Party Colour

Party Colour

   some colours scream,
there is a party going on

somewhere nearby,
      loud and exciting.


      at some parties,
   people act foolishly
if properly encouraged.

shout and scream
      fall down without tears.


   purple and yellow,
   bright orange like
      sunshine,

a little bit of green!


      january flowers
are found indoors,

and seem to be so
   out of context
   with the season.

the bright colours
      cheer us though,

   which has value
now that all our

winter celebrations
      are over and
the lights are off.

Share the Road

tiny trucks deliver
to tiny shops,

as if there was
room on roads.


pedestrians
learn quickly.

out of the way!


(no suitable
translation
springs to mind.)

everyone moves
aside, quickly.

tiny trucks
go slowly by.


white-painted 
roads in a 
beautiful place.

tiny trucks leave
no dirty tracks
on the streets.


shops sell a few
amazing things:
exquisite art,

a bowl: carved
of ancient olive,
grown thousands
of years ago.

cool shade is
an under-rated
blessing.

just stay cool!

Ruins and Palms

ruins and palms
have little value
      in my daily life.

   in my memories 
they are magical.


stories of ruins,
      of the things
   that happened 
there and there,

well I know that 
      i ought to say:

   something's 
      very special 
   about the stories 
i don't want to hear.

like the palms,
   they are not
related to my
  own stories,

or my life.

   they have a very
different mesage,
      maybe, while i
might have none.

my own stories or my life

nothing important,
because i must be
about as important
   as an ant in a hill.

   would i like to be
more important?

      what kind of 
   responsibility
comes with that?


maybe to be an ant 
      is enough.

   and what about
   the palm and its
      importance?

   and the wall?

Spring Seawall

drifting along
a beautiful
seawall on
an island,

they have
no agenda,
nor purpose.

nothing's
important
on a day 
like this.


quarried stone
holds back waves,

waves breaking
unnaturally
on hard stone.

make no mistake;
any rock weathers
on these edges.

some last longer
than others. 
 
these stones last 
longer than we do.


for us the people 
are always the story.

and here, the story 
is that the people
do not seem so 
very important.

not much going on,
no real dramas
are unfolding.


the drama here
is all unseen,
and unseeable,
or maybe 
the drama is
the landscape.
 

Coldstream Creekside

somewhere near,
a road-building
project destroyed

a historic wonder,
i made a photograph:
a very old log house.

sunburned from
probably a century
of summer sun.

logs turned rich
brown and black,

cracks filled with 
old white plaster.
whitewash, maybe.

i don't know the 
stories i can't see.

i can always
believe nonsense;
it's a very human 
thing to do.


the creek flowed
silently past the
old log house.

maybe it was
drinking water,
though today it
looks murky,
a bit dangerous.


old stories are
impossible to
prove, a bit murky,

digging for
truth a little quirky

we turn over stones,
looking to see clues
to untold stories,
stories we can't see.

Black Widow Spider

   she's such a 
      gruesome
creature, 

  waiting quietly
  for something
foolish enough

      to wander
close enough.

      she will
pounce and
sink fangs in
deep enough

to inject her
   poisonous
      venom.


two workmen
   watched me
      capture 
her image,

to make this 
   photograph,

from what they
   considered a
safe distance.


her bite might 
   not be fatal
for someone
      my size.

it might make
   me very sorry.

   and sorrier,
      her mate,
who i am not,
may be killed
      and eaten.

   i am not him,
   and keep my
safe distance.


      she is so
beautiful in
   her hunger,

      almost a
      majestic
creature,

      with such
   gruesome
expectations.

 
   she is amazing, 
a thing of wonder.

Hydrangea Bouquet

springtime, in the
floral department,
looks like this.


many times, in a
long cold winter,
we craved warmth,

wanting what we
did not have.


maybe it's always
springtime, in the
floral department,

i wouldn't know.

there are things
that i don't need
to see or 
hear or say..

but i fear that i am 
no wise monkey,

and see so much
that makes me sad. 


springtime, in the
floral department,
looks like this.

Looking Up

Looking Up

insignificant 
beside the hill,
i begin to
understand
my importance
in the scheme 
of things.

if i were to think
about my time
and the scale
of time these hills
represent,

i'd have to be 
impressed by my
time as much as
by my stature.

how important 
i am not!

i think and 
words come out, 
not always exactly
appropriate;

it can be a struggle.

layers of sand, 
turned to stone, 
containing all 
the stories 
of so many ages.

i seee it all, 
amazing, 
i am amazed.

humbling, but
i am not humiliated.
loving the chaotic beauty
of this wild place!

Vivid Sky

Vivid Sky

why do i think it's
the edge of night?

      just before 
   the darkness
smothers colour

then darkness 
comes,
      and 
sticky eyelids
   stick shut
until morning.

why do i think it's
the edge of night?

      why not:
the edge of day?

or something
   else
   unusual?

      maybe we
should consider 
      mid-day 
and midnight.

      but nothing 
seems unusual 
   about either.

   maybe we can 
forget middles 
      and edges 
   and make it 
all about the sky.

      seahorses
in the clouds!

Black and White Valley

 some things 
 look so good 
 in colour, 

and sometimes 
greytones make 
 music forever 
in our thirsty souls.

 this land rose up,
millions of years ago.

 a glacial lake
 transformed
from solid to 
 cold water,

 and burst 
 its banks 

making a sudden
 river,

 rushing roaring
torrent nightmare

 all day long,
maybe a thousand
 years eroding

this sculpted
 river valley.

now we are 
 witness to 
the aftermath,

this sculpted
 landscape.