I apologise to any who follow my blog that my last post is not at all ”poetic”
Author: A. Gouedard
Chicken Slaugher
On my first visit to Morocco I wanted to buy a chicken for a dinner for friends.When I asked for advice on where to buy one I was asked,
”You would like a white one or a brown one?”
I said ”Oh just a fresh one, not a frozen one”
So I was taken to a shop where the chickens were so fresh they were still alive. They sat comfortably in fairly spacious cages lining the walls of the little shop. The man sold nothing but chickens.
I said to my guide, ”I don’t want a live chicken. It’s for dinner”
He said ”Choose one. The man will kill it”
I had qualms about this but resolved that, if I wanted to eat it, it was rather hypocritical not to see it killed. So I just said, ”Any chicken” because I still didn’t want to issue the death sentence and prefered to leave that to fate.
I also decided that I would not look away.
The man went calmly and caressingly, peacefully selected a chicken and held it under his arm like an embrace, speaking to it all the time. The chicken remained calm. In a rapid gesture the man cleanly slit its throat. No squawking. No fuss. That was that.
When I went home to the UK I told my friends about this. Most of them expressed revulsion despite my careful description of the event and its humane nature.
Now – I ask you to stop and think.
Think of the type of slaughter we allow. Think of factory farms. Think of disgraceful methods of slaughter that go on every day on a mass scale.
If you are a vegetarian I recommend that you don’t view this accompanying video (link below). If you think our slaughter methods are humane watch it and see what effect seeing it has on you (but be warned that it’s horrific). This was clearly not filmed in the UK but we do have factory farms here and our meat arrives from everywhere. Judging by the mass production of our meat I, for one, will not, in future, eat anything that I have not seen killed and if you want animals to be treated properly you might want to do the same. I go further than that. No meat at all because the ONLY way to truly stop this is not to PAY for it.
Watch the film or not as you wish. The first half is not unpleasant (it is just the reaction of people being shown the video). The second half (of which you will be warned before it begins) is a souless, mindless, totally disrespectful and disgusting disregard for animals and, in a sense, nature as a whole. If you like animals at all you wont want meat after this. This video shows chicks, chickens, calves, pigs and piglets.
~I need more time!
see if this inspires you
~Day 2 of the 03 days 03 quotes challenge. I chose this quote cause I just began reading the book The Tike Keeper by Mitch Albom. I read The five people you meet in Heaven a few years back, and really enjoyed it! Anyway, back to the challenge. Rules are:
1. Share three quotes on three days in a row, one on each day.
2. Nominate three bloggers on each day.
~16/06/2015
Oh no, I`m late!
Oh well, I`m dead.
No need to pull out the
hair on my head.
If I was meant to be there on time,
I would have been, so no need to fret,
for what ever will be,
will be.
My Nominees for Day 02:
Two Bare Feet
Along the sea margin
in the lapping of tides
I had visions of legs wrapped around necks,
thighs pressed taut against shoulders.
I heard the soft fall and lift of wet sand
as it sucked and released your bare feet.
You walked ahead, leaving imprints
amongst white pebbles and shells
We all know the profound aspects
of waves as they come and go
and I don’t need to use a poetic device
about footprints that wash away.
In that moment I knew I loved you
in a way I wouldn’t again
Under Batmans Cape
The children are playing in the street.
I hear their joyful screams,
dancing rings in summer heat,
cowboys of the back streets,
soldiers forming battle teams,
highwaymen who rob the sun
of all its golden light
Batman twirls his cape,
inventing secret monsters
hidden in the night.
They summon Superman
in mock terror as they run
to the freedom of escape
As the evening shadows lengthen,
falling into softer dreams,
they gather in a circle
with sparkling eyes
heads bent close together
arms and legs a tangle
they tell fantastic stories
from their rich imaginations
suited to their size
All those tales are distant now.
The world became less wise.
The streets are full of cars.
The childrens’ voices all are gone,
silenced by closed doors,
as monsters step onto the screens
displaying ugly scars
on the evening new.
The children play in cyberspace
eating substitutes for food
in a world full of shadows
where no one has a face.
Lock your children up
the bogeyman’s about
Moving Wheels
the taxi drivers leaned lazily on their cars
where they waited by the rank across the road
suppressed by summer heat
in the avenue of trees, full of cackling rooks
who spoke in secret code
i was working near a window
in the heart of town, looking down
on passing cars and buses
slow moving wheels,
in the bustling, heat baked, town
i was dreaming i suppose, after lunch,
when i saw them, slowly crossing, arm in arm
an old couple, threatened by the cars
it made me tense to watch
in case they came to harm
they looked like tired lovers
grey haired and bent with time
it was a sudden shock to me
to see them from this distance
knowing they were mine
no longer young, now fragile,
clinging fast together,
on quiet cautious feet,
my fathers so protective arm
made their tenderness complete
when did this happen?
when did they become so old?
it was only yesterday,
rashly dodging traffic,
impetuous and bold,
my father was always
rushing on ahead
with a sudden jolt i realised
as tears welled in my eyes
it wont be long now
before they both are dead
Writing fantasy
sitting in a room
the room becomes a wood
a wood i know so well
a vague story in my mind
the vision of a path
music and hushed sounds
i light the fire
invite them
i will sit and wait
until they gather round
whispering their tales
taking me to places
i never planned to go
River
falling from a mountain spring
pouring down the waterfalls
rushing over rock
drumming through the hollows
babbling to the sheep
flowing through the valley
reflecting summer skies
chasing the kingfisher
toward the evening light
hiding here and there
vanished underground
passing through the city
collecting plastic bags
running in the dark
racing through the sluice gates
seeping through the cracks
leaping down the weir
escaping through the park
loitering with ducks
lapped against the bridges
dipped with fishing rods
passing through the village
dithering with frogs
winding through the meadows
dallying with swans
gliding under willows
seeking quiet shade
stroking the salmon
lazed in sunlit pools
growing ever wider
entering the estuary
taken by the tide
i see the river rise
rise and rise again
sustaining every life
lifted by the sun
it reaches to the sky
flies above the mountains
flooding back in rain
pouring down the waterfalls
rushing over rock
The Secret Grove
a broad green sweep of valley
dark woodlands gathered there
by the rivers curve
nestled far below
above the hills a kestrel calls
sound stretched across still air
the blue grey hills melt away
in a distant milky mist
high above the world i sit
in a place away from care
surrounded by a birch wood
close by a hidden pool
this sun warmed granite ledge
above a grassy stair
lodges like an eagle’s nest
amongst the ancient trees
the oak trees lean together
to form a secret gate
where the hawthorns grow
beside the lofty fir
I lean against the apple tree
and watch the day grow late
no sound but birds and waterfall,
the sighing of the trees
the sun dips down behind the hills
i sit in peace and wait
to see the diamond stars come out
across the web of night
In the Museum (version two)
The museum is full of wonders
Egyptian grandeur, ancient glories,
glittering gold and precious gems,
classical Grecian curves and lines,
ever thoughtful, express the divine
illusive time, slowly passing.
Medieval kings, Viking shields and iron swords
delicate work of Saxon silver,
celebrating natures grace,
reflection of a faerie glen
My eyes become so tired of looking.
My feet ache from hard stone floors.
Passing through the Celtic collection
a tiny treasure catches me,
grips me, shackles fast my steps.
I long to hold it,
feeling it belongs to me,
smoothed in the hollow of my hand,
so small, so pure, so simple,
so emotional and loving,
grey stone,
no more than a pebble,
two lovers intertwined,
eternal, sweet embrace.
The Dreaming Path 