Hilltop to Hilltop

looking across a timescape
we see into a distant past

where great lumbering
creatures walked a beach


after they died (huge
piles of rotting meat)

bones were revealed
(sand washed in)
covered deep for eons

minerals leached in
replacing calcium
(bones became stone)

covering sand became stone 
(long millions of years)
and buried deep the bones

volcanoes erupted
spewing ash which became
thick silent layers

ice ages came and went
continents drifted while
land rose and subsided


looking across a timescape
we see into a distant past

Dials and Bells

Dials and Bells

looking up skywards
   we can't fail to see

      dials and bells
      on a tower face


   marking time
sounding alarms

   as our lives tick by
chimes ringing out


      we can yell
   we can scream
whisper or shout

dials mark time
   in a visual way


      but now we find
   we may not know
   or even understand


      what time is
or how it flows


   what really matters 
with the time we have
      is how we grow
and what we grow into

Spring by the Lake

the water's cold
   although the 
      ice is gone.

   we know icy water 
from almost before 
      we were young .

   stick your toes
in springtime's 
      chilly water. 

your toes went in
      to the ankle;
you know cold water
for long as you live.


      deep chill, 
      down deep
to where light fades

into featureless
      blurry shadow

      diffuse light
seems to come
from every place.


interesting days,
      we still survive:

      icy weather,
   cold spring water
chills our toddler toes.

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!

Like Angels in Springtime

Like Angels in Springtime

Sometimes we may
get too close,
as beautiful
as anything
can be.
The smiles
in that
young girl’s eyes,
I really
love to see.
Plum blossoms
on a chilly tree,
covered by
hardworking bees.
The perfume’s fine,
and almost
brings us
to our knees.

That’s not
so bad.
Perhaps we
could spend
more time
down there,
thankful for
everything
that’s here.
Instead we
scheme and
cheat and
steal,
to get us
things that
are too real.
Things that
have no
feeling.

Angels in
springtime,
attracting bees
(working so hard,
just hear
them buzz).
One taxis
onto the runway
of my hand.
There I stand,
considering
if I’ll kill it
or, pay attention
to it walking
up my arm.
Pause.
That tiny
creature walks
around, and
safely flies
away.
Some new kind
of beauty,
I’d never
noticed
before.

Broad View

Summer brings beauty,
green tones
like a special heaven.

Afternoon heat
bakes tired eyes.
Its easy
to forget.
Breathe. Breathe.

Doze only
in safety.
Predatory creatures
may appear.
Some of them
could be human…

Treetops provide
refuge
from predators.
When time
becomes non-linear,
a secret story
can not be told.

Two wide photographs
make a panoramic scene.
Houses on a hillside,
hundreds of years after
el Greco’s Toledo.

 

The way we live,
these days.
Separated by fences,
each in our own
private space.

 

Summer brings beauty,
green tones
like a special heaven.

Tomato

All these things
we never see,
all joy and wonders.
Close up,
things become,
in some ways,
clearer.
Yet, we see
even less.

All in a family,
there can be
so many variations,
potatoes, tomatoes,
and poisonous cousins.
Nightshades can be deadly.

Potatoes and tomatoes
are such favourites,
the poison
is bred out.
So nothing’s left
to fear.
And life continues,
to ends
we cannot know.

Pink Ragged Chaos

It seems chaotic,
all these ragged petals.
Pink peonies
add some brightness
to a garden,
to a summer day.

Chaos is a universe
we never see
because we
cannot understand.

Feedback sometimes
reveals chaos
may have patterns.

First Wild Roses

Just before summer,
wild roses
surprise us,
first the leaves,
then the rosebuds.
The buds open.

Something about them,
how
they smell,
how they
announce
summer,
the way they
might explain,
if we knew
how to listen,
who we are.

Ferns

Ferns

Answers to questions
she never,
ever asked.
Something graceful
almost feminine
about these
subtle ferns.
What is near
is not in focus.
What is concealed
is somehow
sharp and clear.

What is it
that she’s hiding,
eyes peeking
from beneath
long bangs?
I show my hand
and attitude
as clear
and honest
as I can.
How can there
be any doubt?