineties                                                  Frank L Ashen Ninety Five                                                                          Frank L Ashen Medication                        
Read more

Mixed Heritage

Teddy O'Hara is the grandson of our community library volunteer Pat Hampshire. A long time ago, he got lost with Granny Pat in the Memorial Park, which is why we call it the Lost Park.  As Teddy was only three at the time, we consider Pat to be mainly responsible for this incident. At the age of twelve, Teddy has written this brilliant poem about his mixed English and Irish Heritage. MIXED HERITAGE   In a land of rolling hills and green, I'm a lad of twelve, as you've seen. With roots that reach from near and far, I'm English and Irish, that's who we are. In my heart two flags unfurl, St. George's cross and the Irish swirl. From London's streets to Dublin's shore, I cherish the cultures that I adore. Love the sound of bagpipes' call, And football matches, we give our all. From Premier League to Gaelic games, Both lands have left their lasting claims. In my veins, the stories run deep, Of kings and queens and legends to keep. The history's rich, t
Read more

Lost Park

This is Teddy O'Hara's description of his experience with "Nana" which resulted in the Chingford Memorial park receiving the nickname "The Lost Park" from the volunteers in South Chingford Community Library.  LOST PARK In the Lost Park , where chaos prevails, Nana and I, navigating funny trails. Nearly ten years on, still lost in our jest, In the Lost Park, where confusion's the best. In the Lost Park, Nana and I strayed, A one-time misstep, where laughter was laid. A tale we share, a chuckle on our lips, In the Lost Park, where our sense of direction slips. All around, Lost Park's the phrase on tongues, Nana's tale, where laughter sprung. A quirky name, a shared remark. In Lost Park, where echoes embark. Teddy O'Hara    January 2024 RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS
Read more