For Cecil: Stop Trophy Hunting.

We can feel the heartache
we can feel the lion's pain
we know there's a hunter hanging round
He wants Cecil
to take his mane
can't let that lion get away again
hunter needs a trophy hanging round

But hunters come
Hunters go
Conservation's their thing you know...
Why aren't lots of wildlife hanging round?
Firing their rifle
Shooting their bow
Taking their trophy any way they know
There ain't too much wildlife hanging round.

The camera man
He just sees
Just wants to take a picture away from there
He don't need no trophies hanging round
But a hunter has another need
a different song to a deeper greed
just to have their trophy hanging round

So hunters come
Hunters go
something they don't you to want to know
There ain't too much wildlife hanging round
But since they've come to take a life
words aren't enough
it just ain't right
we won't see our Cecil hanging round.
And we know why no wildlife's hanging round.

For Cecil: Stop Trophy Hunting.

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Rescue Me.

Jan Schnell, a Copenhagen-based musician, asked me to submit a poem suitable for a musicvideo he was creating to contribute to Big Cat Rescue, a non-profit organisation near Tampa, Florida, USA.


Rescue Me. Jim McIntosh. 2015.

Tiger, tiger, eyes still gleam

in forest shadows of your dreams.

Alone in truckstop steel-caged lair

Humans laugh at your blank stare.

Rescue me

Rescue me

Oh, won't you help to rescue me.

Lion cub: oh, cuddly toy

Look at how man destroys

Grow too big to bring us joy

You'll be sold to macho boys.

Rescue me

Rescue me

Oh, won't you help to rescue me.

Lost jungles once in your command

There's no place left to make a stand

Now all are caged throughout the land

Steel forests locked by human hand

Rescue me

Rescue me

Oh, won't you help to rescue me.

Rescue me

Rescue me

Oh, won't you help to rescue me.

The video has gone on to appear on World Top Rated.
What a great team!

Click on the video link and enjoy!
Music: Niels Ellekrog Weldingh/Jan Schnell

All instruments: Niels Ellekrog Weldingh

Lyrics:

Lead/backing vocals: Jan Schnell

Video mix: Jan Schnell.

This video was created to help promote preserving our wildlife in the wild, but, sadly, many big cats are kept as exotic pets. Big Cat Rescue offers rescued lions, tigers, leopard, etc, a home on 55 acres at their Tampa sanctuary. Donations are welcome.

Rescue Me.

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Her leaving.

Young warriors never knew why she was leaving
Spring would win its way with Winter's snow
Fire would rejoice, flash across the eucalyptus
And all would be scorched with their burning.

Reality can't be mended when it's broken
If it catches fire as young dreams are forming
But fire and ice cannot compromise
When young warriors are still learning.

No one ever knew when she was leaving
Eucalyptus would not grow without bending
Young warriors would fight, fire would play with ice
And no one ever knows a happy ending.

Tall castles are cold, devoid of feeling
Young warriors seek warmth in their affrays
One battles but is lost, others pay the cost
Eucalyptus struggle, bend, and sway.

One warrior found Spring upon her leaving
Another used fire to light his way
Ice would entice, and slowly paralyse
But old warriors never blame her for leaving.

Her leaving.

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Pit-sawn and Dynamite.

Well, I'm wearing no shoes, and a knotted red bandanna
my Levi's cut-off, bleached, and frayed at the knees.
This patience rewarded: my frustrations sublimated
for tomorrow we'll aweigh with the morning's silver breeze.

The Elephant Man's our captain and we know it'll be all right
when we raise our rusty anchor and set sail with the dawn.
We'll seek Portuguese mansions and old slave traders' forts
that still echo desperate cries of the stolen forlorn.

Our old dhow is defiant and ploughs a southern bearing
the sails they are patched and well-worn at the seams.
Its planking pit-sawn from an old tree we borrowed
and it's caulked with the remnants of old sailors' dreams.

We're not looking for medals of great honour
don't want deliverance to God's heavenly gates.
All we want is the whale song around us
and to carry their message before it's too late.

