Biography of Tan Pratonix
Almost all the 90 poems or so were written in my youth, when I was 17-19 years old. Thereafter the Muse died - or rather, let's say, I killed the Muse. I kept the old diary in which these poems were written and thought that these offerings from the early '70s would be enjoyed by friends in Poemhunter. I am happy that they have delighted quite a few.
Tan Pratonix's Works:
All poems are copyrighted. Please do not publish any of the poems without my permission.
Tan Pratonix Poems
In Praise of God's Good Earth
Hoosh, whoosh, The wind is up, The birds go whizzing by, And all around
Trigonometry began When Sine and Cos and Tan [The latter, a perfect gentleman] Agreed to work in a Triangle.
Where no birds breathe, bird-magic breathes Bird-beauty, bird-spirit, bird-splendour, And brings where no bird wings, Wing-beats that woo me to wonder.
Every day Melanie May Walks down the shore, Along the bay.
Thoughts of Fishes in a Glass Tank
Bound by four hard glass walls The fishes in the glass-tank think: 'We have all We need - food to eat, water to drink;
Hands, expressive hands; The gold bands around your wrists Make beautiful hands.
Suppose I was living on the bank of a river Where ladies occasionally would come for a ride In a boat with a friend or relative or lover; And under the trees (all cosy inside,
A Hand Reached Out from Heaven
A hand reached out from heaven, It strove to touch my head; Then I was just eleven And I ducked and turned and fled.
From a shock of trees it sifts in, spreading a black hush over the water, dims the grass at her feet tucked
If I were a Jibjib Cat
If I were a Jibjib Cat With whiskers on my face, Then I would wear a little hat Trimmed with silver lace.
If I were a Woofy Dog
If I were a Woofy Dog With a waggy tail, Then I would learn to catch a frog And ride upon a whale.
Before the Storm
The scattered leaves shook with life and flung the air with swirls of dust;
At the mouth of the river where tall grasses grow, Where no hunter hunts with hounds nor bugles blow, Where the carefreeness of life lets rabbits roll - My thoughts go scampering softly down a rabbit hole.
Like a summer rain she fell That hot September hour And caught unawares he was drenched, He lost all power
If I were a Muddlehorse
If I were a Muddlehorse
With a black mane,
I'd be running on a race course
With horses from Spain,
And all those Spanish horses
Would be running like the wind;
But you cannot beat a Muddlehorse