MonaCat

There's a time in most memories when sudden loss was felt intense
And in some ways our rememberings seem cliché in a sense
There's always some poor soul who must bring the news to bare
And then there's slow motion realisation or some chill in the air
And its this slow motion period when time seems to grind and halt
That I don't think seems quite right and is instead a recall fault
So what's the explanation? I'm a scientist I'll make a theory
At this point when time is slowing when the world it seems so bleary
Is a gap in our awareness between hearing and then knowing
Caused by the violence of the understanding of the trauma we're undergoing
At that time it washes over us and bombards our brain with pain
Its only as it eases off are we aware of ourselves again
And so running over the story in our heads later on
There's a gap in the track, the recording has gone wrong
And so our brain the old reliable, great glorious fixer-upper
Concocts us a crude and cinematic time-filling chronobuffer 
It adds a slow-mo section, a glossy edit of our past
And hopes that we don't notice and that the damage doesn't last

Fox and Pheasant

The fox, Mr Fox, some would call him fantastic
for those who keep hens
this description seems drastic

Cunning, cool, a princely addition
to the forests and fields
where he hunts for nutrition

Killing and eating, not all he's about
he's a part time investigator, a woodland scout
he quizzes whoever crosses his snout

One lazy autumn's day, he saw on the ground
a beastie with feathers all red, green and brown
Luckily for this creature, Mr Fox had just eaten
Still queezy from a lunch of succulent duck
But the curious mutt thought "what lay before him?"
It gave no moo, no quack, no cluck?

"I say there Sir, I do not mean to be rude,
but what are you? Some variation on a duck who has become lost in the wood?

Shooting into a tree, "Oooh, a fox, oh dear, help meee!"

"Calm please Sir, come down from that tree
I'm still coughing up feathers from my afternoon tea
do not fret, do not worry your wings
I just want to ask you a couple of things"

"I can hear you fine from here Mr Fox
and the answer is I'm a pheasant
I'll stay on my perch for the duration of our talks
incase you try something deeply unpleasant."

"Ah you see, we foxes are misunderstood
although I've never seen such pretty, pretty food
but you're safe with me, you have my word
for today I've had my fill of bird
So tell me Pheasant, such a grand creature
what do you do, are you just an elegant feature
a feathery wall-hanging, a decorative motif
or by night are you actually an exceptional thief?"

"Well, no I'm afraid I just sit in the meadows
I stand proud on hay bales and sometime in hedgerows
I eat corn, seed, and berries along with my fellows
but I can't really say I do anything else though."

"How strange, such a beautiful and aimless fowl,
for we have miners, the moles and nightwatchmen, the owl
our squirrels, they harvest and scavenging crows,
the cows chew the cud, horses plough furrows,
sparrows gather nesting, the deer strip the bark,
badgers burrow, mice scurry from dawn until dark.
But you tell me you're aimless, no duty or care
you stand about daily and ponder the air
you strut here and there, a country attraction
but how can your life provide satisfaction?"

"Oh I get by" said the dreamy pheasant cock
as he walked along a branch and proceeded to talk
"It's hard to be pretty, it's a chore to be a beauty"
And he continued to dwell on this onerous duty

Noticing the dreaminess and self-obsession
The fox began to plot a serious indiscretion
He moved closer to the pheasant's position
Protected by the bird's oblivious condition
He stalked the tree, the trunk he did scale
As the pheasant was lost admiring his own tail
As the pheasant was transfixed by his reflection in a tree-top pool
The fox was edging closer and beginning to drool
And as the pheasant yearned for yet more beauty as with time he grew older
He suddenly heard the deep growl of the fox by his shoulder.

"Oh!" he started as he turned in fear
"How did you come to be lurking so near?"

"Well, I'm a hunter and I have no time to dwell,
I noticed that you had fallen under your own beautiful spell.
So I took my chance, and I stayed out of the light,
Do you have any last words before my first bite?"

"Oh I see, I'm afraid I can't think,"
Said the quivering bird as his aspirations did sink

"Oh I see it all clear, " said the fox with a smile
"You have nothing to say, no wisdom, no guile
Pretty is all you are although I hope tasty too
Now Mr Pheasant I'm sorry for what I must do."

And at that the fox edged along the length of the branch
to the quiet edge where the pheasant stood entranced
And as soon as the fox was within biting distance
He widen'd his mouth, the bird gave no resistance

The wood stood silent for what seemed an age
as the fox closed his eyes and focussed his rage
down came his jaw, the loudest of snaps
and the pheasant felt that most expected collapse

But the fox was perturbed. This wasn't like eating.
He didn't feel meat but his feelings were fleeting.
As at that moment of his most anticipated bite
the pheasant had taken an unexpected flight!
The bough had broken, the fox went to ground
the idol bird glided without a sound.

And so it was,
Mr Fox was in demise
but the forest continued
no tears
in no eyes
and the idol bird continued in his self-centred skit
as the mice
and the crows,
the sparrows,
the horses,
the deer,
and the cows
paid no notice, not one bit.