There are no expectations in this battered old suitcase
that has carried my weapons of struggle to the frays.
And we're sailing wild waters on ancient mariners' bearings
where sharks are our companions and fear is no disgrace.

There's a blonde Amazon goddess who leads me on with kindness
our companions are dolphins swimming Eden's coral reef.
But the concussions are deafening, and there's blood in the water
and they carve up our companions as we drown in our grief.

We're not looking for medals of great honour

don't want deliverance to God's heavenly gates
All we want is to stand in defiance
and expose the destruction before it's too late.

And this message we carry is now in life's little bottles
that we cast upon the internet to float through time and space.

And all friends and true believers 'like' and 'share' each posted message
and our songs bring us together to watch over this watery place.

We're not looking for medals of great honour
don't want deliverance to God's heavenly gates.
All we want is the whale song around us
and to carry their message before it's too late.

Pit-sawn and Dynamite.

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A Summer Rose.

A Summer Rose. Jim McIntosh.


In the blackest vale of sadness
I saw a faded Summer Rose
How it came to be so lonely
no one ever truly knows.

On the darkest pool of water
its reflection lost its glow
Our hands reached out to comfort
while our tears began to flow.

How can a flower become so faded?
Could we ever know
how lost a Summer Rose was feeling
that this Rose decided to go?

While our Summer Rose was fading
our teardrops fell upon the Rose
But whilst they fell like streams of water
our tears could not revive our Rose.

There is a garden up in Heaven
at the end of life's pathway
where Angels gather all the lonely roses
and place them in a grand bouquet.

Rest in peace, Summer Rose.

A Summer Rose.

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A Spray of Roses.

Every woman loves to hold a spray of roses
every woman wants to receive them from a man
but there's just a single rose posted on my Facebook wall
and I know there's someone there who understands

You may have wondered why I post this single rose
you may think it looks so lonely pictured there
but every single rose needs to be enclosed
within a spray of friends who really care.

Sometimes a man needs to write some poetry
sometimes he needs to get things off his chest
but most of all he needs someone to give him back a rose
to know they understand is what he loves best.

I think I'll go and plant a rose in our front garden
and every time I see it blooming there
I'll be reminded of the single rose I posted on my Facebook wall
to remember a lost child no longer here.


Rest in that peaceful world, Summer Rose.
11/1/1997 - 15/4/2014

A Spray of Roses.

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Spanish Dancing.

Spanish dancing
Captivating dark brown eyes
flirt with me, tempting me
Each step in time, each move with mine
Spanish dancing
Spanish dancing
Gonna dance together
All our lives.

Lipizzaner horses, greys and whites
Intricate prancing wove a magic night
Vienna waltzing, dresses swirled
Lovers gracefully carouselled
We should have been dancing
We should have been dancing.

We danced on Ronda's old castellated wall
hand in hand we walked her canyon tall
Now Andalusia's old bandoleros
forever play flamenco music for us.
Spanish dancing.
Spanish dancing.
Gonna dance together
your eyes to mine.
Hips are moving, baby, light my fire
pump that emotion crazy, lost to desire
Take me up gently, lay me down light
Am I responsible for what happened that night?
Spanish dancing
Spanish dancing
We'll dance together
all of our life.

Your heels are stamping out that sexy tattoo
Flaunt your dress, baby, I'm staring at you
Life is the dance, baby - love's pas de deux
I'll die of a broken heart, baby, when you dance on through.
Spanish dancing
Spanish dancing
Life is the dance, baby - love's pas de deux
I'll die of a broken heart, baby, when you dance on through.
Spanish dancing
Spanish dancing
Gonna dance together
into our twilight.

Spanish Dancing.

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Uselessness of Honesty...and razor-wire.

There's a border so near yet so far.

In helmets and vests of Kevlar

we'll chance the sniper fire

that ranges along the border.

Convoyed through the razor-wire

to record this greatest of tragedies

human pain and injuries

silent chemicals beyond the border.

And knowing the deepest truth,

no matter whatever we say

conflict slashes and cuts both ways

just like razor-wire on the border.

