The Rabbit and the Vulture

Late in the afternoon, the rabbit and vulture happen to meet. They sit in the shade of a marula tree and reflect on the day. The rabbit remarks “A good day huh? A rest from the rain”. The vulture replies “Yes, a good clear day, to see far and wide”. The rabbit added, “Not that I don’t appreciate the rain, it feeds the earth, makes all bloom in beautiful abundance”. The rabbit wrinkled his nose in thought and continued “All through the spring these plants have just been waiting for the right moment, but then, not all wait for the same moment, I myself must wait a little longer for those that grow in the field beyond that hill, but that will be after I have had my fill of this field’s bounty”. The rabbit pricked his ears in enthusiasm “How interesting the seasonal changes, how closely I must pay attention to what grows where and when, it’s all quite wonderful isn’t it?!”. The vulture, his eyes glazed with disinterest, noticed the rabbit had stopped talking. He shuffled his shoulder feathers then replied “That’s all very interesting.. In this clear warm sky I can ascend, so high I can spot death from many miles away” He continued, not noting the rabbits ears retreat “All I need is height and death”. The rabbit recovers somewhat “It is a good clear day”, “Yes”, replied the vulture “A good clear day”.

Advertisements

Care is compulsory

Irons and gallows await the jokers
whose jokes are growing cruel
for those who suffered wit
a most glorious view.

 

When we’re at the gates
and you are arguing your case
I won’t even glance across
your deeds, your loss

 

You wish to build your rockets to the stars
turning away from the souls who starve
feeding ego’s phallic enterprise
burning care in night skies.

 

Man celebrated surviving where the goats dance all day
he gloated in selfies floundering where the fish sashay
he still had no idea how ridiculous he remained
all that he invaded was nature’s domain.

 

The sun’s last light is shimmering on the surface of a fidgeting sea,
appearing like tadpoles writhing on a dried out pool.

 

The words were so odd, extraordinary,
that I went to the next room to lie down,
to absorb why they emerged from sobriety.
I return and pretend they were never said.

 

 

 

 

 

Tidal tickles

Octopus would like to tell tall stories to her kids
of the vampire cuttlefish that preyed on the squid
out of the dank darkness the vampire would slink
grabbing squid from the reef to drink all their ink.

 

Give a fish a man
and he eats for a day
teach him how to man
and he eats forever.

 

The sea shimmers oh so brightly
surely no shadow and no dark
I admired the star’s reflection
then was eaten by a shark.

 

Innocently we were splashing in the river
a passing piranha chewed out my liver
all the blood attracted all more strife
but oh well shit happens such is life.

 

The grass is moving like the ocean waves
what a perverse way to behave
so convincing is the grass’s show
I do not know wether to swim
or to mow.

 

The tide is ripping
my grip is slipping
I’m going under again
all is just bubbles
I’m in deep trouble
It all goes darker but then
a hand on my collar
my gargling holler
I emerge from out of the brine
returning to my fight
I see a splinter light
my friend got to me just in time.

 

When you are just swimming,
you are missing the fun of drowning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fall and return

Rooks, crows and ravens
more colour than the spring
an iridescent rainbow
shines upon their wing.

 

Cackling a morning cry
the crows alight into the sky
they find a fine breakfast to eat
at the morbid diner down the street.

 

Sifting through my many faults, my self analysis. I am frustrated when misunderstood, misheard, I suddenly plummet, like I had made no progress at all. I am back to being a child sitting alone and shy, wondering what everyone else makes of it all, if they see what I see.

 

“Fighting for freedom” a trope for control. The uniforms of war and the tools of war, the slogans of war, how cool they look on the posters of war. All hippiedom is cast aside as folly, what good is peace? Look at how cool death is, how great the killing. For those not lucky enough to go to war, have a weapon for your own! show your friends, make war on your neighbours, invent a reason you need to arm yourself. Give your kids a gun, or give them a killing game for their game machine, let them experience murder by their own hand. All in the name of freedom, freedom to be a manipulated dumbass.

 

The egos love the war
keep war rumbling on
say fighting for a peace
they hope will never come
the pomp and the honour
the explosion of the shells
the death they bring to us
drags their souls to hell.

 

The cats return me to peace
purring in meditation
settling my soul.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mixed reviews

Little ninjas
In jet black silk they prowl their new found world
Green eyes observe sharpening their nerve
Stalking toy prey with little compassion
Practice their role as furry assassin.

 

They are running amok
Going quite bananas
The cutest princes
In black pyjamas.

 

In the queue I watch the barista juggle. Many handles and cups move in blur, I presume many arms, yet only count two. What a wonderful performance to witness on an otherwise ordinary day.

 

They are supposed to be there for the people’s needs
But they have no care to sow
What a wonderful nest they weaved for their own
no twig shared to those below.

 

Let’s get to the heart of it
you just don’t care
you wave your carelessness
as a if it were a virtue.

 

When we see the world does not care for us
it’s easy to slip to carelessness ourselves
feeding into a hateful spiral
It is so important to care.