Big Ears

by Colin Beardshall

Everyone called him Big Ears, a fitting appellation
Not that his actual ears were big.  You never saw
Them under the large joke shop ears that he wore
Whenever he was out and about.  You’d see him

In the railway station or waiting for a tram
On West Street.  He’d be at the other side of the road
Looking like a startled deer.  You’d wonder if he had
The wherewithal to make it across the street.  And he had.

He was not concerned that people looked at him
And pointed him out to their friends or little ones.
He was in a world of his own and in his world you
Went about your daily business wearing joke shop ears.

I heard him mentioned on the radio once, a famous
Local celebrity had seen him in the station and thought it
Good conversation to mention the guy with the big, plastic,
Joke shop ears.  I left Sheffield and have never seen

Big Ears since, even though I have been back many times.
I wonder if he has moved on to joke shop teeth or perhaps
A monster hand?  Whatever he is doing now, I admire him
Because who among us would wear joke shop ears

While conducting our day to day business?

I’ll stick to my big red nose.

Marsh Mayhem

by Colin Beardshall

The reeds rustle audibly in the wind
Like the flutter of birds on the wing.
Sedge warblers sing territorial songs
While out of sight a Bittern booms.

I still have half my packed lunch of soggy sandwiches.
Should I eat or feed the mallards that view me with intent?
The Mallards win and squabble over my discarded meal.

I pack away my lunch box and drain the flask of tea,
What was that, seen from the corner of my right eye?
Putting the binoculars to eye level I scour the reed beds.

There, I see it, Marsh Harrier on its evening patrol
Seeking the unwary among the restless birds.
One of the sedge warblers has just delivered its swan song.