Where the uselessness of honesty

carries decisions that twist and sway 

to justify the missile fire

from far beyond the border.

No matter what we write,

truth will be twisted by the lies

to coil like the razor-wire

serpents that guard the border.

To the East the carnival burns

like gasoline in flame and fire

while the West reacts in ire

and remains beyond the borders.

Now we stand as witnesses

and weep as the missiles fire

sharing in the travesty

erupting across the border.

Knowing the uselessness of honesty

should we have told some lies?

Should we have let truth die

on the razor-wire of the borders?

Uselessness of Honesty...and razor-wire.

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There Are Empty Plates...: Biofuel destruction.

There's a hungry lost child
walks a busy Delhi street
family can't afford
another mouth to feed
There's a wrinkled farmer struggling
as he's growing old
can't plough his field
his last donkey's just been sold.

There're empty plates in the state of Rajasthan today
rice is nice but it's twice the price it was yesterday.

There's a farmer in a rich place
maize growing tall
gets a call from Obama-
"Need your crop for ethanol."
he can't believe his luck
more green dollar bills
while a family in Rajasthan
they won't eat at all.

There're empty plates in the state of Rajasthan today.
rice was nice but it's twice the price it was yesterday.

There's a Greenie sitting in his car
running on biofuel
believes he's doing all he can
to help save this world
but he's burning elephants
orangutan and all
as forests disappear
in the race for biofuel

There're empty plates....



Read here please-
Biofuel use contributing to world hunger report.
Brazil violence and-forced eviction for biofuel
Amazon rainforest destroyed by biofuels

There Are Empty Plates...: Biofuel destruction.

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Whale Watching at Kaikoura.

Where mountains in line parade down to the sea,
in blue and white uniforms majestically,
there exists a rich garden of marine fauna and flora:
none ever more so than at Peninsular Kaikoura.

Off shore, Hikurangi Trench saps deep from the north
and Kaikoura Canyon lies submerged to the south
where the cold Southland Front Current disgorges forth
abundant rich plankton for whales' yawing mouth.

We all but delivered whales to extinction's door
when we callously engaged in their bloody slaughter,
but enlightenment today brings a sense of their awe
as we voyeuristically hunt them with digital camera.

I saw Kaikoura town once brought to its knees
with the collapse of the share market in the 1980's.
Stark boarded up store fronts told of grim poverty
but it's amazing how innovation creates prosperity!

Whale Watch tours started: a dream and a boat.
You ever think they could keep that business afloat?
Now we tourists are the great whale hunters today,
our harpoons are the pictures we capture and haul away.

Pictures courtesy Kaikoura Ocean Research Institute.

Whale Watching at Kaikoura.

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Where the Fairy Tern is winging: Convicts, execution and injustice.

Old Army Barracks, Kingston. These date from the second penal colony, 1825. Picture Jim McIntosh

Much of history's accounts and popular literature perpetuate the myth that Norfolk Island's penal settlements were for the worst type of convict - the recidivist dregs, or the most hardened repeat offender from England's penal colonies in Australia.
Recent analysis of actual convict records disproves this popular misconception. 

Worst_Types_Norfolk_Island_2010.pdf
"The legend tells us that the men detained at Norfolk Island were a particularly dangerous sub-stratum of convicts. Yet the original offence data shows proportionately few explicitly violent crimes. There were thirty cases of murder and manslaughter combined, fewer than twenty rapists, and merely a handful of arsonists and violent thieves. Nearly 70 per cent of offences were non-violent crimes against property, including burglary, picking pockets and highway robbery."
and -
"Explaining why prisoners were detained at Norfolk Island is one of the trickiest aspects of the second settlement’s history. As already noted, the assumption that Norfolk Island convicts were ‘all, or nearly all’ doubly-convicted capital respites is repeated in virtually every work mentioning the Island, yet it is a great misconception."

Most were shipped directly from England to Norfolk Island, via Port Jackson (today's Sydney) or Tasmania's Port Arthur, and few were the repeat offenders from Australian penal colonies as popular belief has it.

