Mornings, evenings


The blue at the end of the brush

A planned obsolescence

Where do you throw us

When we are done?

Advertisements

Origins


“No, I don’t believe in our having been chimpanzees, or cavemen, or peasants without indoor plumbing, or the like. Don’t go calling me a creationist, though – I can see it in your face. I think the creationists have it wrong, too.

“I’ll allow for the possibility of dinosaurs and the planet being however many eons old. But I’m not going to be suckered in by the theory that our ancestors ran around for millennia without cotton underwear, Advil, or knowing to boil their water.

“You’ll see why, if you think about it. So many untreatable itches and infections would have gotten us. No black pants or clean pads – if the predators didn’t get you, the vaginosis would have. No oatmeal baths or baby-grade laundry detergent. No cranberry juice, probiotics, antibiotics, acid capsules, or surgeons to pick out stray bits of uterus.

“No. We all had to be born somehow, and there’s just no way that vaginas could have survived in the wild.”

Municipal elections


“It is looking bluer today.”

“Yes – I think they hope this will

send property values further south

and highlight the old mill

as an eyesore.”

“I see –

I always liked the mill myself

but sandstone does seem garish

when, on this street, everything else

smells like blueberry.”

“As someone allergic to scents

I wish they didn’t flavour the paint.”

“Nothing to be done there.”

“No; and to be frank

it’s pleasant to watch the crews

hard at work.

This devaluation project

could always be worse

than a bit of vandalism, and paint.”

Parallel Outlet: 12


Image result for world tree

A lavender whistle
petaled into me
like a feather
from an unseen canopy

I am not sure whether the being who speaks in What the World is Trying to Be is human at heart.

This, however, is probably idle speculation in the end. When I read pieces from Rumi and the Shadow, often the central character is as much of an enigma as the space between the lines.

There is a grace to characters and ideas expressed at Rumi and the Shadow which I find soothing. And I am not sure what the world is trying to be, but it is a new idea to daydream about, and to imagine a great tree (or man or treant) thinking about the same thing is somehow comforting.

Then, shaking this strange image
from its limbs
got up and stretched, saying,

“I am what the whole world is trying to be”

and washed its face
in the morning mist

Mostly Rhyming


Boudoir-01.png

I’m really excited to say that I have completed my first illustrated anthology, “Mostly Rhyming”. This is a collection of my poems interspersed with black and white digital sketches like the bunny in the boudoir above 🙂

The e-book is on Amazon in Kindle format –  and the Kindle app is free!

Dating


I met her in a soup tureen

Inventing chemoreceptors

Her glare almost gave me compound fractures

But I told her we should go for a dip

For some reason she humoured me

And then we lived happily on the sill together

Peace was the last thing on our minds

And food somewhere near second

Until she remembered herself and asked

“Shouldn’t you be more necessary to my happiness?”

But I alone was never necessary to anyone

She took her honey crumbs, and flew away