THE FEVERISH SATURDAY NIGHT FEEDERS...

 The Feverish Saturday Night Feeders…

There was little hesitation by the magnificent seven,

As they bustled onto the copse floor 

From unseen holes behind nettles and flourishing

Greenery.

Treading the catwalk scrub with steps lithe,

They became the feverish Saturday Night Feeders…

There was little sign of hesitation by the badgers, even,

As they hustled to crunch and bore

Between dull plant growth, rushing

Frivolously.

Dancing the trodden path with steps blithe,

They were the feverish Saturday Night Feeders…   

Pete Ray

29th May 2022

It was a Saturday night and five adult badgers accompanied two cubs onto the copse stage, entertaining with their feverish feeding and movements, akin to some kind of troupe, performing well rehearsed dance steps…

A REALLY DECENT INDEPENDENT SHOP IN STRATFORD-UPON-AVON...

 

DAMSELFLIES AT BLYTHE VALLEY PARK YESTERDAY...

 

THE FIG, THE MOTOR BIKE & THE PERSISTENCE...

 The Fig, The Motor Bike & The Persistence…

An angry motor cycle echoed and clattered

A faked race along the Kenilworth Road,

Its raucous, ravenous rattle

Alerting two badgers to some kind of threat

And, afeared they hastily scattered

Then plunged inside their nearby sett…

An intent cub fed and skittered

Along a drying path off Temple Lane,

Its tenacious, voracious bustle

Shielding a sibling which carried rather a treat

And it spilled a fig upon the littered

Copse, staring at it between clawed feet…

It disappeared then with its find

Into its sett, leaving behind

The other more persistent cub to forage

And in the darkening thicket rummage…

Pete Ray

25th May 2022

A pair of cyclists, a farmer’s gun, blackbirds singing, an owl hooting, geese complaining out of tune, aircraft and a dog-walker all failed to trouble one rather brave badger cub.

The motor cycle however, caused some distress…

The fig was amongst nuts and food left for the animals but a more timid cub found it and carried it in its mouth to the sett, dropped it, took it up again and slipped inside the hole to devour it…

 

UNSETTLED BY A PIGEON & TWIGS, UNFAZED BY AIRLINERS & A GUN. AND A CUCKOO CALLED MELLOW...

 Unsettled By A Pigeon & Twigs, Unfazed By Airliners & A Gun. 

And A Cuckoo Called Mellow…

Tentatively, expectantly and speculatively

Badgers and cubs popped up from holes, intuitively.

Sensing food scraps, eager snouts rifled the ground,

Through twigs and plants with a dry, snuffling sound.

And a gun fired. And an airliner droned. Amazed, 

I was incredulous that the mammals were unfazed.

And the call of a cuckoo rang sweetly mellow…

Furtively, silently and evocatively

Badgers and cubs dropped back into holes, defensively.

Leaving food scraps, keen ears had picked up conflicting

Sounds amongst the foliage and beyond, restricting

Feeding. Leaves had rustled as a pigeon’s wings had flapped,

   Scaring the mammals as flimsy twigs had feebly snapped.

Yet the call of the cuckoo rang ever mellow… 

Pete Ray

20th May 2022

Again, the badgers and their cubs fed with gusto as the occasional gun sounded, regular airlines groaned above, geese honked noisily and blackbirds sang shrill tunes.

Even rare passing cars were not quite as fearsome.

However, a pigeon’s cumbersome and careless landing, cracking twigs and rustling leaves sent the animals scuttling inside their setts…

Fascinating…

But the distinct cuckoo still called… 

PERRY HALL SPORTS PITCHES & WORLD WAR ONE DUCKBOARDS...

 Perry Hall Sports Pitches & World War One Duckboards…

A vast area, dull green.

Dark mud

Seemingly constant.

Damp, rutted and soft.

A turn-over for ankles

And after rain, pools appeared,

Which covered boots

To shimmering sheen.

A vast acreage, dire still.

Dingy huts,

Surely condemned.

Damp, shuttered and draughty.

