Charlie Mansfield (1955- )

HERDING SWINE

Dangerous, them lot,
They root around and mark the ground,
And every sound they make's
Both meaningless and clear.

Their familiar skin,
And the shape they're in
Seem natural enough
But fear, a moment's concentration loss
Could cost a finger, dear.

Their appetite's eclectic,
Their unrestricted taste
Would take our prudish manners
And gobble them, in haste.

Yet, if in herds you pen them,
On 'mast or meadow bloom
Their startling backs will gleam in rows
Against the gathering gloom.

Satisfied, their shapes will hold,
Eternally, they say,
The last, pink glowing memory
Of every sunny day.


Note 'mast, is beech-mast from the woodland floor.

© 2001 Charlie Mansfield
If you'd like to read more about Charlie Mansfield's poetry,
please visit his site for teachers of English at
Poetry: Europa

New book by Charlie Mansfield: English poems and their translations

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