Seven Days of Survival
. . . by Richard "Aukcoo" Fowler
Our ship went down in Dargo,
All hands were lost but me,
No clothing, food or shelter,
Only jungle could I see.
A land of unexplored peril,
Where dreadful creatures abound,
Nothing at all was familiar,
Not a sight, a scent nor a sound.
With a chance I might be rescued,
I knew I must survive,
In a land where few ever ventured,
And none ever came back alive.
Survival's in the knowing,
Who's along the path you tread,
The ones who steal behind you,
And the ones who lurk ahead.
On Monday I was threatened,
By a russet-headed scalp,
But I dispatched it quickly,
With a sharp jab in the palp.
Its fur was soft and downy,
So I wore it, inside-out,
Its razor-spiraled hornpin,
Made a weapon, sharp and stout.
That night I found a grotto,
Hidden well out of sight,
I lay down on a filoplume,
And slept away the night.
Survival's in the knowing,
How to get from day to day,
He who knows his predators,
Will live to know his prey.
On Tuesday I went foraging,
And found some dillfish fry,
Sliced then up with gumbert,
And cooked them in a pie.
That evening I encountered,
A swarm of bobley wharls,
Then almost fell into a pawl,
Of misintended gnarls.
I kept my wits about me,
And slowly eased away,
My reward for stealth and cunning,
Was to live another day.
Survival's in the knowing,
The ways that you might gain,
It's also in the spurning,
The ways that bring you pain.
On Wednesday I picked starnuts,
From a big thornfeather tree,
Flavored them with frogroot,
And boiled them into tea.
Strengthened it with cottersap,
Sweetened it with quait
Garnished it with plansing,
And drank it all down straight.
And braggs! What tasty morsels!
But I ate them only twice,
For they were too compulsive
(They made me feel too nice!)
Survival's in the knowing,
As well as in the ken,
Of not just what you're facing,
But the why and how and when.
On Thursday it was raining,
I was cold and all alone,
'til I spied a fretful watch-hock,
And offered it a bone.
It came right up and licked me,
And fast became my friend,
In the afternoon the two of us,
Brought down a crippled splend.
That evening we shared dinner,
(There was far too much for me),
And later, by my fireside,
He stayed on watch for me.
Survival's in the knowing,
It's the art of fitting in,
When fiends arises from enemies,
Then goodness springs from sin.
On Friday I just rested,
'Neath a sprawling catleaf tree,
I marvelled at my fortune,
In this land so new to me.
I watched a spake do summersaults,
And listened to the croons,
A ruffled ardor danced for me,
That night beneath the moons.
A swarm of downy fluffwings,
Came drifting down on me,
They felt so soft and comforting,
That I just left them be.
Survival's in the knowing,
Not just how to get along,
But how to accpt solace,
And how to reject wrong.
On Saturday my rescuers,
Came floating from the sky,
I felt a pang of deliverance,
And a stab of sad goodbye.
Goodbye to this experience,
To that freedom I could feel,
To the keen edge on my senses,
To a week of unbound zeal.
Throughout this grand adventure,
This week of my rebirth,
I lived my life more fully,
Than I ever had on earth.
Survival's in the knowing,
How to tell the bad from good,
When the actors can be recognized,
The plot is understood.
circa 1974
Poem copyright © 2004 Richard "Aukcoo" Fowler
Contact Richard "Aukcoo" Fowler at aukcoo@hotmail.com Webmaster: Lalo Calderon |