A hell-hole for protagonists

And after rain, puddles appeared,

Which dampened clothes

To shivering chill.

A vast arena, draconian cage.

Dim light,

Scathingly corrupt.

Damp, confined and icy.

A hiding-place for influenza

And after rain, leaks appeared,

Which splattered kit

To communal rage.

Yet from the unique sound

Of studs on wood

When a team was in line

I certainly understood

That I was part

Of a uniformed group

Awaiting the call,

Like an army troop…

A glow of pride

Rifled through my chest,

As I moved in unison 

With the rest…

Maybe that was what

Conscripts might feel,

Whilst marching where

Death’s bell would peal…

A belonging, a need

To be with others,

Where THEY go YOU go,

Into hell with your brothers…

That unique sound 

Of boots on mud:

A target in line

For a rifle’s thud…

Pete Ray

18th May 2022

Sunday morning football at Perry Hall playing fields, 

Birmingham. 

It was always seemingly wet and dismal there. 

The changing rooms were disgraceful but there was something sociable about running out onto one of the far-flung pitches, often 200-300 metres from the shed in which we changed…

The sound and feeling of walking in soccer boots from our changing cage on a wooden floor always put me in mind of WW1 soldiers in boots on duckboards, moving along trenches into hell…

I have always wondered whether mental traumas could be passed down from ancestors to later generations, rather like susceptibility to physical illnesses can be.

If so, then maybe my feelings about walking those changing-room duckboards had something to do with both grandfathers walking WW1 duckboards and their feelings at the time…

THE ORIGINAL PERRY HALL...

YARNINGALE COMMON TODAY... Mandarin duck with mallard friends, moorhen chick, mallard chick catching flies & a damselfly...

 

AND THE COPSE DREW ME IN AGAIN...

 And The Copse Drew Me In Again…

It was a joy. A thrill.

Minutes before leaving the house,

A strange but pleasant chill

Discomfited me. And I became restless

With those final moments to fill.

Driving to the copse began to rouse

Excitement and expectation

Which were rekindled, regardless…

It was a joy. A pleasure.

Movement from one of the setts,

Cautious and positive for sure, 

Delighted me. And I became fascinated

By two curious cubs at their leisure,

Shuffling about the copse like pets.

Entranced and grateful,

I stood aghast and captivated…

Pete Ray

15th May 2022  

Looked forward to spending time leaving food and then watching badgers and then, after a short wait, two cubs emerged.

A joy.

A thrill.

A pleasure.

BADGER CUBS IN THE JUNGLE...

 Badger Cubs In The Jungle…

Uncertain.

Yet interested, prying

With heads scanning 

The environs of the safety of their sett.

Two cubs shuffled, 

Their munching muffled

By the invasive,

Disruptive

Japanese knotweed, growing

About them like fake forestry…

Undaunted.

Yet attentive, scurrying

With tails bobbing,

The caution anchoring them to their sett.

Two cubs scuffled,

Their industry ruffled

By their intrusive,

Obtrusive

Sibling’s presence, gnawing

Nearby, without real enmity… 

Pete Ray

14th May 2022

Two badger cubs vying for scraps of food, although getting in each other’s way…

Fluffy, like cuddly toys of light grey, they collided several times.

The Japanese knotweed really has taken a hold in the copse… 

 

Badger Glinting Bronze, Shining Gold…

 Badger Glinting Bronze, Shining Gold…

It slouched from a hole in the ground

Behind, began to feed and twisted then turned

Out of the shadows, between myriad flourishing 

Plants and into the spotlight of a sumptuous sun, setting

Beyond the copse.

And its grey-silver pelt flashed bronze and gold… 

It mithered and foraged, heedful of the slightest sound,

Alert as its rough fur in evening sunlight burned

Between the shadows, as it was feeding and scavenging

In the scrub and undergrowth and fretting

 Through the copse.

And its silver-grey back burnished bronze and gold…

Pete Ray

12th May 2022

Temple Balsall as an owl hooted and the sunset altered the colours within a lone badger’s fur…