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
that’s here.
Instead we
scheme and
cheat and
to get us
things that
are too real.
Things that
have no

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

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
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.


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



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?


Island of Glass

_____Murano_Island_2014a1Island of Glass

Beautiful glass,
on a little island
in a dismal swamp.

Such a hot day
on the edge of summer!
It sizzled.
I worshipped
with my too-parched tongue.

An almost silent salesman
watching our admiration
of glass that shimmered
in our minds…

A whispered-almost
to see special works
(upstairs by
secret elevator).

And suddenly,
a brighter world,
more colourful,
a truly special place.
He wasn’t kidding.
Highlight of Murano
(that secret gallery).
Our unexpected delight.

Something Beautiful

Something beautiful,
the way she holds her head,
smiling at me,
but there is
something impermanent
about it,
special but yet
we must be reminded
of the inevitable
we hear
that comes
for each of us,
that comes for all.

But now she bows,
dedicated, fading.
Her petals are nearly
ready to fall.
I see some fuzzy bits,
turning to
wind-catching sails,
nature’s little parachutes.
Still there is
something left
and she is
still beautiful,
in her way.

Small Things

Small Things

We could do better,
   if we understood more.

Small things count,
      you know.
Sometimes we can’t see
         if we have a big issue
   or something trivial.
We are only human, at best.

And some are fools
   who amuse,
      until they step on
our toes.

Their words and acts
   seem trivial
      and amusing
but can be dangerous.

We could do better,
   if we understood more.



Seasonal magic
     bringing such change,
          reminding us
why life,
     in springtime
     brings us
so much
     unreasonable joy.

Green brilliance bursts out
into lengthening days
as little birds
find reasons to sing,
     maybe founding
feathery dynasties,
          with nestlings
     exciting their
     lives in weeks to come.

Lambs we’ve seen,
     springing about
     on rubbery
          infant legs,
     in woolly flocks
and wet muddy