With memories of the Scottish uprising in 1745 still somewhat fresh, rebellion in America a devastating loss and an example of what the masses could achieve, and unrest among the Continent's poor, England's fearful aristocratic ruling class took extreme measures to ensure their continued control over the common person. Sentences were disproportionately long and unjustifiably harsh by any standards today. 

Overflowing gaols, full floating hulks, and the loss of her American colonies set England seeking new solutions of where to send her potentially rebellious poor, so The First Fleet's 11 ships set sail for Australia's Botany Bay carrying 789 convicts, including 193 convict's wives and their 14 children. 2 ships continued on to Norfolk Island to found the First Penal Settlement there in 1778.

There's an humanity and respect that needs to be reconciled to those once imprisoned on Norfolk Island. 

We should see them in the light of an oppressed poor within a system that administered harsh 'justice' to ensure the protection of the status of the ruling class. If so, were these convictions fair?

Hash brutalisation drives desperate men to desperate ends!

"I welcome death as a friend ... I have been treated more like a beast than a man." So spoke William Westwood, prior to execution for his part in the convict mutiny on 13th October, 1846. 13 convicts were hanged and denied burial within consecrated grounds and their bodies thrown into a disused pit, now known as Murderer's Mound just outside the cemetery. 

This is the only marker for those buried in  'Murderers' Mound' in 1846. Picture Jim McIntosh.

History's records of an earlier convict uprising show how brutal conditions were:
"Following a convict mutiny in 1834, Father William Ullathorne, Vicar general of Sydney, visited Norfolk Island to comfort the mutineers due for execution. He found it “the most heartrending scene that I ever witnessed”. Having the duty of informing the prisoners as to who was reprieved and who was to die, he was shocked to record as “a literal fact that each man who heard his reprieve wept bitterly, and that each man who heard of his condemnation to death went down on his knees with dry eyes, and thanked God." 
Wikipedia History of Norfolk Island


I had an hour to sit atop a small rise overlooking the old part of Kingston's cemetery, which has burials from 1778 to the present within the fenced and consecrated ground.
Many visitors could miss the mound just outside the oldest part and close to the surf. Here is the mass grave of 13 convicts, who were denied burial in hallowed ground.

I was struck with the deep impression of the sheer unjustified harshness of the social conditions that bound these ordinary men to be caught in a system they had no voice in, the conditions of severe treatment that dehumanised them and drove them to futile mutiny resulting in their punishment of hanging, and the subsequent denial of simple Christian burial and headstone.

Above me the island's fairy terns were flying. 
What thoughts filled the minds of an exhausted, brutalised convict in chains, as he looked up to see the fairy terns soaring above him?  

The fairy tern. Picture by Jim McIntosh.

Where the Fairy Tern is winging: Convicts, mutiny and injustice.

There's a grave that lies unmarked beyond consecrated ground
Here we lie - the executed: relief we finally have found
Above, a Fairy Tern is winging: pines swaying stately fro
Gentle surf is singing where we sleep so long below.

When I was once a young lad, just barely seventeen
To feed my starving family I took the rich man's bread
But the Peelers captured me, they beat me to my knees
The judge cast me down forever; hard labour is what he said.

And these rocks are crushing me
I'm desperate to be free
Where the Fairy Tern is winging
My soul longs there to be.

Our ship sailed out from Plymouth, I could bid not a fond farewell
Friends and family lost forever, on Norfolk now I dwell
Where rocks are sharp and crushing, these chains still have me bound

I have built my own stone prison and all these walls around.

And the cat is flailing me, cutting deep this worn body

But finally we have risen against this harsh brutality

Mutiny may prove futile: no one will weep for me

But I will seek my freedom where the Fairy Tern flies free.

Now I welcome this reprieve
Where the rope's awaiting me
Soon, no chains will hold me captive
Where the Fairy Tern flies free.

The fairy tern spends its breeding season at Norfolk Island laying one egg and raising its chick on a horizontal branch of the stately, and rather grandiose Norfolk Pine. These dainty white sea birds soar above the coastline in great numbers.

