A Goat's Blog

as transcribed by Henry Haslam

 

THE STORY

 

One Christmas, I received a surprise present of a goat, from an alternative gift catalogue. I was a bit confused at first (THE POEM).

 

The next Christmas I received another surprise present, another goat. It turned out that this goat had rather a lot to say for itself, mostly on the church website (THE BLOG).

 

My thanks go to Sarah and Dave, who started the whole thing off by giving me the first goat; to Adrian, Webmaster of St Andrew’s church, Taunton, for his encouragement; and to Adrian, Ali, Carol, Gill, Katharine, Kevin, Martin, Steve, Stuart and Sue, who gave me such an interesting goat – the goat with the gab.

 

Henry Haslam

Taunton

September 2007

 

THE POEM

 

A Gift of a Goat

 

Dear Sarah and Dave, thank you ever so much:

A gift that’s alive, and so soft to the touch.

A gift of a goat: what a lovely surprise!

(I’m glad that you told me before it arrives.)

A gift of a goat – and it’s coming today?!!

It’s hungry, I’m sure, so I’ll lay in some hay.

I’ll sweep the top room for this heart-warming gift;

It’s nimble on stairs, so it won’t need a lift.

 

I’ll take it for walks every evening and morn,

To seek out the tastiest bramble and thorn.

We’ll learn where to find the most succulent thistle.

I’ll teach it to canter to me when I whistle.

I’m so looking forward to meeting my goat.

It’s wintertime now, so I’ll make it a coat.

I don’t go to work; I could do with a pet,

And a goat with a coat is the finest pet yet.

 

But steady… read further… look carefully and see…

This glorious goat is not coming to me.

The card makes it plain that it’s not mine at all:

It’s helping a family in… Laos or Nepal.

It’s part of a scheme to help people in need,

To raise living standards by sowing the seed,

To give folk a start; after that, so we reckon,

Prosperity, health and nutrition will beckon. 

 

My goat doesn’t know, but its message is clear:

The message of Christmas, the message of cheer.

The gift of a goat tells of peace and goodwill,

From Chile to China, from Chad to Brazil,

Encircling the planet again and again -

Mongolia... Malawi... Jamaica... Ukraine...

The message of Christmas, of God come to earth,

The message of Christmas, the news of new birth.

 

Sometimes I shall think of that glamorous goat,

The goat of my dreams, the goat with a coat,

The gift I won’t see, the best present I’ve had.

My thanks to you both, and with lots of love,

Dad

 

 

 

28 March

 

It’s Spring! It’s my favourite time of the year!

The time of the year it’s so good to be here!

The sun’s getting stronger, the colours are bright;

The clocks have gone forward, the evenings are light;

The grass is a-growing, the hedges are green;

Wherever I look there is food to be seen!

 

 

2 April

 

Of course I’m still blogging; but why do you ask?

I don’t understand why you take me to task?

You tell me you thought I was all out at sea?

You wanted to know what had happened to me?

You want to know how I survived from the wave?

The prospect so bleak, and the outlook so grave?

I’ll tell, if you like, but it won’t be today.

I need to think out what I’m going to say.

You must understand I need time to review

The events that day, when the sky was so blue.

 

 

9 April

 

So here is the story you want me to tell.

You asked for a blog about all that befell

That day when I just did not know what to do;

The one thing I knew was the sky was so blue.
 

I was terribly scared when my boat sprung a leak,

As you can imagine: whose help could I seek?

I must have passed out. When I later came to,

I was lying in bed, and around me – guess who?

The stoat and the puppy dog sitting right here;

The white rabbit too, all the way from Ikea.

I looked, and I saw there were teddies galore,

The penguins, the dolphin, the duckling – and more:

The parrot, the badger, the bear with no hair;

The monkey, who’d leapt from the back of the chair;

The owl that’s called Hedwig; the hog and the dog;

The lion; the elephant chasing the frog;

The snowman, the santa, the panther that’s pink;

The big bear and small bear, who’d climbed from the sink;

The squeaky banana, the funny old bunny;

The doll and the scarecrow, who’d finished the honey;

The snake, the racoon and the clown, all in brown,

His face wreathed in smiles – with no hint of a frown.

 

Such friends! I had panicked, of course, and I thought

I was all on my own in the boat I had bought,

Forgetting that so many friends were nearby.

They saw me in trouble. They all heard me cry.

