Sweet Grasses of Autumn

A virtual volume of poems by Piggywig

 

Autumn Afternoons (A sonnet)

On lonely autumn afternoons,
I sit and ponder autumn's fallen leaves.
I listen to the stillness of the room,
The whispered secrets of the nearby trees.
 
For time itself sails on a gentle breeze,
A motion imperceptible and slight.
It's measured by the shadows of the leaves,
That lengthen with the fading of the light.
 
Who knows of lonely autumn afternoons
That doesn't find some solace from within.
Warm hug of nature and her sweet perfume
Makes tired souls refreshed and new again.
 
Come trees and leaves and autumn's amber glow,
That piggens' contemplation, may I know.

 

 

Baby Piggens

The baby Piggens sound retreat
With instinctive backward hops,
(Like a sandcastle struck by a wave
Or papers, carefully arranged, then blown
By a sudden wind.)
A child bends down and cradles
Gently, in her slender arms,
A new friend.

 

The Parsley Leaf

In each embroidered parsley leaf, 
I glimpse at life's haphazard path
To realize with some relief
The harmony in nature's math.

 

Old Thel

Old Thel the capybar' stared out to the sea
From the hills o'erlooking San Francisco Bay.
And he spotted the tall ships, a-numbering three
Approaching the shore on that overcast day.
 
With a screech and a whistle, he called to his clan.
"Woe betide us" he said of his sightings of man.
By the matins they'll clamor atop of this mount
And capybars surely be starting to hunt.
 
Oh, the capybars chuffed and they chirped out with worry
At the troubles a-coming to visit them surely.
For they look to Old Thel in his two years times four
To come up with a plan for the men on the shore.
 
Said Har the Triumphant, a capybar daring,
If we charge down the hill with our incisors baring
And wheep to the heavens in blood-curdling shouts
Then surely the two-legs will be quick put to rout!
 
There was anguished concern.  For a plan of this kind
Was simply not something most capybars find
A reasonable way to deal with discord
By charging together as a thundering herd.
 
"No, no!" cried Old Thel, that plan won't come to pass.
Our stature's too small for the men to harass
In addition to that, our numbers are few
Besides men have incisors and opposing thumbs too!
 
What we need is to find a more cavy-ous way
I look to the words my grandfather did say,
He said Thel you've been blessed with four well-padded feet
For the capybar's way is first to retreat.
 
To advance is to trifle with danger and worse,
'Tis far better advice to switch to reverse!
And cover your head in a blanket or two
For if you can see no one, then they can't see you!
 
We must look to the north to the hills of Sonoma
A place of the sunshine, of water and wine.
A cavy-ous place we can surely call home,
Where the grapes are quite lovely, but the stems are divine!
 
So they vanished forever and still to this day,
You won't see a capybar stare out at the bay.

 

Sorrows in Twilight (A song of Sonnet)

Sail into the shadows, sail into the night.
My burning lamp will guide you through this dying light.
Sail over wild oceans, past these barren shores.
I'll wait for you ever more.
Forever more.
 
The green of the highlands now turns into gold,
As we laugh with the pleasures of stories retold.
With friends and with lovers, with clan and with kin.
I'll be with you again.
 
Sail down the mighty river in fullness of flood,
They say the sun's reflection is the true sight of God.
Sail unto great waters, sail unto the sea.
And always I'll wait for thee.
For thee.
 
The wind from the north blows cold through the night,
And the goslings of spring now have burst into flight.
For the leaves on the ground are a thousand lost souls,
Like me without you, they have nowhere to go.
 
Sail over the mountains, sail over the sky.
Sail into the stars and from the heavens reply.
When you think of my love and my sorrow and tears,
In my heart you will always be here.
 
Sail into the shadows, goodbye.
Sail over the mountains, goodbye.
Sail into the heavens, goodbye.
Sail down the mighty river, goodbye.
 
Sail into the shadows, goodbye.

 

A Christmas for Piggens

 

I always get misty in this Christmas season
When I think of the sons and the daughters I've borne.
Now far-flung and scattered without any reason
Thought Cavia Camembert on Christmas morn.
 
Her tree was decked out in its holiday splendor:
Sweet cherry tomatoes were hung from each bough,
'Twas crowned with a starfruit, a fragrant reminder,
Of the times when her children still lived in the house.
 
"I remember the nibbles of little incisors
On each of the goodies that hung on the tree.
Bites strategically placed, so I'd be none the wiser."
Mused Cavia, sipping her timothy tea.
 
'Tis an ancient tradition, a Christmas for Piggens,
That the children should form a great holiday train.
From youngest to oldest, from smallest to biggest,
Each visiting each in a singing parade:
 
	Wheek for Christmas, wheek be joyful
	Purr for happy holidays!
	Chuff we go, sweet brothers, sisters
	Christmas, Christmas piggy train!
 