Pic courtesy http://www.worldheritagenorfolkisland.com/   

Someday, justice may be served and those buried in that mass grave be accorded a Christian blessing in consecrated ground. Maybe the fenceline be adjusted to bring them within the company of their companions.

Murderer's Mound is in the centre of the pic on the left side of the cemetery fence and marked by the little signboard at the gateway.

Perhaps a Christian blessing of Murderers' Mound is long overdue?

This is a re-vised version of my article that was first posted here- Around the world in eighty years.com/norfolk-island/

Where the Fairy Tern is winging: Convicts, execution and injustice.

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Waltzing in Vienna: The imagined newly-independent traveller's lament.

I want to dance a Strauss waltz in Vienna
An der Schonen Blauen Donau
but the band I can't hear,
and I'm stuck right where
I can't take a step without you.

I could climb the Eiffel Tower in Paris
way up top to admire the view
but I'd be so scared
'cause it would be weird
to look down so far without you.

I would go climb high mountains in South America
or hike solo to Machu Pichu
but I'd trip and fall
no trouble at all
if I could not lean upon you.

I could drive a rental car to the Highlands
sample a dram of single malt, or two
but whisky gets me frisky
and then I'd get tipsy
and cry in my drink over you.

I should safari in wildest Tanzania
for the migration of zebra and gnu
but that bull elephant
would make me mess my pants
and there's no-one would wash them but you.

I can dream of going walkabout in Australia
and sunset gazing upon Uluru
but the Dreamtime is mine
for this little rhyme
and I would only be dreaming of you.

So I can go for a camel ride in Morocco
and solo trekking in Sierra Leone
I can do all I want
and be independent
but I can't dance a Strauss waltz without you.

Nope, we haven't split up. We're tight.
The above comes about because on the train ride last month from Frankfurt to Rudesheim, a very historic and beautiful city on the Rhine River, we passed the time talking about some of our travels to exotic places. And I thanked my wife for being a great travel partner. Times and places would not have been as enjoyable, nor would we have gone to so many destinations had we not spurred each other on.
So I scribbled a few verses on a German Language newspaper shanghaied from the seat opposite and had Kay chuckling while reading my trite poem.

I don't ever want to dance a Strauss waltz alone.

Rudeshiem.

Waltzing in Vienna: The imagined newly-independent traveller's lament.

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Say A Prayer For The Rhino.

Photo by Ayesha Cantor.

Say a prayer for the rhino: it's coming again,

evil is stalking, seeking its prey.

Full moon silhouette giving her away.

Say a prayer for the rhino that she may evade.

With the night so long and the moon so bright

she's aware of the sounds, footsteps so light.

She senses a demon stalking her ground

closing so slowly, there's danger inbound.

Hide the horn, burying her face.

Look around: there's no hiding place!

Where is little one?

Scared, running around,

taps against belly once mum is found.

The fright, the scurry, the loudness, the sound!

Run baby, run!

Make your feet pound the ground.

So she'll bolt and she'll plunge in a headlong charge

at the upright two-legged predators at large.

And in the moment of loss and the panic of flight

acacia will break, more sounds in the night.

Fright empowered feet imprinting the clay,

each small step gives her path away

for the evil following her with its gun sight this night

may bring to an end this rhino's might.

Where is little one?

Scared, running around,

taps against belly once mum is found.

The fright, the scurry, the loudness, the sound!

Run baby, run!

Make your feet pound the ground.

As the Roller bird ceases singing its song

and the Ox-pecker flies screeching alarm

he binds himself to his mother's speed

as she seeks the cover they desperately need.

They've gone into the shadows,

they've gone into the night,

avoiding the expanse of the open savanna

they find cover and silence their fright.

Say a prayer for the rhino:

alive...for one more night.

Written in collaboration with Guy P Murdock, a friend on Facebook.
You'll find the above also published on Fight For Rhinos

We were both intent on using our skills to highlight the appalling decimation of rhinoceros numbers because of escalating poaching. Poaching of rhino in Africa and Asia threatens to exceed 1,000 this year. 476 kills so far in South Africa alone.
My contributions of verses 1, 3 and 5 are inspired by Leonard Cohen's song "Ballad of a runaway horse", brilliantly covered by Emmylou Harris. I loved how the lyrics described the scene so imaginatively, and so that style I have tried to emulate hoping to paint a picture of the bush scene.