What a blessing for me there was help close at hand.

They soon got me out; I was safe on dry land.

They rescued my craft from the depths of the moat,

And painted it freshly – a gleaming ‘That Goat’.

 

So that is the story – and all of it true –

Of when my boat sank (and the sky was so blue).

 

9 May

 

I’m writing in a different metre now,

To make a change, to learn a different art.

For that’s the way to greatness, so he says,

The road to fame and fortune, wealth and power.

It’s time to test my mind, to learn new skills,

To follow where the greatest poets led

And forge the way where never goat has trod.

I’m writing here in lines like Shakespeare used;

He never wrote a blog, but in his plays

He used to write in verse that scans like this.

(It’s very easy, really, as you see,

Especially as it doesn’t have to rhyme –

Though, just for you, I’ll make it rhyme this time.)

 

Iambic pentameters, that’s what they’re called;

I can’t say they grab me, or hold me enthralled.

They’re not as adaptable, that’s what I say;

There are so many thoughts that they cannot convey:

‘Iambic pentameter’ won’t fit their metre,

And as for ‘Shakespearean poetry reader’,

There isn’t a hope of you fitting it in,

E’en Shakespeare himself would be all in a spin,

Unable to make the lines scan as they ought,

He’d have to give in; it would make him distraught!

 

I hope that by now you have all understood:

Iambic pentameters aren’t any good!

It’s best I should stick with the metre I know,

Its comforting, steady and rhythmical flow.

 

24 May

 

I pick up some paper… I write something on it…

The next thing I know is I’ve written a sonnet:

 

I wandered off, upon a summer’s day.

My object was to go in search of food.

I left the town, and then, not far away,

My wand’rings brought me to a shady wood.

The branches of the trees were all too high,

And so, alas, there was no food in reach;

And dark it was: I longed to see the sky,

So off I walked, though pine and oak and beech.

I left the wood, and nearby found a field;

(The sun was shining there), and round it grew

Some shrubs and thorns – and then I saw, revealed,

My favourite food, some gorse, and thistles too.

I ate and ate, till I could eat no more;

Then sauntered home, to rest upon the floor.

 

 

25 May

 

I know that I said (and you all understood),

‘Iambic pentameters aren’t any good’.

It’s not really true. If you stop and think on it,

You can’t do without them for writing a sonnet.

They’re really quite useful, some poets would say.

Perhaps I was hasty. Perhaps they’re OK. 

 

8 June

 

I read the best poets; I know them all well

(It’s poetry reading that taught me to spell).

There’s Wordsworth and Shelley and Shakespeare and Lear;

There’s Kipling and Browning – I’ve got them all here;

There’s Tennyson, Chesterton, Betjeman, Donne;

And then there’s that versatile poet, Anon;

Macaulay, O’Shaughnessy, Milton and Pope;

MacCaig – and then Coleridge, Carroll and Cope.

There’s poets galore if you know how to look:

There’s Keats and there’s Yeats and there’s Wilde and there’s

       Brooke;

I’ll read any poem; I need no excuse

To open a volume by Nash or by Suess.

I know, off by heart, the best lines that they wrote:

I’m widely renowned as ‘The Goat with a Quote’. 

 

13 June

 

He wants me to put in a plug for his book

To get all you readers to have a good look.

I don’t really want to. I’ve put up a fight,

But, since he insists, I shall tell you the site.

You switch your computer on first; get it set,

And then you can find it by searching the …

        www.moralmind.co.uk.

You see what I mean? How it upsets the rhyme?

It upsets the metre as well, every time.

 

The website describes what his book has to say

And quotes the reviews – and they think it’s OK.

The book’s about people, philosophy too,

And then evolution. There’s nothing for you –

It’s terribly boring, the stuff that he wrote.

He isn’t a poet like me; he’s no goat.

He writes all in prose; there’s no rhyme I can see,

Except for the footnote on page 83. 

 

20 June

 

It's the time of the year when we head for the moors;

Ascending the hillsides, all marching in fours.

It's Midsummer's Eve, and the Chorus of Goats

Are leaving the plains, with their farms and their moats,

To gather together, assembled in flocks,

On summits and peaks, on crags and on rocks.

The crowds come to listen, so eager to hear

The Chorus of Goats sing in concert, each year.

We sing from the hilltops, we sing from the heart,

We sing to the dawn. When we're ready to start

I give them a C from the depths of my throat.

