postaldeliveries

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The crocalog lay in his bower
And cared not for the day or hour.
Since he had no shame to hide
He rolled right over on his side.

And lying thus he well could hear
The stories whispered in his ear.
The babbling beck had tales to tell
Of maidens fair and ogres fell.

The tale of Princess Jaune he heard,
(Eagerly drank in every word)
Imprisoned in a castle strong
And punished though she did no wrong.

*/_______________________________________/*

A wicked ogre passing by,
Strong Castle Toadstool caught his eye.
Now, ogres are quite insecure,
For this, there really is no cure

Brave castles lit by sunlight’s gleam
Stab right at their self-esteem.
Just to give the folk a fright
He cursed the castle – out of spite.

The curse bound all in slumber deep.
But Princess Jaune was fast asleep,
She didn’t hear the words he spoke
So she, alone uncursed, awoke.

*/_______________________________________/*

No one came to help her dress,
The reason why she could not guess.
No maid her presence came to beg
To breakfast on a scrambled egg.

She stamped her foot with discontent
And, in her nightdress, out she went.
Into every room to peep
And found her servants fast asleep.

So then, the King and Queen she sought
Of this sad state to make report,
But found, to her distress and fear,
Both bound in sleep, her parents dear.

*/_______________________________________/*

First, she put on her dressing-gown.
Climbed the tower, looked out and down.
Bright swords, sharp spikes, was all she saw
Closed every window, every door.

She thought of brave Sir Furze, her knight,
Who wandered far to try to fight
A dragon for his gold and land
And with these riches win her hand.

Where was he when she needed him?
Her situation now was grim.
No clothes, no food, since who knows when,
She threw a tantrum there and then

*/_______________________________________/*

The emptiness inside her grew
So to the kitchen, down she flew.
Boxes, bags there by the score
She emptied them out on the floor

Nothing could she see to eat
In all the food around her feet.
At last, she spied a crust of bread
And hurried, with it, back to bed.

The covers pulled around her ears
She sobbed, wrapped up in all her fears.
‘Alas!’ she cried, her shoulders shook,
‘I’ll starve before I learn to cook!’

*/_______________________________________/*

Brave Sir Furze had wandered far
Seeking lands where dragons are,
And while he sought for knightly action
He found, instead, a fair distraction.

Many a maid his talents sought
With scented notelets, phrases fraught.
Begging for a knight as he
To rescue her from sad ennui

Miss Bramble dressed in frilly white
Sought his attention to her plight
And Lady Rose of Briar Park
Declared her future grim and dark.

*/_______________________________________/*

Now rescuing maidens in distress,
Locked hard away under duress,
In dragon danger, peril sore,
Is, indeed, what Knights are for.

But maidens waiting for the chance
To be invited to a dance,
Not chained in rags in towers tall
But finely dressed as for a ball.

While needing less a knight’s strong arm
Still need, no doubt, his Knightly charm.
To rescue seek from boredom’s pit
Is surely stretching things a bit.

*/_______________________________________/*

But brave Sir Furze, he did his best
To rise to this, his manhood’s test,
And though he could not save them all,
He rescued several at each ball.

These maidens fair with music sweet,
Each one he would dance off her feet,
While the musicians took a break,
Rich food and wine they would partake.

Few thoughts he gave to his princess.
He doesn’t know she’s in a mess.
Unwashed and hungry, I’m afraid,
And calling on his Knightly aid.

*/_______________________________________/*

Each day she’d climb the castle tower
And at the empty landscape glower.
No knight in shining armour rode
Just vacant vale where the beck flowed.

‘Am I a maiden in distress?
In case of doubt let me confess.
It’s plain for anyone to see,
I need my Knight to rescue me.’

Disappointment filled her heart
And soon she felt the teardrops start.
A robin, sad to hear her wrongs,
Then joined in with his doleful songs.

*/_______________________________________/*

‘Oh, Robin, try with all your might,
Fly near and far and find my knight,
Tell him of my situation,
Waiting here for my salvation.’

