Fish 1

Now you see me :

now you don’t.

By Easter-next

I bet there won’t

be any fish here

left to see.

You’ll have to cook

the plastic me.




Turtle boys and turtle girls

are hard to tell apart.

But the ultimate distraction

lies in how their stories start

…because these fussy little critters

like their temperatures just right

and when the waters get too warm

they switch their genders overnight.

Those little hatchlings on the beach

race down to meet the waves

and by the time they hit the surf

they’ve changed¬† how they behave.

No-one knows the reason

or where it all will end,

but the girls can take the heat

and so they set the modern trend.


Cocoa Pods & Coffin

They say we’ll be running out of chocolate

by twenty-twenty-five

and I have to admit to being ever so glad

that by that time I won’t be alive…

…to see the devastation.

How will the world survive

without it’s shot of chocolate gold

that makes our spirits thrive?

Already…workers on chocolate plantations

secretly pray to the chocolate gods

to keep and preserve all the cocoa trees

that give us our cocoa pods.

And all because of this pesky “climate change”!


why can’t it drift further down south?…!!!!!!!

…and let any weird moisture changes

happen only to chocs in one’s mouth!

Cocoa Tree and Pods


Bees 2

No-one sees the busy bees

as they pollinate the orchard trees.

But you can lay odds-on that once they’re gone

our apples and pears

will become very scarce.

Bees 3

We’re having a slow-speed emergency

here on planet earth.

An extraordinary emerging of circumstances

is combining to trigger a dearth.

…a dearth of something so ordinary,

normally in vast supply

~ an under-abundance of a necessity

which proliferated in days gone-by.

We’re losing a profusion of pollinators

that will never again take flight,

whose depletion and diminution

is suddenly coming to light.

No-one knows the cause or the culprit,

but scientists surmise

that the sum of all human activity

has contrived to design their demise.


Rhinoceros and Birds

“I’m a shadow of my former self:

my glory days are gone.

I used to roam the wide savanna,

basking in the sun…

“as one of many others

– part of Africa’s great herds –

wallowing in water-holes,

pecked by cheeky birds.

“Now poachers shoot me for my horn

and tear my world apart,

so I’m putting ’round the rumour:

rhino powder makes you fart.”


koala and possum

I used to live in a forest.

Now, I hang-out in one tree…

along with my other furry friend

who comes from the arbours, like me.

We squabble in the mornings

and argue every night.

It’s the limited facilities

that causes us to fight.

We view the future bleakly

– my furry friend and me.

By then, we’ll be stuck with one leaf on a twig,

instead of this rheumy old tree.





Is that a smack of jellyfish

floating in one clump,

with loads of dangly tentacles

hanging from each bump?

There must be forty…fifty – no –

a thousand there, I’d say.

I can’t be swimming in the sea

until they’ve gone away!

It used to be you’d only get

a smattering in patches.

Now, the buggers multiply

and ride the waves in batches!

It’s only since the seas have warmed

and fishing’s gone full-measure –

and Mister Turtle’s home alone

to chomp his meals at leisure –

that we’re stuck with infestations

riding-tight in languid motions…

blobbing through the waves and

slyly snotting-up the oceans.


The Fly

No-one tries

to revive the flies

that splat on the windscreen

and hang there to die.

The Kiss-of-Life

would be too gross

and C.P.R.

simply otiose.

They just cling to the glass

as their last moments pass

while they’re joined by more friends

to a similar end.

But it seems, over time,

these vast splats have declined.

It’s the end of the line,

so scientists opine…

as they try to analyse

if the rate of demise

exceeds the sum total

of the splat of all flies.

The Splat




Yes, coal is the critical issue

which nobody wants to discuss.

We’d rather it fade from the headlines

with the minimum mention and fuss.

We’d prefer to keep digging coal out of the ground

and using its mighty potential

to fire up our factories and light up our homes

and sustain all our basic essentials.

But, alas and alack, this four letter-word

spells “pollution” in every disguise…

so we slyly continue to bury our heads

in the slag-heaps of yesterday’s lies.



“No, no, no…these are not all my tusks.

I only had two, for a start!

This is Coco, and Jumbo, and Clariss, and Ned –

who were recently shot through the heart.

“The tusks that I sported were sawn at the stump

…these were hacked from the bone, I would say.

You can only do that when an elephant’s dead,

since the trunk tends to get in the way.

“But its a beastly old pile, I must gravely agree.

And it brings quite a tear to my eye,

for these souls have departed the haunts of this veldt

for that spooky old zoo in the sky.”