Guest poem submitted by Anustup Datta
(Poem #863) Frogs
Frogs sit more solid than anything sits. In mid-leap they are parachutists falling in a free fall. They die on roads with arms across their chests and heads high. I love frogs that sit like Buddha, that fall without parachutes, that die like Italian tenors. Above all, I love them because, pursued in water, they never panic so much that they fail to make stylish triangles with their ballet dancer's legs.
Absolutely delightful. I think the comparison with Italian tenors is especially perfect - it makes you really sit up and chuckle. Anustup. [Links etc.] MacCaig poems on the Minstrels: Poem #755, Gone are the days Poem #699, Incident There's more about MacCaig online at [broken link] http://www.geocities.com/william_brodie/maccaig/backgr.html This site also has a fair collection of his poetry. Random irrelevancies: Poem #544, Toads -- Philip Larkin Poem #799, Mr Toad -- Kenneth Grahame