Up on the hill there stands a pig so white beneath the sunshine,
it brings to mind the things involved in porker meat production.
The hairy boar, the willing sow, the short rest of gestation,
then farrowing, out piglets pop, come out in such great numbers,
then suckle lie in serried rows to mother’s sweet contentment.
In two weeks’ time the screams of pain, it’s called the early weaning
the family rent apart so soon, unnatural, cruel, traumatic.
The weaners massed in growing pen to feed up for the market,
and poor old sow to dry up quick, then back to male for service.
Please consider this.
Is the beast in pig or man
at early weaning?
A Poet’s Haibun
A muse poet waits for his love to provide the key.
From the divine, comes the sign which moves the soul to guide the hand to write.
Bypassing conscious reason and thought the message travels.
The muse and poet merely channels for a greater intelligence to inspire the watcher or
listener to perceive all things more deeply.
Mist gives way to clear sharp views, landscape is shown in sharp relief as the sun stretches
its low light across the hills and trees casting giant shadow lengths.
The loving muse
has to excuse.
The opening heart must sing
Copyright © Alec Martin 2013
Alec started composing poetry in 2012 after someone said, “You have no poetry in your soul” and enjoys sharing poetry with members of Eyewrite and his friends. He intends to study poetry in order to become more versatile.