These three poems, by John Howells, are posted in his memory with permission from his Executor
Handsome is
"Handsome is, as handsome does" was the Reverend Russell's creed,
a faithful friend to catch the fox, over every other deed.
The hunting skill he valued and from this he sewed his seed,
no ribbon did he treasure, no blueprint did he need.
Diverse has our clan become, though we still bear his name,
in truth from many roots we've sprung, to play a varied game.
Different roles for man we've filled, depending on his need,
more fitted to his tasks we are, than any other breed.
Fitting to your purpose, gave us great variety,
in hunting field, or by your hearth, if you'll learn our history.
No standard can be written down, to value every part,
but none can claim, that proud name, without a loyal Jack Russell heart.
By John Howells © 2013
The Invisible Thread.
There is a thread which pulls me, invisible to you,
close to the earth it holds me and nothing can I do.
It is a thread from ancient times, which leads me by the nose,
no choice I have but follow, wherever that thread goes.
On frosty nights the thread is strong and pulls me here and there
and at the other end I'm sure, is deer, or fox or hare.
No barrier can hold me and onward I must go,
Nature cannot stay me, be it bramble bush or sloe!
Faster I must travel, over hill and dale and brook,
I cannot hear you calling, for the quarry I must look!
Under the stars it's waiting, or deep beneath the ground,
it holds the thread I'm chasing and making not a sound.
If we do meet its sorrow, for it may soon be dead,
but even on the morrow, there will be another thread .
By John Howells © 2013
The Jack Russell's Prayer
It was for hunting my kind were bred, or so the sages say,
to chase the fox and other prey, to bolt or hold at bay.
No fighter was I meant to be, but speedy, brave and true,
to follow man through wood and vale, under skies both grey and blue.
To run all day and follow scents are the instincts of my birth,
to find the prey and follow it , even deep beneath the earth.
Into dark places I will go, my heart leaves me no choice,
but where I am, you will know, by the music of my voice.
Though fearsome creatures I did face, my courage bade me stay,
for this is what I'm meant to do, till I am called away.
Our lives have changed as the old ways pass, but we still follow you,
don't give me faults in the modern world, for what I was bred do.
By John Howells © 2013
Handsome is
"Handsome is, as handsome does" was the Reverend Russell's creed,
a faithful friend to catch the fox, over every other deed.
The hunting skill he valued and from this he sewed his seed,
no ribbon did he treasure, no blueprint did he need.
Diverse has our clan become, though we still bear his name,
in truth from many roots we've sprung, to play a varied game.
Different roles for man we've filled, depending on his need,
more fitted to his tasks we are, than any other breed.
Fitting to your purpose, gave us great variety,
in hunting field, or by your hearth, if you'll learn our history.
No standard can be written down, to value every part,
but none can claim, that proud name, without a loyal Jack Russell heart.
By John Howells © 2013
The Invisible Thread.
There is a thread which pulls me, invisible to you,
close to the earth it holds me and nothing can I do.
It is a thread from ancient times, which leads me by the nose,
no choice I have but follow, wherever that thread goes.
On frosty nights the thread is strong and pulls me here and there
and at the other end I'm sure, is deer, or fox or hare.
No barrier can hold me and onward I must go,
Nature cannot stay me, be it bramble bush or sloe!
Faster I must travel, over hill and dale and brook,
I cannot hear you calling, for the quarry I must look!
Under the stars it's waiting, or deep beneath the ground,
it holds the thread I'm chasing and making not a sound.
If we do meet its sorrow, for it may soon be dead,
but even on the morrow, there will be another thread .
By John Howells © 2013
The Jack Russell's Prayer
It was for hunting my kind were bred, or so the sages say,
to chase the fox and other prey, to bolt or hold at bay.
No fighter was I meant to be, but speedy, brave and true,
to follow man through wood and vale, under skies both grey and blue.
To run all day and follow scents are the instincts of my birth,
to find the prey and follow it , even deep beneath the earth.
Into dark places I will go, my heart leaves me no choice,
but where I am, you will know, by the music of my voice.
Though fearsome creatures I did face, my courage bade me stay,
for this is what I'm meant to do, till I am called away.
Our lives have changed as the old ways pass, but we still follow you,
don't give me faults in the modern world, for what I was bred do.
By John Howells © 2013
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