Description: 'Croak' is slang for 'die' and 'bloke' is slang for 'man'. Cane toads are Bufo Marinus: feral foreigners in Australia and an ecological pest. A giant poisonous toad is a much better symbol of ecological pest-hood than a sexy human being is, eh? "Teeming young": cane-toad polliwogs eat up all the native frog polliwogs and poison their predators. Some communities have Associations for finding canetoads and killing them. There is a competition for how far you can drive one with a golf club. The skins can be boiled for an addictive drug. Oh, it is a wonderful monster and there should be more poems about it. I like canetoads more than I like most humans, but don't tell anybody I said that, eh? How come I got 27 views and no comments here, anyway? Sometimes I don't understand life on this website! But, like the canetoad, I seem to do fine with no understanding so hey.
My own cane-toad stares at me from the wall,
a fat old prophet primed to say it all:
Its turned-down mouth seems set to utter: "Croak!"
Its braced forelegs seem just about to crawl
out of the photograph like that old joke
about an artist's ugly other bloke
whose heart not like his work is hard and small.
It looks so human: its brainless grimace
says I may wish, not hope our teeming young
will generate enough intelligent grace
to bring evolving Earth the dream that's sung.
This dreamer's thinking: "Croak!" and stares at me
as if I were a bug and aims its tongue:
like most, its taste is not for poetry.
Oh, what great closure. It's sad isn't it, that poetry has fallen by the wayside? I find, even, that a good many poets that I've met don't really even read poetry.
I like the idea of the frog as the prophet. Interestingly I was recently reading an article about the mass extinction of many species of frog which (it's said) points to the failing health of our planet.
Anyway, when I think of this poem in that context it fits well, though it seems the cognitive health of our species has been dwindling for some time.