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.

For Sale By Owner

the tired old man
lived there long years,

while the paint faded
and the roof rotted.

then he moved on,
he needed help,
and tried a realtor,

but gave up after
a wretched while,

who took his sign,
because there was

no longer anyone 
to deal with.

and the old shack
began its return
to mother earth.

Rattlesnake Point

   from here 
      it looks
so different,

   and it seems
      like another
world, a wonder.

someone thought
   its name might
frighten tourists.

   so they put a
different name
      on the map.

      local people
laugh about it.

they know that
rattlesnakes are
      native too.

   they are not 
overly sensitive 
      about it.

      and if tourists
   are too scarey,
a good bite might
   set things right!

Tree Heliotrope

   i heard it said
tree heliotrope
   is throughout
much of oceana.

   so many places
   i have not been!

      toxic, they say,
in large amounts.
   nobody would
      eat that much.

crooked branches.
   who could build
with such tangled 
      wood as that?

but trees like this
   are fine, so fine,
for creating shade
beneath a south
      pacific sun.

Coral Sand, Black Lava

white coral sand, 
      wet black lava,
   tropical seas, 
the summery sky!

      every day seems
a wonderful dream.

we eat shave ice
   but not much
      ice cream.


      a secret beach
seems such an idea!
 
down a private road,
(we asked the young
      guard for access, 
      quickly granted)
we were on our way.

   a narrow road on 
      white coral sand,
a gift from the bowels
   of many parrotfish,
   and we are grateful.


      a wonderful
uncrowded beach.
      we carried on,

to welcome shade 
      beneath hot
      sunny skies.

   in black and white,
feeling, no surprise.

October Thistle

black is white,
      they want 
   to tell me.

i won't make
that mistake
   really soon.


   but they count
on me and you,

      to believe
the nonsense
that they spew.

      angry at us
when we won't
   swallow all
      the muck,

      in which 
they wallow.

      i might like
a soapbox too,

   to stand on
and shout out
   what's true.

black is black
   and white 
      is white,

      may they 
always meet!

wrong is wrong;
      right is right,
we must be careful.

darkness may
      swallow 
up the light.

when we see
the shadows
coming close,

   shout danger, 
danger, danger!

      push those
   shadows back
to dusty corners
   in evil minds.

Black and White #27

Black and White #27

      some things
      need to be
black and white,
   not skin colour,

      everyone, you
are my brother (sister) 
      and i know you 
you are another me.


   this black and
   white i mean
is good and evil.

      the politics of
selfishness oppose
   kindness and
      fair play.

      horrible old men
want to be dictators,
      to invalidate
      elections, and
attack democracy,
   and seize power.
evil is as evil does.

      i may be blunt,
stating an opinion.
      dictators are
badly behaved
   sewer rats. in
      other words:
      our brothers...

Grey Tones

heading for oblivion,
      we race along 
   a lonely highway.

      why do we smile?
   fools have no wings,
reaching for the sun, 

an old broken chariot,
      swinging across
   a summer sky.

      we look for safety,
and it still eludes us;
   we are so reckless.

      colours fade
      in our eyes
      just before
darkness comes.

   we are left with
black and white
      and shadows.

      i look south
   along the lake
remembering

   my little dog,
   enthusiastic
      hiking friend
when i see this
      photograph.

      i guess he
saw no colour.
his foolishness
      was limited
   to trusting me.
we have no limit.

Bright Tropic Storefronts

   memory loses
   bright colours,
before they fade
away to nothing
      as they will...

      vivid tones 
and hues create
   questionable
      drama.

   memory loses
   bright colours,
before they fade
away to nothing
      as they will...

   we wonder if 
false drama is 
      required to
   satisfy  fools.

   memory loses
   bright colours,
before they fade
away to nothing
      as they will...

Red, red, red

i met a man who
   could not see
      any colour.

   though i love
      to see colour,
i didn't pity;

   the man with
      no colour
was good as any.

he lived his way,
      making this 
   world his own.

he wasn't disabled
      in any way. 

      nobody knows 
what other senses
he may have had.

      he wasn't talking
about such things.

      perhaps there is
no way to speak of
   unshared visions.

we all walk alone.