Rudolf J. Wiemann

Mind over Matter

Monkey see, Monkey do

The tailless gobbin’s life
Is one of imitation.
It sees its long-tailed cousin swing
Prehensily from fling to fling,
>From branch to branch, from tree to tree
With happy shrieks and shouts of glee -
And craves participation.

The tailless gobbin’s life
Is but of short duration.
It sails on boldly through the air
And wraps its tail - which isn’t there -
Around a branch and faces space
‘Twixt canopy and jungle base
And its own abrogation.

Mind over Matter

A noble stag strides through the woods with proud and haughty bearing
When suddenly a shot rings out and sends a bullet tearing
Straight through his heart. The stag, surprised, in silent rumination
Just stands there for some time while contemplating its causation.
He knows as well as anyone, it isn’t hunting season
When law abiding folks shoot bullets at him for no reason.
Faith in the law, with which his psyche deeply is endowed,
Tells him those bullets cannot fly when they are not allowed,
And what he heard and felt to be a hunting rifle’s shot
Was virtual reality and could have hurt him not.
Thus satisfied, he paces on without as much as tripping,
Whereas the poacher shakes his head and says, “I must be slipping!”
Like any pseudomacho male, so did, I’d say, the latter
Ignore the aphoristic truth that says, ‘Mind over Matter!’

The Nightdrifter

The greyhound howls,
And the green hound growls;
In the Devil’s Creek wriggles a trout.

The tomcat mews,
But the black cat pooh-poohs;
On the Devil’s Crag trembles a scout.

They all grow tense,
As they all can sense
The nightdrifter drifting about.

But, oh, not to worry!
One critter won’t scurry
Before its unspeakable wrath -
She is moving to cross its path.

The Fisherman and the Whale

A fisherman went out to sea
To where the waves are steep,
And where the experts all agree
That it is 2 miles deep.

He wanted to explore the trench
And from its strange abyss
An undiscovered life form wrench,
Or he would be remiss.

He dropped his line and felt a pull,
With some delay, of course,
Since it was relayed for a full
Two miles up from its source.

Her reeled and reeled and reeled away
And thought that he might fail,
But when the waves at last gave way,
They bared a spermy whale.

It gulped some air and cleared its spout,
Said, “Bless you, fisherman!
You saved me, hear me out-out-out,
I’ll tell you what I can.

We sperm whales must go deep-deep-deep
A dark domain to breach,
Because the squid there keep-keep-keep
Themselves near out of reach.

The pressure down is great-great-great
And renders us quite small.
Some ugly monsters ate-ate-ate
Our kinfolk skin and all.

One gulped me and your bait-bait-bait
And when you reeled us in,
I soon resumed my state-state-state
And popped it from within.

Now it is my turn to-to-to
Give you an even shake.
What I can do for you-you-you,
I’ll gladly undertake.”

The fisher says, “I’ve heard it tout
In them thar depth is gold
By sinking galleons strewn about
In quantities untold.

So I’d admire it sure enough
If you could pick and pack
A great, big sack full of the stuff.
I would supply the sack.”

The whale said, “That can’t be-be-be!
It is Poseidon’s loot.
I am his tried trustee-tee-tee,
And he’d give me the boot.

But if the waves vex you-you-you
Do not despair or chafe.
Just call on Moby Two-Two-Two
And I shall keep you safe.”

The fisherman says, “That sounds grand,
But waves now give me shivers.
I think that I shall stay on land
And only fish in rivers.”

The Gourmet

Oh, horrid, horrid! cried the owl.
I don’t like mice, I don’t like fowl.
I guess I am, as one might say,
A most particular gourmet
Who needs a much, much finer fare.
O where, o where to find it? Where?
So I may be forever freed
Of living on such common feed! -
So fear no more, you low-life brood,
For I am in an upscale mood!

Just listen to that crazy owl!
Cried furry mice and feathered fowl.
Next thing he’ll say he wouldn’t take
A proffered tender garter snake.
Why suddenly this far-out fuss?
As if we said, “Come dine on us!”
Does he believe we are naive?
Perhaps we’re more on the qui vive!
If he’s for real, he should, we think,
Eliminate a food chain link
And come and join us as we feed
On some nutritious thistle seed.

The Buddy Bird

The buddy bird knows how to cheat
The law of natural selection,
An evolutionary feat
Which up till now escaped detection.
A link between his shoulder bone
And wing bone suffers frequent snapping
And makes this buddy’s flight plan prone
To unforeseen and sudden scrapping.

