we'll try 
      to forget
why anyone 
would feel 

   or that any 
   bite might 
be a delicious 

like artichokes
(once you get
      past the 

   so many have
such defences.
   hurt once, we
   try strategies
      to minimise

future attacks,
   painful and 
   maybe evil.

something to 
      be said 
for prickles.

   none of us
wants to be
      bitten or
chewed up.

Into the Unknown

Into the Unknown

red flowers hung
on a flower tree,

      growing there
both wild and free

      every day a 
fresh journey.

   all destinations
offer to surprise.

   sometimes we
   flew wingless

in the wide and
      cloudy skies. 

   walking on
volcanic soil
was always
      such a joy.

      red flowers
growing on a tree
   created so
much  mystery.
   flowers like this
we'd never seen.

   (came from 
places we've 
      never been)

they bother 
some bees,

red flowers hung
on a flower tree,

      growing there
both wild and free

Kalanchoe 2020b1

Kalanchoe 2020b1

   locked inside,
today i look
      at memories.

      think about all
those friends who
   might have been.

   beautiful women
who smile at me,
      and don't even
know my name.

i look at novels
      i have not yet
begun to write,

   dream of houses
i have yet to build,

meditate on
      songs i have 
   not written,
nor ever sung.

      is it time
to regret my
   time is yet
   so limited,

   the things i
wanted to do
and have not?

Colour Dance

Colour Dance

waiting for sunrise,
      pastel orange sky,
december's icy winter,
   i watch as birds fly,
      east (not south).

a bouquet sings,
      it dances,
pirouettes, flashes 
      excited eyes.

   she worships
      beauty in her
   mirror, in the 
   morning light. 

      when the sun 
arises, she sings
   a bouquet song.

      she is amazing 
in wonderful colours,
   that i cannot see.

   her beauty blinds
   me, lights in skies,
long summer days.

      it pays to be 
careful. staring at 
the sun damages 
   our vision. her 


see where i've been
   a vibrant garden,
      it all stands still
this coloured scene.

hurtle through
    the sky, some
summer day

   five hundred 
miles per hour,
      so they say.

      a garden has
some mystery, 
a latent threat,

a body buried
   no regrets.

   a virus, all
invisible has
peace of mind.

estranging friend
   from friend, who
   could not stand
comfortably close,

to share those
   all important

social creatures
   mad monkeys
      in a riot,

   how can the
      centre hold,
it's never quiet.

see where i've been
   a vibrant garden,
   it all stands still
this coloured scene.



   bunches of tiny 
      white dreams:
flowers, bundled
like tiny bouquets,

      they come
from far away,
across a world.

(we never saw
them disembark
      the plane.)

they say the
dream business will
not be the same.

we cannot fly,
the virus 
clipped our wings.

   live only in
our dreams.

nothing is certain,
   has changed.

   our world was
such a wonder,
but now that's

Little Orange Something

it's a little orange
   nice to look at.
      if i listen,
i will hear that.

   part of this 
is quite sharp 
      and clear,
and part of it
   looks fuzzy.

some things are
      pretty simple,
some are quite
      a puzzle.

   we want our
      world back,
better somehow
   than it was.

      (let's not look
too closely at the 
   mess we made.

      if we looked
      at the truth
of it, we should
      be afraid.)