Now the youngest of three of Cavia's children,
Claude le Cochon, lived in Cotswold-on-Tyne
A countryside pig in the mood for adventure
Went to visit his sister, a diva divine!
 
Madame Claire des Chansons sang in London's Royal Opera
With a voice that was counted angelic and true.
In her arias she'd wheek and she'd chuff and she'd tribble
Winning raves from the critics in every review.
 
When Claude met with Claire in Victoria Station
'Twas a piggy reunion of joyous delight
With euphoric whistles for long-lost relations
They danced and were merry well into the night.
 
Claude talked about methods of fertilization
For increasing the yields on his timothy hay,
While Claire spoke of rivalries, real and imagined, 
That confronted a guinea in opera today.
 
They remembered together the ancient tradition
That children should form a great holiday train
Wheeking with pleasure at the year's greatest blessings
Each visiting each in a singing parade:
 

Wheek for sisters, wheek be joyful 
Purr for happy holidays! 
Chuff for brothers, dear companions 
Christmas, Christmas piggy train!

 

In the morning they boarded a train bound for Oxford
Where brother Chretien, the oldest of three,
Was esteemed for his theories of guinea pig poems
And made his abode in a hollowed-out tree.
 
"Well hurrah!" said Chretien, "Tis a noble occasion
for my brother and sister to visit today,
But short is the time for renewed celebration
As we must soon be off to York and Calais."
 
There were many moist whiskers at the trio's arrival
At Cavia Camembert's home in Calais.
"Together again with my beautiful children,
Is a dream I most dreamed for on this Christmas day!"
 
'Tis tradition most ancient, a Christmas for Piggens, 
That guineas will form a great holiday train,
From youngest to oldest, with children and parents
Each visiting each in a singing parade:
 

Wheek for Christmas, wheek be joyful
Purr for happy holidays
Chuff we now, sweet mother and children
Christmas, Christmas piggy train!

 

Snapdragons huddling
In December wind.  Pink bells
Toll the coming snow.
 

 
A rumpled sweatshirt
To explore.  Hugs and shelter
In its fleece-lined arms.
 

Piggy Zen
 
A guinea pig climbed up a hill
He munched upon a clump of dill.
His breath was sweet with hint of spice
That really made him smell quite nice!
 
His fur was soft of shiny sheen,
But my that guinea was not lean.
He'd eat until he had his fill
Then eat some more and eat quite well.
 
And when he heard a carrot snap
His eyes would then become quite damp.
His thoughts would turn to days long past
Of massive carrots which grew quite fast,
 
Whose tops appeared like trunks of trees
Amid a jungle crop of peas.
A lordly rest on lordly belly,
Pig stretched and yawned and felt so well he
 
Bucked betwixt the earth and sky, 
The law of gravity defied.
Then tumbled down on briar and thistle
And trilled a sharp, disgruntled whistle!
 
His feet were set in motion then
A journey back from Piggy Zen
To think on matters close at hand,
Return again to his piggy clan.
 
So up propelled by waddles furious,
With purpose earnest strong and serious,
Up the hill the piggy climbed.
The dreams of plenty left behind.
 
 

Central Park West

Our family was struck by a letter one day
Eviction, was something they'd quietly say
Over screeching of sirens on the sidewalk below
Our family would soon have nowhere to go.

We piggies are upbeat, we're optimists really
Trying to shore up our family, despair growing daily
with affection and chuffles and quick little hops
That told them we loved them and never would stop.

Forty-four piggies on the upper west side.
Forty-four piggies with nowhere to hide.
Thirty-three piggies would find their way home.
But eleven sad piggies would end up alone.

With food growing scarce our family was careful
To save us a carrot or leafy green morsel,
But they fretted aloud as to what they should do
With a fine herd of piggies and nowhere to go.

It was getting toward dusk when we piled in the cage
And stepped out to the sunlight and traffic and haze
Then up from Columbus to 96th street
Where the grass of the park we delighted to see.

Forty-four piggies in a garden of wealth.
Forty-our piggies unsure of themselves.
Thirty-three piggies would find their way home.
But eleven sad piggies would end up alone.

Then the cage door flung open, a chance to roam free
And sample the grass or the leaves of a tree.
We turned to our family, thanks to convey,
But our boy and our home we saw running away.

The cold of the night, it crept silently on
Through the grass and the leaves as we shuddered alone
And thought of the things we'd change and we'd say,
To keep our dear family from running away.

Forty-four piggies shiver and yawn,
And pray that they'll make it to see the next dawn.
Thirty-three piggies would find their way home.
But eleven sad piggies would end up alone.

***

In loving memory of the Central Park Piggies.