Keep your focus, please

Detect the fault lines in a stubborn peanut shell Wet-nose the whiskery cat Feel the points he makes out of soft pads Let the large leaf ant explore your jungle Unite or untie your ganglion knots Sniff a crocus keep your focus

Shirt tales

Don’t commenton my dirty shirt,if you please.I am not inclinedto change it,lest I have bad luck again.This morning, the skyfavoured me with gull droppings.At lunch, it was blueberrieswithout a bib.Then, coffee,spilled by the infernal cat,who likes blueberries too.

We come from the sun

We come from the Sun,they say to me,from the wrong side of my ear.But why?Why for?I mumble in cotton.For answer,they show their hands,oven-mittened.See. See our thumbs.They are wide.Splayed and strong.We will gentle you,raise you from the gorge. Life is but a dream. *** Art by Michael Richardson

A theory of nonsense

Is there a ForeverWho can scope the great mindA yolk in an eggThen what is beyond the eggMonkeys and typewritersad infinitumThink your deep thoughtsand they surely will write ‘emStories of ourswill be amber-ingrainedand lain among flowersall freshened with rain

Ghost writer

All murky she sat, with her palindrome pen, as she flavoured the localized ether. And her Hallowe'en cat was asleep once again, as it lay on the carpet beneath her. When she'd written her prose, and its vapours arose, she danced (for the spirit was willing). Her compadres were lazy, and the rest had gone... Continue Reading →

a working man

Old Man. He come every day at twilight time. I hears the bony drum, cicada’s hum. He wear raggedy clothes, canvas cap, yellowy beard. And his work he does. Cranks that gear handle round and round. Powers up the tiny lights. Pinpoints in the pinwheel spiralled sky of night.

The cunning linguist

Gimme those geometries, those triangles and squares, Dimensional anomalies, to tesseract my cares. Compasses and sliding rules; protractors are the rage. And, adding and dividing tools put answers on the page. So, at my desk, I'm bent upon the solving of equations. This genius that borders on the softest of invasions.

Once, in a blue moon

What happens up there on that day-faded see-through moon? (A long long sail, by any nautical standard.) No one is certain. My scholarly theory says there are silent factories dug down deeply. There, they make cups and saucers. (But not the kind you think) The Engineers think and design. The Builders build. And, many thousands... Continue Reading →

the thyme has come, the walrus said

The fish in that sea they came seldom and sparsely they were most of them babies of a fingerling's age But, Rose married one, see? and don't judge her too harshly. 'T'least he didn't have rabies, and time's long without wage. Haha.

Cunning, no less

whiskers are self-aware we think they train themselves and have a care and so avoid the sink the sharpest razor surest hand might catch them in the pink but the smarty ones just bend, don't stand and miss the poet's ink.

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