The Robin cocked his head askew,
Thinking what he ought to do.
Before things could get any worse,
He sang again his mournful verse.

Then, off he flew into the sky,
All he could do would be to try
To seek her knight, as she did ask.
Indeed, it seemed a hopeless task.

*/_______________________________________/*

Down from the tower, just by chance
In a large mirror stole a glance
Dishevelled and unkempt was she
She was no sight for knights to see.

Straightway to shower and wash her hair
(It was days since she’d been there!)
With the caress of water warm
Good thoughts came buzzing in a swarm.

‘I must desist this futile mope.
I’ll cook a meal – I’m sure I’ll cope.
I’ll leave things out wherein I lack it,
And follow just what’s on the packet.’

*/_______________________________________/*

‘I need clean clothes, I’ll take a look,
Try to find an instruction book.
These grave issues I must address.
Am I not a royal princess?’

‘It’s time I took myself in hand.
My Knight is in a far-off land.
I know that he on me depends
While he, with dragons fierce, contends’

‘Oh Robin true, fly far and wide
Take my sad tale, sing at his side.
Tell how, for him, I greatly yearn,
To rescue me on his return.’

*/_______________________________________/*

Dancing all night, idle by day
Sir Furze in scented bower lay.
He mused upon his dissipation
In the current situation

A robin did a sad song make,
It did not help with his headache,
‘Yes, of my conduct I’m not proud,
But Robin, please, don’t sing so loud!’

‘My Princess has great hopes of me,
How disappointed she would be
That my commitment is so weak.
I will, today, a dragon seek.’

*/_______________________________________/*

Straightway, Sir Furze, he took to horse
Towards the mountains set his course.
‘Twas there, the thought was in his mind,
He surely would a dragon find.

Then, what a battle there would be
He would display his bravery
The fight of fights, unto the death,
Against the flaming dragon’s breath!

The clash of steel – of sword and shield
With valour both, he’d surely wield.
In his mind’s eye, he plain could see,
Himself, stood there, in victory.

*/_______________________________________/*

The Princess grew more confident
Her meals turned out just how she meant
The clothes with which she daily dressed
Hung in her closet neatly pressed

Still, each day up the tower climbed she
Hoping for her Knight to see
Here at this high elevation
Welcome him with pure elation

But when she felt the teardrops start
These days, grave doubts tugged at her heart
Fearing, perhaps upon a whim,
The dragon had, sadly, slain him.

*/_______________________________________/*

Sir Furze rode on and, once or twice,
He stopped to ask for some advice,
‘Are dragons found in hereabouts?’
But each he asked expressed their doubts.

Deeper he rode far in the hills
The sun obscured by cloudy chills
Through rain and sleet and thunder’s roar
At last, a tumbled inn he saw.

He asked, ‘Are dragons to be found,
Here where the mountains do abound?’
‘The Ancient Sage would surely know,
He’d kindly tell you where to go!’

*/_______________________________________/*

‘First, shelter for me and my horse
I’ll seek this hermit in due course.
A stable where Horse can retire
For me a seat near to the fire.’

The patron showed him to a chair,
‘Please sit, Sir Knight, and if you care,
In our fire’s warmth to freely speak
Of where you came, and what you seek.’

‘I seek to win me gold and land
To beg My Princess for her hand.
To fight a dragon seems to be
The way, as far as I can see.’

*/_______________________________________/*

‘Our Ancient Sage is wise and kind.
Politely ask what’s on your mind
He, for no charge, will answer you
Explaining what you need to do.’

‘The way is hard, the mountains high
Your horse can’t climb where eagles fly
Sword, shield and lance will hamper you
And leave behind your armour too.’

Sir Furze he went to bed unsure
These words struck at his very core
No horse, no sword, could this be right?
How would folk know he was a knight?

*/_______________________________________/*

Sir Furze climbed on, the way was hard
Used hands and feet to gain each yard
‘Advice they gave I will endorse
This is no path for man and horse.’

