C Richard Miles Poems

There’s an elephant on the telephone
Who wants to make a trunk call
To the elegant but pleasant gent
That he calls his negligent uncle
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I’m a gentle giraffe, who lives in a zoo
But I don’t seem the same as the others all do.
When I was born, did they make a bungle
Which means that I’m not like my kin of the jungle?
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Still sleeping safe beneath the ice-bound soil
Lie bulbs, embedded deep within the earth,
Awaiting, so expectantly, the birth
Of brave green growths, which frost can never spoil
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Last remnants of shabby snowmen
Sit, discontentedly morose,
Marooned in oceans of green grass
Once stolid, solid sentinels
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Like the last lonely leaf on the London plane,
I drive down, lonesome, up the long airport track,
Still hanging on, through the wind and the rain.
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The cherry blossom's out to brighten city streets
and daffodils all shout that spring is here to greet
the trees, about to burst in bud and leaf and bloom,
that bring us all relief from winter's hateful gloom.
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Do some folk’s minds just turn to chocolate
In spring, as we are coming up to Easter?
Why is it that this season means a feast
For some? But some will not relent till later
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They’ve switched spring on now
But, on some of our sets
The contrast is too high,
The volume far too loud
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The French lion’s tooth airborne division
Are all prepared, in silk arrayed,
Awaiting a command decision
To launch a daring, daylight raid
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