Poems of compassion dedicated to the non-human animals who share this planet
with us and the people who fight for them.
Language is an expression of thought,
and thoughts are agents of manifestation...
We give it our best shot.
We take a pot shot,
a shot in the dark.
We have a stab at something.
We are right on target.
We crack it!
We smash it!
We top it.
We kill it!
We are “sick”
because we’ve hit the mark,
because we’ve hit the bull’s eye.
We’ve killed two birds
with one stone.
(A bird in the hand
is worth
two in the bush.)
We have a blast.
We go ballistic,
shooting from the hip,
all guns blazing.
(If we fail,
we are “gutted.”)
We stamp out our opposition;
we cut off.
We knock it on the head.
We split our sides
(and those of others.)
We get one in the bag.
We tie things up.
We have a burning desire,
to set the world on fire.
We slash-and-burn.
We feel choked.
We think it’s “blinding.”
We are gagging for it;
for the drop dead gorgeous.
(If looks could kill.)
We are “blown away.”
Armed with the facts,
with our bullet points,
we pick our battles;
until finally,
we kick the bucket.
When push comes to shove,
(stone the crows!) —
we are sons of a gun.
©Heidi Stephenson, April 2019
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