Zoopoetry

The first Zoopoetry contest  sponsored by ZoosSA and Flinders University attracted  71 entries. The judges believed that while many had merit, none were sufficiently noteworthy to win overall and to be displayed permanently on a sign at the zoo.. 

Nevertheless, the judges have selected seven poems from the pool of entries to publish on the website to recognise these particular writers’ efforts and to share their passion for the natural environment with you. They will all receive zoo passes.

TIGER TANKA

By Lynette Arden

summer day –
seeking a glimpse of tigers
we fall silent
at a distant roar
splendid and terrible

Tuan
moves among grass
stripes
rippling in smooth play
of flesh over muscle

Assiqua
pauses at water’s edge
lapping
her reflection wrinkles
through sky and clouds

Kemiri
streaked ink and sunlight
blends
into drowsy noonday
dreams with no boundaries

Mighty tiger, your stripes blaze
on this grey Adelaide day, yet in a thicket
of orange reeds, you’re in disguise
stalking prey beside the riverbank.

Here, in a patch of sun, you rub your cheek
on the dead branch, like any tabby would,
then roll onto your back, inviting a scratch
on the luxurious mat of creamy under-fur.

In Sumatran rainforests, your velvet steps
pad silently on leafy tracks to the water’s edge:
you strike the eye like a Gauguin postcard,
your patterned features nestled amid green.

As you lean down to drink, your reflection
ripples outwards, and your face is like
some exotic tropical flower; the sun-gold
shimmer of your topaz eyes within.

I waken to the shrill call
of monkeys across the river
warning of a big cat on the prowl.

I lie still as a spotted deer,
ears pricked and alert –

sense a furtive presence
within the cross-hatched shadows
of wild fennel.

I see his huge pug marks in the mud of the Torrens,

feel the smouldering burn of his green eyes

the rank menace of his hunger –

then a squeal
of car tyres
in Melbourne Street.
A different animal
A different jungle.

Can you see me? I can see you.
You’ll see me only if I want you to.
Come closer, pray, and you’ll realise,
I live in worlds behind my eyes.

Where jungles grow in memories,
Not mine but theirs who came before me,
Their home now lost deep in history,
I stand here as their legacy.

The golden island, great Sumatra,
Ruled by my might ancestor,
Where once the fearsome sight of me,
Would cause the bravest Man to flee.

Hunter. Hunted. Food for thought,
Clearings, captures, sold and bought,
The hand of Man can take and give,
By Man they died; by Man I live.

My jungle’s here contained by walls,
But no Man’s cage constrains my calls,
Come closer, prey, and you’ll realise,
I still have what it takes to survive!

Cracks dry in the earth, under hot summer sun.
Plains tinged with green, when winter rains come.

Spots stretching skyward, with an elegant stance.
Raised to eye level, watch full lashes dance.

Naked trees are left standing, hanging branches stripped clean.
Clouds of dust rising up, as hooves pass a dry stream.

A waterhole oasis, where stripes come to drink.
Banks scarred with hoof prints, where they slide and sink.

Camouflages pelts blend with remarkable ease.
Wandering African plains, in a cool autumn breeze.

Stand alone or with many, upon the waterhole walk.
Listen to the silence or the keepers as they talk.

Devour the view, a feast for the eyes.
Watch the sights of Africa, as they meander by.

The tigress stirs, groggy, to greet the blue dawn,
With a crick of her back, and a toothy, sonorous yawn.

There she stands, on the jagged rock wall,
Proud and regal, though slender and small.

Ears spotted white, eyes hazel brown,
With mane, beard, whiskers and an imperial frown.

Her black stripes are thin, copper coat a-shine,
With the sleek, compact body of a powerful feline.

The forests of the mountain plains are her home,
Catching fish, in deep creeks, on her own.

Sumatran tigers may be the smallest of their kind,
But she compromises her size with ears, eyes and mind.

Deadly rapid a swimmer is she,
Stealthy in the long grass, agile in the tree.

In the wild, her kind are fast dying out,
Their survival questioned – a storm cloud of doubt.

After a day in the sunshine, bathing, she eats,
Then to her sleeping quarters she wearily retreats.

The evening light shimmers upon her golden fur,
As she watches the sun set, from her low mountain spur.