This story, presented in the form of a poem, was written more than fifty years ago by Ian McNeish when he was in his early twenties. His father had been a prisoner of war in World War Two. Ian felt there had to be a better way to deal with problem issues in the world, without resorting to war. His simple solution, written in the mid 1960’s, was to understand the problem then find a peaceful way to resolve it.

Following is that poem.

Each verse in the completed poem is accompanied by an image. In this version, only four images are included. Enjoy.

Plight of the Kakleeupoms;

In a far of land where trees are yellow,

Hark! The sound of the Kakleeupom bellow,

flitting around with amazing ease,

through the place of yellow trees.

Kakleeupoms, so gentle, cuddly and fat,

floppy ears tucked under their hat,

a hiding place for their basic diet;

apple pie and crunchy carrot.

These gentle giants survive for years,

flapping around with floppy ears,

from branch to bough, amongst the leaves

in that saffron land of yellow trees.

Why they bellow? Well, that’s the puzzle,

flying around with velvet muzzle,

oblivious to their noisy plight,

with days so long and scarcely a night.

Mystery to solve, our trio brave

set sail on the tide, out through the wave,

scudding along, ‘neath stars so bright,

determined to end the Kakleeupoms plight.

Full moon out on the jelly ocean,

safe in craft with wobbly motion,

they spied a Moujic Rumbi grand,

deceph’alous creature from far off land.

The Rumbi closed, flopped by their side,

settled down, scratched its hide.

‘The answer lies with the Fennel bloom’,

she whispered to the cabin loon.

Quick as a flash, scratched on the oar,

the vital clue must reach that shore.

With fruits of lemon, bushes of yellow,

the only sound, the Kakleeupoms bellow.

Through rolling seas of lazuli blue,

then on the rise, a golden hue

in the air a strange phenomenon,

Kakleeupoms bellowing, on and on and on.

With secret recipe fresh to hand,

they find a beach, a place to land,

creep ashore to that noisy place,

only fennel bloom to trace.

Cotton buds in their ears they bore,

searching about that golden shore,

sniffing and sneezing in pollen filled air,

they sought that flower, so fresh and fair.

At last they trace the shimmering bloom,

so well described to the cabin loon,

bring it to the secret spot,

pop it in the trusty pot.

Through dark night they stir and mix,

sweating hard to find the fix,

spoon of honey, juice of lime,

papaw ripe; so little time.

Fennel bloom, the last to add,

phew! the smell is pretty bad.

Now they have the magic potion,

reason why they travelled the ocean.

To Kakleeupom ears the liquid apply,

will that stop their need to cry?

Sealing potion in a flask

head inland to finish the task.

To each Kakleeupom, on being caught

ears are smeared with mixture hot.

At last they are treated, big and small,

cured at last of their dreadful call.

The time had come to leave this land,

to its Kakleeupoms and the Rumbi grand,

sail away from isle of yellow,

free at last of the noisy bellow.

Now Kakleeupoms flit throughout the summer,

from bush to tree with scarcely a murmur,

cured forever; hearing at last,

no more need to bellow and blast.

So if you keep looking over the years,

you might see a creature with fluffy ears,

making its way across an ocean,

in jelly craft with wobbly motion.

It just might be a Rumbi grand,

going about from land to land,

or maybe, a Kakleeupom, quiet as a mouse,

out on a trip from its yellow house.

So whatever ocean you travel through,

whether its green, or yellow, or blue,

remember; a velvet muzzle is no longer a menace,

thanks to Spot and Dot and Dennis.

Plight of the Kakleeupoms

PIGEONS and POLICE

Tell Tall Tales and Drink Whisky