That’s why he’s always with a friend
When off the ground and for an airing,
Such when his malformed link does rend,
The partner’s there to do the caring.
He seizes the affected wing
And keeps it spread and well extended
And brings him down and makes a sling
And gets him food till he is mended.

It won’t be long now, I surmise,
For an initial contribution
By scientists as they apprise
This major bug in evolution,
And how this funny looking crow
Failed to die out long time ago.
The truly wise, however, smirks
And says, “The buddy system works!”

New Perspectives

Two earthworms tunneling with toil
Toward some composted flower bed soil,
Thought to each other,
“Hi, sister-brother!
How fancy sensing you around
In this nutritious patch of ground!”
But being worms, their thoughts ranged wider.
For instance, as a tube resider
One owed oneself the praiseworthy decision
To broaden and expand one’s tunnel vision
And probe the world above the dirt,
Which, without question, couldn’t hurt,
As new perspectives, there unfurled,
Might change one’s concept of the world.
They went - and one did desiccate,
The other one red robin ate.


The hopeful tomcat thinks, My my!
If that there mouse would venture nigh,
My hunger it would satisfy.
The merry fiddler thinks, Aye aye!
With that one's gut, strung out to dry,
I could make people dance and cry.


The lion eyes the buffalo
And thinks, Steak on the hoof for me!
The buffalo, though, thinks, No so!
It’s big cat on the horn for thee!


The truffle thinks, Life’s all about
Those pigs and how they find us out?
The pig knows, to unearth the truffle,
A pig must snuffle, snuffle, snuffle.


The grouse thinks, Bad! Row crops are bad!
It’s easy to be seen and had.
The fox says, For my morning bite,
Here comes row one: look left, look right.
Here comes row two: look left, look right.
Here comes row three . . .

A Foe’s Foe

A big game hunter climbs is horse
And holds his heavy rifle,
The one that shoots with magnum force,
Because he does not trifle.

He finds a herd of buffalo,
And in its midst a-grazing
One with a fleece as white as snow
And of a size amazing.

“That one is mine! And it’s a beaut!”
Says he and pulls the trigger.
The gun, however, fails to shoot -
But why, he cannot figure.

The buffalo approaches him,
And says, “It is uncaring
To send your bullets on a whim
Into our bodies tearing.

We here are but a forlorn hope
Of hosts that went before us
Whose bones long bleached on tract and slope;
So why still shoot and gore us?”

“Gee, sir!” - the hunter feels a chill -
“It’s sport we call these dealings.
I really bear you no ill will
But thought you had no feelings.

If I would promise and declare
That for my new distraction
I’d only stalk the grizzly bear,
What would be your reaction?”

“Him you can shoot whenever, dude!
It would relieve us of a worry.
He kills our youngsters for his food,
And grown-ups too before him hurry!”

So it does seem what people say
Of a foe’s foe - as constituting
A friend - the way it sounds today,
The fauna here is not refuting.

His Majesty

To his large female entourage
The big, maned lion spoke,
“Just cut your silly persiflage
And in its stead evoke
A royal court with bows and feasts
To honor me as King of Beasts.”

His ladies said, “Forget it, Roy!
As one whose reign is short
It’s unbecoming to deploy
An attitude that would purport
The pretense of a dynasty
And rule by sovereign decree.

Just keep hyenas well at bay,
And we will feed you good.
Yes, we will even let you play
And grant you fatherhood -
Until someone with greater clout
Will come around and turn you out.
So be a good boy
And cool it, Roy!”

A Picnic

A cottontail went for a stroll
To look for juicy clover,
But when the fox went on patrol,
He thought it was all over.

The fox, though, said, “Don’t flee from me,
I’m ready for amends.
I kind of like your company,
So let us be good friends.

I’d like it if our families
Would form a closer bond.
Let’s picnic soon among the trees
And feel our hearts grow fond.

We’ll talk of things, of this and that,
The evils of mankind,
And chat as worried parents chat
When kids sometimes won’t mind.”

The bunny thought for sure caprice
Had got into his head.
But why ignore a chance for peace?
The attitude might spread.

The picnic hour was soon agreed.
The bunny’s family
Collected clover, also seed
And kale and celery.

They took it to the gathering.
The foxes soon did show,
“But foxes, you forget to bring
Your picnic food! - Oh no-o-oh!”

Evening Prayer

The darkness grows.
The tree mouse knows
To fold her toes:
“Please, don’t forget me,
Nor beset me.
Make someone who met me
Pet me.
But most of all,
Stay things that crawl:
Don’t let he boomslang get me!”


Todos los derechos pertenecen a su autor. Ha sido publicado en a solicitud de Rudolf J. Wiemann.
Publicado en el 27.06.2005.


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