Beneath the Fickle Moon: The Complete Jasper Storypoems

By Brian Crane

Someone once said Where there is life there is hope.

And so it was for Jasper, a border collie, existing a life of purgatory at the hands of a drunken, embittered brute of a master. Jasper could only wait for an opportunity to escape.

But when that opportunity arrives does he take it?

The storypoems of Beneath The Fickle Moon follow the life of Jasper. The meetings, the partings, the highs, the lows.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Nov 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499091809

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Brian Crane.

cover illustration by Brian Crane

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 11/17/2014

Xlibris

0-800-056-3182

www.xlibrispublishing.co.uk

697349

Contents

Sea Of Tranquillity

Dedication

Chapter One The Hungry Dawn

Chapter Two A Break In The Chain

Chapter Three Footprints In The Snow

Chapter Four The Gypsy And The General

Chapter Five Absolute Mayhem

Chapter Six The Doorstep Of Heaven

Chapter Seven On One Silent Night

Chapter Eight A Serving Of Just Desserts

Chapter Nine Deep Water

Chapter Ten Night Whispers

Chapter Eleven The Gift

Chapter Twelve While You Were Sleeping

Sea Of Tranquillity

I’ve seen the moon like candle wax melting,

In a sky of wedgwood blue.

But the strangeness of life lies within us,

Like an ocean that is craving to move.

I’ve seen the moon as a sad child crying,

In a sky so mournfully black.

But each one will carry the pain of living,

Like a burden that rests heavy on their back.

I’ve seen the moon with a halo forming,

In a sky with a frosty glow.

But the chill in your heart kills all feeling,

Like a river that ceases to flow.

I’ve seen the moon form a scar not healing,

In a sky awash with stars.

But they can twinkle with so much false promise,

Like a hand stretching out in the dark.

I’ve seen the moon in all of its seasons,

In a sky where my dreams do dwell.

But I can cross to the sea of tranquillity,

As I yield to my fickle friends spell.

(from the musical Moonstone.)

by Brian Crane.

Dedication

For my wife Sue, for all her support and encouragement. But most of all for just being there.

And also for all our canine friends Shelley, Bilbo, Monty, Emma, Hannah, Beth, Sophie, Lily and Fruti who, over the years, have given something of themselves to the character of Jasper

Chapter One

The Hungry Dawn

Beneath the starlit curtain of night,

The wily hunter with eyes keen bright,

Crept without noise with all his senses keen,

Adept in his movements to remain unseen.

The chill and darkness were both ally and friend,

For the fox hunts alone, on no-one he depends.

And now through the frosty moon soaked dew,

All his sinews were strained to what he must do.

The loom of the farmhouse rose up gaunt and dark.

No light could be seen, no dog made a bark.

With silence his guideline and crouching so low,

The fox spied the henhouse and approached very slow.

He skirted it once and he skirted it twice,

Seeking out a weakness to secure his prize.

With no more than a pull the wire fell away,

The hunter was now in with his quarry at bay.

For there in the moonlight he confronted his choice,

But the hens were so startled they clucked with one voice.

And huddled not knowing whether to run or to fly,

Confusion would be their downfall for one must surely die.

The killer and his victims saw their destiny was set.

In the stare of cruel justice as their eyes now met.

The fox smelt the fear as his moist nostrils flared,

With saliva dripping freely as his teeth were bared.

But as this assassin was about to make his leap,

Out of the deep shadows a dark form did creep.

A proud old cockerel came strutting into view,

Head snaking, wings flapping, such a threatening tattoo.

Feet clawed at the floor, spurs sharpened like knives,

The old gladiator stood rigid he would fight or die.

Two pairs of eyes searched for signs of attack,

Neither moving forward, neither moving back.

If either showed weakness the other would take heart.

The only question now was when would the conflict start.

For the arena was full and all there held their breath.

As the fox and the cockerel measured each others strength.

The silence felt icy, the spectators were in awe,

As the prize fighters carved a circle on the floor.

The hunter with his hunger and his family to feed.

The cockerel with his wives, now prepared to live or bleed.

Then without any warning the fox made his lunge.

Directly at his foe who made a desperate jump.

And as the attacker passed harmlessly beneath,

The cockerel’s deadly spur pierced an unprotected cheek.

With a squeal a mixture of both pain and rage

And with blood pouring down his contorted face,

The fox burst through the wire in cowardly retreat.

His bark no more fearsome than a sheepish bleat.

Now the farmhouse was stirring with the farmer awake

And his shotgun blast made the countryside shake.

But the fox was away and scurrying for his skin.

Lungs bursting, legs trembling, his mind in a spin.

But the henhouse was a sad place in the moons silvery light,

For the cockerel’s brave deed was the last in this life.

The strain of the encounter had been too much to bear

And he lay on his back with his feet in the air.

And even in his passing the plume on his head,

Stood erect like a victory banner of blood red.

And those he had saved with his own sacrifice,

Paused in deep silence with such sorrowful eyes.

For there in the henhouse a hero passed away.

Encircled by those he had spared from their fate.

For in life a hero is not the one filled with pride,

It is the one who will give all so that others survive.

And as a the mist rose frostily across the fields,

The fox slunk homeward with no meal to yield.

Just the cold and the hunger plaguing his frame,

And filling his heart with misery and with shame.

He fought to find solace within his tormented mind,

But this heavy weight of failure was so hard to hide.

For he must face the fury of his vixen and his brood,

Who now languished in darkness with no promise of food.

So the chill cut deeply on this hungry dawn,

As the fox wound his way feeling wretched and forlorn.

Though he sought consolation in that he was still alive,

But knowing that each day was a fight to survive.

For in nature life sings the cruelest of songs,

The weak must succumb to the will of the strong.

But the rising of the moon will see this predator abroad.

Again the hunter by night so to claim his reward.

………………………………………….

Chapter Two

A Break In The Chain

Night had fallen sharply like a fist in the face.

Punching out the light from this desperate place.

The moon peered down looking quizzical and stark,

As a bitter chill cut like a scythe through the yard.

The air was now crisp and finely tinged with frost,

With glistening crystals like diamonds in dust.

And from a window a light spilled out like a fan,

A pointed finger from a devil to the damned.

And the voice from the house was a voice deep with drink.

It made the night even colder and the timid to shrink.

For that forbidding pile held a cold heartless brute,

Embittered and wallowing in his own solitude.

And away from the house by the tumble down barn,

In a shelter of sorts two eyes brightly shone.

Not with that glow that makes the heart surge,

But the pain of contempt induced by deep hurt.

For three summers and three winters had forged into one.

Either frozen to the concrete or scorched by the sun.

Each day being the length that the rusty chain allowed,

With a kick and a curse from the brute from the house.

For Jasper his life was a torment from hell.

Not for him the hills and the sweet scented smells.

Or the bliss of a chase in the waving golden corn.

Or on the heels of the sheep for the purpose he was born.

The only spark left in his dark dismal world,

Was the daily appearance of a smiling little girl.

Who with a wave and a giggle would skip her way home,

To leave the magic of her passing alive in his soul.

For this poor wretched animal all his dreams would fly free

And skip down the lane to