Say A Prayer For The Rhino.

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The Dragon at the Red Heart: Oh Africa, Beware!

Picture by Jim McIntosh.

Oh, the Eastern Dragon seduced us
Sucked us in and coiled around
We accepted the inducements
While the Dragon drew us down
Now ivory and horn is ripped away
And all our earth stripped back to clay
Where once the Red Heart beat the strongest
Now all our country shredded bare
Where? Where do we go from here?
Oh Africa, beware!
Oh Africa, beware!

The Dragon subtly beguiled us
Treasures plenty spread around
But only for our leaders
To ensure their eyes turned to the ground
While ivory and horn is ripped away
And all our earth stripped back to clay
Where once the Red Heart beat the strongest
Now all the country shredded bare
Where? Where do we go from here?
Oh Africa, beware!
Oh Africa, beware!

When this land has long since lost its glory
In all of this tragic false ballet
And wild beasts are mere children's story
Will we remember what we sold away?
Where? Where do we go from here?
Oh Africa, beware!
Where? Where do we go from here?
Oh Africa, beware!
Oh Africa, beware.

The Eastern Dragon's thirst cannot be slaked
Its talons clutch our beating Red Heart
And now to tear this beast out from our breast
We'll only tear ourselves apart.
Where? Where do we go from here?
Oh Africa, beware!
Where? Where do we go from here?
Oh Africa, beware!
Oh Africa, beware!

The Dragon at the Red Heart: Oh Africa, Beware!

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There Lies a Mortally Wounded Tui.

This post was written last year, but out of respect for abuse-survivors involved in a sad case in our community, it was not published then. 

Tui sculpture picture www.stuff.co nz

This steel artwork once graced our Paraparaumu Beach gateway. 

There lies a mortally wounded tui

and we consigned it to dark obscurity.

Society laid the blame on its shimmering frame

now lying in the dark we can't see.

In the sunlight our tui would sing.

Did you appreciate the song it would bring?

A tui needs to fly, just like you and I

we all need sunshine on our wings.

There lies a mortally wounded tui

and its fallen from grace from that tree.

It doesn't deserve to be an abuse casualty

it just wanted to sing and be free.

Broken glass can cut deep and hard

and it can leave us so badly scarred.

A wound cannot heal if fragments we still feel,

we need to dig out all the shards.

There lies a mortally wounded tui

now it lies there where no-one can see.

Pierced by arrows of blame, burnt by our shame,

will it rise like a Phoenix from the flame?

Tui picture ex Wikipedia.

The above steel sculpture, commissioned by Kapiti Coast District Council at a $20,000 cost to ratepayers, now lies rusting away in our KCDC storage sheds, if not already despatched to the scrap metal dealers.
A renowned steel-art sculptor created the stylised Tui in flight, and it was installed on public display in our community. Subsequently, the shocking and tragic case, reported here- Second-sex-offender-sculpture-to-be-removed, resulted in the Council removing this magnificent public work of art.

Naturally we should be mindful of the victims' feelings in this situation, such a crime being of the worst, with consequences far-reaching and devastating for victim and family.

Council's decision to tear it down was based on it being seen as a constant reminder to the victims. Much argument was made for it to be temporarily removed out of respect, but apparently it has gone permanently.
Maybe it has been mortally wounded?

Should we tear down, destroy, or burn art when we find that the artist is guilty of great crime? 

The artistic quality of the artwork stands on its own merit.
The Tui bird it represents is beautiful, probably our favourite native bird, and certainly should not be tainted by this crime.

I was hoping for an outcome where the tui could be adopted as a symbol for all programs against child abuse, meaning all physical abuse, not just sexual. There's a need for all these crimes to be brought out into the open, and fly in the face of society, and not be concealed for whatever reason.
The victims should not carry the shame. They should be encouraged to speak out, and shame the perpetrators. Victim and family should feel safe in our community to speak out. The cloak of anonymity should be denied the offenders.