(They all of them know I'm 'The Goat with the Note'.)

 

You never have heard such a magical sound:

The Chorus of Goats singing out all around.

Just hark at the harmony, filling the air

With music so joyful, with melody fair.

The climax is when, just before we all leave,

That Goat sings a solo, a recitative.

It's time, after that, for us all to depart;

We send you away with a song in your heart.

The Chorus of Goats have delighted your ear

With music to hold for the rest of the year.

 

29 June

 

It’s never to early to plan your display,

As carnival time edges closer each day.

I can see myself now, as ‘The Goat with a Float’;

The crowds will all wave at the float with the goat!

I’m a seafaring goat, so I know what I need

(As well as a strong and reliable steed):

I must have a float I can take on the moat;

My stoat, only yesterday, said (and I quote),

‘We must have a watertight float that will float!’

Most steadfast of stoats! He was right that our float

Must float like a boat with a goat on the moat.

(Now aren’t I a clever poetical goat!) 

 

15 July

 

You all know that poem of his, where he wrote,

‘It’s wintertime now, so I’ll make it a coat’?

Well, winter it was when I came to his flat,

And cold it was too, and I didn’t like that;

But never a sign of a coat did I see

Till Sunday (today) at a quarter to three.

It’s summertime now, and I’m rather dismayed

To find that I’m given this coat he has made.

He found an old shirt and he cut it in two.

(Believe me – it’s true. What a dumb thing to do!)

I must have been dreaming, not keeping alert,

And now I’m wrapped up in a half of a shirt.

The sleeves are so long that I can’t move around.

I’ll just have to sit here until I am found.

 

I’ll wait until one of you comes to the flat

And you can release me. I’ll thank you for that.

It gives me no pleasure to say to my stoat

That now, only now, I’m ‘The Goat with a Coat’.

 

6 July

 

There’s coat and there’s boat and there’s moat and there’s note –

But who can be all of them? Why! It’s That Goat!

 

I’m a goat of many colours, I’m a goat to sail the sea;

I’m the goat around the castle, I’m the goat of middle C!

 

I’m a goat to keep invaders out, on that you must agree;

I’m a goat to keep you warm: a multipurpose goat – that’s me!

 

5 August

 

A Gift from a Goat

 

I’ve something to tell you, I’ve news to convey:

I’m writing this blog, then I’m going away.

My days here are over. I’m leaving tonight,

And this is the last ever blog I shall write.

So why am I leaving? And where shall I go?

The future is hazy, but one thing I know:

It’s time to move on; I must follow my star

Wherever it leads – and it may lead me far.

 

I’m starting in Europe, the sights for to see.

I’ll do the Grand Tour. I’ll be having a spree!

I’ll see all the cities, like Paris and Rome;

Then head for the hills, where a goat feels at home.

A goat, in his youth, should the Matterhorn climb,

To stand on the top of that summit sublime.

The Eiger, as well, is a peak to ascend;

You start from the north, and you go with a friend.

I’ll walk through the pastures and meet all the goats;

We’ll talk about puppies and rabbits and stoats.

Then one final visit, as destiny calls:

He wants me to go to the Reichenbach Falls.
 

I won’t finish there. I’ve a long way to go;

I’m searching the world for a goat I don’t know –

The goat that was his, but was not his at all,

The goat that’s in Laos, or perhaps in Nepal,

Or perhaps somewhere else, for I really don’t know,

But one day I’ll find him, in sun or in snow.

 

And when I have found him, in snow or in sun,

I’ll stop, for I’ll know that my journey is done.

And then we shall talk: we shall talk of the past,

Of how I went searching, and found him at last;

We’ll talk of the moat, and my friends left behind;

We’ll talk of the future, and what we shall find.

 

We’ll talk and we’ll rest. At the turn of the year,

As Christmas comes round, in that season of cheer,

The greeting of old will remain the same still,

The message to everyone, ‘Peace and goodwill’.

And then we shall know it is time we should start

On the work that is ours; we shall each play our part.

 

Our task is to seek out each piece of goodwill,

To plant it, to grow it, to nurture it, till

There’s more than enough for the whole of the earth;

We’ll mix it and stir it with mountains of mirth;

We’ll give it away, and with plenty to spare;

Just look, and you’ll see there’s goodwill in the air –

There’s lots of goodwill, and there’s merriment too,

A gift from a goat, it is my gift to you.

 

 

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