Through glistening autumnal glade she strode, with not one rustle of leaf
Onward she skipped across the lake with not one ripple beneath her feet
Yet the sun she saw her come, Jealous she scorched her fragile frame
Not one piece of her beauty, just a wisp of smoke remained.
The cruel ignorant few hold the tiller of our ship
They intend to crush our spirit on this wildest trip
Our power seems stripped but for our vengeful voice
No wheel offered to us for direction, no reasonable choice
But to shout and to scream, till the monster’s hands quiver from
For the good to take the tiller, to guide us from this hateful maelstrom.
The Siamese is visiting again, he comes to be with us occasionally, just enough time to know he cares. The other day I saw him dart across the lawn. I went out to see him, but he was not in sight, I called him anyway. A scratchy clatter and he arrived on the fence, leapt into the garden and trotted over to see us. He sits his elegant self on the mat and melts us with his deepest sapphire eyes. This act of generosity deserved a treat. chicken for you my enigmatic friend. And I know what you are thinking behind those reading eyes, no, he would come anyway, treat or not.
Those who take comfort in the silence
others find the busy settles the mind
infinitely differently are we constructed
in no neat boxes are we confined.
We firmly pushed the pendulum
as it looked right out of place
sadly it swung back right
and hit us in the face.
The Bees are in trouble, both mites and minute beetles bring destruction and disease to the hive. But how to help?
Firstly I asked for audience with the Ant Queen. She was in no mood to host guests, the colony had only recently been attacked by hostile snout. Yet I was granted an ear, to return a favour.
“It would be mutually beneficial for both parties to share the hive” I said, “Your people would have all the mites and beetles you can eat”. She cast a sly gaze and replied “Why the mites and the beetles, when so many plump bees are present?”.
The two colonies have always had uncomfortable relations, yet I wish a solution.
“Sure, yes you could fight in your many numbers to invade the hive, but the bees have something to give you too”
So I reached an answer and the Ant Queen agrees, no harm to come to the bees.
Next I visited the Queen of the bees.
The hive had heard of my visit to the Ants, they buzzed suspiciously as I passed the combs, down to see the Queen, to her troubled throne. “Good afternoon your majesty, I have a proposal to ease your troubles..”. She interjected “I have heard that you have attended the ants, why would you befriend such beasts?”.
Why is shaking a fist and whipping up war, always so much easier than creating peace? I thought to myself.
I explained “It is true I have visited the Ant Queen, I asked for her help, as I ask for yours”. Once more she interjected, “Last time they came, they took many to be eaten, they have no love of us Bees”. I bow low and assured her, I have received The Ant Queen”s word that no malice shall intrude into this arrangement, I know that in a short while, there will be new friendships bound by mutual help.
So now the ants share the hive. Eating the pests of the Bee, while the ants gain stinging protection from all intruding noses. Mutual interest, gaining mutual respect.
Woolacombe, a beach I have not experienced before, a mind bender of a beach.
We approach, the sand spread out before us, we see the destination too. The destination of our walk. It looks at first glance to be a ten minute walk along the bay, but ten minutes into the walk, this view has changed, as the destination is as small as ever. Pin pricks in the distance, of people walking dogs, they seem near yet so tiny. The complete lack of scale, but for those pin pricks of folks miles along the beach. To see so far, with no scale, no landmark, not turns, no corners. A sea of sand to walk by the foam frilled edge of the cold sea surf. A sandy meditation.
A dream I had
A small creature stood on the window sill behind the curtains, not more that four inches tall, he watched the goings on beyond the pane. On his head a cotton tuft, on his long nose were candy red and white stripes. In a chatty tone that we use for all introductions to small creatures, I said “Hello little one”. To my surprise he replied “Hello, good morning, how are you?”.
And I imagine he would take exception, for that is not his trade
he is not one to turn down a coin, though exclusions must be made
not to ask for what can’t be delivered, better off to ask elsewhere
just because you know and trust him, it does not mean he cares.
If there is something that needs doing, better to get off your arse
nothing to be doing when just staring down your empty glass
procrastination starts when your thoughts go from now to soon
time is not for pausing, we are not living in a warner bros cartoon.
laying and imagining walking on the ceiling, crunching over the artex
stepping over the wall and through the door, looking up at the carpet
and all the trinkets gripping on to that other gravity. Under foot is clear but for a lamp, so much nicer to have clear space, though thoughts of pottery joining my gravity, keeps my mind occupied.
Walking to a distant spire
a step taken is short yet
it seems such little time
till we are in the church’s shadow.
The panic of change
and the boredom of the same
try to dance the alley in-between
keep the mind from blowing to extreme.
The moon is not watching you
It is merely a point of reflection
to connect with all you hold dear.
The bare knuckles of the tree
Sends chill shivers right through me
Iced light pours over the limbs
As our brief winter’s day dims.
Peeking from around a tree,
the squirrel sat a watching me.
he crept and stole my gifts away
to line his criminally opulent drey.
I just felt the spring start coiling
Beyond the chill as we are toiling
The tension felt through the ether
Soon to burst like flooding river
Buds to explode in vibrant colour
Spirit bursting from our mother.
We draw the line in our monthly chain
as if tomorrow was new
while each tick continues the same
Its all an imagined view.
I gathered my funds
to chase the sun
not one day older