Our iconic Tui bird is itself a survivor of all the abuse thrown at it over the past 200 years of colonisation, with the degradation of its home environment and being preyed upon by introduced predators. And yet, it is making a comeback as a songbird in our forests. It is resurgent and triumphing over adversity, adapting to our suburbs as we realise the importance of planting nectar-producing trees and flaxes. Without those, there are no Tuis. The Tui represents our enlightenment these days about healthy eco-systems.

 Maybe, in an enlightened society, it could have been a more positive outcome for the tui sculpture to have been re-dedicated to all survivors, and placed on public display again, as a way of having a permanent reminder that survivors will sing, and predators will be exposed?

 Tui on flax, or harakeke, by Matt Binns

Sadly, the tui statue disappears into the darkness, and predators still stalk our children.

Dark Shadow.

There's a dark shadow walking

in the brightest light of day.

The blackest figure stalking
it's stealing innocence away. 
How do we expose this unseen beast

from its secret camouflage?

Perhaps on the day those silent screams
become brave cries of loud outrage.

There's a dark shadow preying

on the innocence of our young kin.

You can't block its entrance

it's already there within. 
For those it attempts to envelop

with its snuffing cloak of guilt and shame,

stand up and throw it off.
Reach out: re-ignite that brilliant flame.


As a footnote to this story of child abuse in our community-
Reports and many letters to the editors of our local newspapers discussed the case. I had this very short verse to one editor published.

 Perhaps the tui should have stayed in our midst

A constant reminder of all our children at risk

And as the sun strikes this tui and its plumage glows

Its beauty can forever remind and reveal

The loss of innocence an adult may steal.

I subsequently received an email from a person involved with one of the families concerned, and was very touched by this person's comments.
"...., that the small time you took (if it was you) to write such a heartfelt letter, really touched us, all of us."
 and "...but your few words spoke to me more than any other. Thank you so much, I didn't know where or how to start my new life, but now I do. From the ashes of the old comes a new flame. Thank you."

The last line of "Dark Shadow" poem above was written for that person.

Sometimes poetry speaks volumes more than is written.

There Lies a Mortally Wounded Tui.

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Beyond the sum of all his fears: The Rhino War.

Poached rhino picture courtesy Facebook Rhino groups.

An ageing soldier crying softly, beside a body on the ground
Sheds a tear for his young slain friend
He never thought this would come down.
He'd thrown away all his bush gear, camo paint and forage cap
Spent his life forgetting firefights in dark shadows
Without a thought that he'd go back.


Life has dreams from hard foundations, memories with no shed tears
Struck with the heart ache of our creations
In the invulnerability of our young years
From the vat of our maturation brews a spirit of adventure
That spills towards our next generation
Whom we protect beyond our fears.

The young soldier survived the bush war, threw his life into his dreams
Played a part in the creation
Of an Eden ... or so it seems.
Raised a calf from its lost mum, fed it every day by hand
Grew to love his lost young orphan
Sanctuary for all became the plan.

It is such a sweet temptation for us to simply turn away
To ignore the wildlife decimation
That supplies the Asian trade.
The ineptitude of our nations, the impotence of governments
Sends a message to all caring people
To care a damn is a piece of shit.

Aching heart beside his slain friend, new resolve and a pledge is made
To seek the killers of his now lost brother
The one he'd raised in his sanctuary
But old soldiers know the danger, the blood and all the fears
Never rush to don the camo 
Never want to wear the gear.

Now there's a deeper call of duty, calling way beyond his fears.
He heads along the faint new pathway
Tracking two legged predators
Seeks his quarry in long shadows, where deadly ambushes are laid
Amongst flashing memories of firefights
A last patrol for his young compadre.

Life has dreams from hard foundations, memories of old despairs
Struck with the heart ache of our creations
Amidst the anger and the tears
A deadly shot strikes its target: he never wanted to kill again
But he'll protect his new generation
Beyond the sum of all his fears.