At last a cavern he espied
The Ancient Sage should be inside
‘Art thou within, oh Ancient Sage?
I would, a while, with thee engage.’

A flame broke through the stygian gloom
Its flickering light lit up the room
‘Ah, welcome friend,’ rumbled a voice,
‘Come, sit or stand as is your choice.’

*/_______________________________________/*
To Be Continued: Don’t miss the next exciting episode!

Today we have the Ringlet Butterfly. As you can see, there is nothing very remarkable about it. It’s just a butterfly.

It prefers the cool damp days to bright sunny ones and so is out and about when its other more gaudy associates are sheltering from the inclemency.

Many cartoon heroes and even the main dramatis personae in our espionage fiction are usually remarkable people. The truth of the matter is that these larger-than-life characters are truly fictional and in the real world spies are valued for their ordinariness, their ability to blend in and disappear into the wallpaper – to be invisible in plain sight. The Ringlet performs this sleight of hand with ease. They are one of our most common butterflies but barely get a mention. When the subject arises their more colourful cousins, the Red Admirals, the Painted Ladies, the Peacocks, the Fritillaries, claim the limelight.

Are our, so ordinary, Ringlet butterflies leading a secret life, we wonder? Are they taught Morse Code in their cradles? Do they emerge from the chrysalis as fully competent agents provocateur? Is their love of dull damp days a cover for their clandestine operations?

And if so, whose side are they on?

‘Oh Mimulus, you drive me mad,
You timid yellow bloom.
Your talk is always of the bad,
Your mind is full of doom.
Disaster fills each waking thought,
Your conversation palls.
This list of battles to be fought,
Just on my deaf ear falls.’

‘Impatiens, slow down and hear
The warnings that we bring.
Pink blossom, haste will cost you dear,
A doleful song you’ll sing.
Our future flies on fragile wings
This world’s a dangerous place.
These are not vague imaginings,
But real threats that we face.’

For context see:
https://www.healingherbs.co.uk/essences/essence/impatiens
https://www.healingherbs.co.uk/essences/essence/mimulus

One behind and one ahead.
One in the lead and one is led.
The timid trail after the bold.
A buttercup, their world of gold.

We mortals all chase fool’s gold too.
Around we go. Who’s leading who?
Bright sword sharp or ploughshare blunt.
Each to the rear and each in front.

The sun his daily orbit makes
And never pause or rest he takes.
So, we upon life’s wheel must toil.
To till and plant and reap our soil.

To bee or not to bee, a question I ask myself,
You might as well be asking, ‘When’s a fairy an elf?’
A witch is always a who, but a which is only a what,
Then again, here’s a thought, ‘Should I bee a wasp – or not?’

Do I look really fierce? I’m hoping you’d think I sting.
Would my yellow and black coat convince you – that’s the thing?
I’m trying not to get eaten by a bird looking for a quick bite.
Now my disguise is good – I just hope birds have good sight.

You’ll find me in the garden, I love to smell the flowers,
And buzz around among their dappled scented bowers.
I know that I look scary, but I don’t want to make you cry,
You see, I’m just a harmless, friendly, hoverfly.

‘Painted Lady passing by,
Just a social butterfly.’
So they say, all unaware,
For their opinions, you don’t care

Is life just a pleasant hour
While you flit from flower to flower,
Turning hours to tranquil days,
Basking in the summer rays?

Is it impolite to ask
If this paint is just a mask?
Do you hide, with raffish flare,
All the burdens that you bear?

Awake. Awake, good brown earth, your slumber now must cease.
Come, show us what you’re made of, for you shall have no peace.
No longer lie there, somnolent, in your verdant green pyjamas.
You lie in working farmland, not on a beach in the Bahamas.

You’ve crops to feed and germinate, give sustenance and cosset.
And grow them tall and rear them well on nature’s pluvial posset.
Up now, awake, though warmer days make slumber so seductive.
You’ve drowsed the year away ‘til now, it’s time you were productive.