Green Custers

The residue wrought

from a torrential night

now rests peacefully

like a tibetan soul in deep

tranquil meditation

upon

the pulsating green foliage

cleansed and vibrant

ready for the inherent evil

and her yellow-grey legions.

Hanging My Rocks at a Picnic

An idyllic setting

Comfy grass

Picnic worthy

A cool blue lake

Amongst lazy reeds

The sun beating down

Warming my toes

And gives sparkle to the water,

Rippling from the thrusts of hungry

Ducks – a prism hanging from a thread

 

A sight without compare!

But what is this? Oh No!

Fearsome grey towers

Unmoving in the breeze

Cold and joined

Pensive birds cling to

The well ordered vines

Like trapeze clowns

Mocking the circus

Act we live

 

The only thing

These help grow

Is the deadly

Bloom on my

Bloodied mind

 

But I do cherish

The wonders they bring

Digital watches with alarms

Connections to Kyoto, Rome and Sanfrancisco

Instantaneous dialogue with distant

Loved ones

Long forgotten fish, still edible

In my fridge

 

Can I blank out these vicious towers

Compromise my vision

Or turn them into

Winter Solstice statues

All facing south

As a backdrop

Ringing the isle

Of my idyllic setting?