"Slaap sag, rustig ou grote. Slaap sag."
"Rest in peace, old friend. Rest in peace."

South African musician, David Easthouse, has adapted the above to his latest music masterpiece. Check it out here-
David Easthouse- Beyond the sum of all his fears.

Members of the Pilanesberg National Park Anti-Poaching Unit (APU) stand guard as conservationists and police investigate the scene of a rhino poaching incident April 19, 2012. — Reuters pic

The Rhino poaching war escalates. 668 rhino were slaughtered in 2012 in South Africa. This year is off to an equally depressing start: 393 as at end of April! At this rate, 2015 may see over 1500 killed, and that figure is just for South Africa.
This is extermination of a species.

Many reserve owners, who in their youth may have been involved in the wars for independence in Southern Africa, are now - in what should be today's peace - having to take up arms and fight a new battle, this time with the survival of rhino at stake.

Dreams to create wildlife sanctuaries on their land are being crushed. Lives are being lost. Rhino being driven to extinction to supply Asian demand for rhino horn.

Beyond the sum of all his fears: The Rhino War.

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Nature's Symphony.

Practising my yodelling at Lake Grassmere, Lakes District, UK. 

Nature's Symphony.

There's a song flows through the mountains
There's a rhythm in every stream
There's a tune that soars with the eagles
Over every prairie green.

In frozen wastes rhythms vibrate
When crystals ring in high frequency
And in desert sands wind's whispering hand
Creates soft notes of harmony.

While some ignore or will not listen
Or just hear cacophony
There are those who'll join in chorus
And sing Nature's Symphony.
There's a song flows through the mountains
There's a rhythm in every stream
Will you join in Nature's chorus
Or will you chant her requiem?

There's rhythm as seas crash and thunder
As waves break upon rocky shores
Falling leaves of Autumn rustle
There's a song in there and more.

When a robin sings with pleasure
His song as Spring bursts forth
Released from chill grasp of Winter
Daffodils will trumpet their worth.

For those who enjoy Earth's treasures
There's a song that you will hear
You'll do your part to share your heart
And spread her music everywhere.

Can you hear sweet Nature singing
Her symphony so clear and strong?
Some will never hear her singing
While others gently sing along.
There's a song flows through the mountains
There's a rhythm in every stream
Will you join in Nature's chorus
Or will you chant her requiem?

There's a song flows through the mountains
There's a rhythm in every stream
I will join you in the chorus
I'll not sing her requiem.

Wellington Harbour looking from track between Eastbourne and Pencarrow. By Jim McIntosh.

Nature's Symphony.

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The Cage: Carole's song.

How far are you prepared to go to achieve rights for all animals?

When you read your local paper to see what's going down
entertainment notice, a circus come to town
frustration gets you checking out
eyes calling to your soul
animals in their confining cage
you see their despair
you feel the rage!

As you're sitting in the restaurant, feeling all done in
long day of animal rights demonstration
you read it on the menu
up top of the page
shark fin soup chef special
feel the despair
feel the rage!

It's coming round again,
all the rage
you're going down again
the rampage
of your soul again
lost in despair
that there's no justice
anywhere.

And you're sweating through 6 miles, feeling almost beat
looking for respite from all your heart breaking
you see a fur coat walking on
the wrong two kind of feet
you hit her with that red spray can
use your despair
use your rage!

Then you get to score a seat at the latest fashion release
watching them all clapping the skeletons up on stage
you see her come out strutting
wearing all that exotic skin
so you jump up on the catwalk
she feels your despair
she feels your rage.

It's coming round again,
all the rage
The judge is looking down again
your rampage
for animal rights again
lost in despair
that there's no justice
anywhere.


You see it on your Facebook wall, another rhino down
the photos get to be too much, so many going round
but you'll rampage again
for their pain
there's no justice anywhere
so don't despair
but keep the rage!


When the bars are shadow patterning across your pasty face
you're feeling low and frightened at this restricted space
you knew the choice would bring some pain
it ain't so easy, this Vegan way,
but you'll do it all again
use your despair
to fuel your rage.

The Cage: Carole's song.

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