Loosing our minds


Righteousness, Relationship, Time, Alzheimers

I am right.

You may say that I am not, but
I have,

Demanded love and,

Are wrong.

Black and blue and red hummingbird, I
Know what I am saying, you

Left the kids again,
And we argue,

Tall as bamboo we,
Kill each other,

Taking long hours to,
Identify precisely who left the faucet running,

Forgetting the long, yellow grass of home –
I am right,

You never listen, and that’s the problem

It says so on the map.

Fold your wings.

Allow the dull,
Green mother

Her time at the till.


Picture       ♦Space Shuttle Challenger Crew♦

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We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and “slipped the surly bonds of earth” to “touch the face of God.” – Space shuttle challenger-




Promises are made to be broken,

Made again,
Whilst Jasmine pours,


Where God,
Is an impression, a

Asking why, if

Birds and fish and,
Creatures of all kinds,


You terrorize one other?

Even at a crimson sunset, to
Say sorry first,

Survive polluting Earth?

Picture – ♦Reuters/Daily Mail

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Pansies, Holly and Twinkly lights


The brown bee,
Big as a bear,

That visits my Polyandra,

Flies meticulous patterns around morning blooms
Dispersing pollen,

As easily as the hummingbird next to it,
Serenades hibiscus.

We spend time collecting memories and ornaments like,
Christmas bulbs have no lifetime,

We miss Pansy’s and Holly’s and Twinkly lights,
At Sundown,

When closets shut,
And tears are caressed by lovers or husbands,

Beautiful lives spent,
Draping balconies and seasons;

Bumble bees for a time.


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For a special friend, at this time.


Cancer, palliative

2004_150 002

We spend our days,
Getting ready for tomorrow,

Hoping the past will not catch us,
The bad eating, the saccharin juices, when

Now is the only moment, to

Love, to

Re-pack your life, forgive –

On an adventure or,
Simply state your piece,

It will be alright.

We may yet,
Save the climate.

♦photo♦ – High Museum Art of Atlanta


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For my friends battling Cancer.


evocative short poetry education


Do chickens hold their food in their feet while they are eating?

Some birds actually do,
The Ornithologists have discovered,

Actually hold their food in their feet whilst they are dining,
Fine dining,

Eat with their hands,

As do a vast array of mammals.


♦photo♦ Jason Reed for Reuters

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Office lover


Dreaming of;

Colorful balloons on an African plain,
Hot air rising, with

Rich people making eye contact,
Heaving brandy glasses at the bar by the salt-lick lake,

Making new friends with,
Levitating boobs or

Bouyant balls,
Out on the reef, whilst;

Putting out lurid spread-sheets,
At the office photocopier,

With Sam,
And his dark blue eyes,

Hoping bouyant balls will crack it too,
That male or female,

Cleavage wins,

That bobbing balls will sway him from the levitating boobs of Caroline in the corner,

Leaving dreams that on the African plain,
Bouyant balls can look like levitating boobs,

Will bring Sam round,
With his dark blue eyes, to

Dreaming of African sunsets,
With you.




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We don’t dance anymore


We don’t dance anymore,
And it happened so quickly.

We sold our souls on the galactic market,
For peanuts.

The Earth recovered though, its

We sold everything to be together,
We did, and

Life happened.

This far down the line, we’re all that’s left and
You still are,

The most beautiful thing about me.

♦Photo:  Mary Pendergreene

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He kills,

While we are touching everything else,
Touch-screens everywhere,

Apparently God kills,

In Catholic Garb,

In Coptic yellow, in
Jewish robes,

God kills surreptitiously,

At sunset,
On bridges, through

Garrulous Muslims,

It is a mistake to believe that the only touch-screen around,
Is email.

God is a touch-screen.

We do not remember friends, we
Remember enemies,

We do not remember being appreciated, we
Remember being insulted.

Our thoughts on the environment create the environment and our thought,
Is momentarily polluted.

We want intelligent whales and emotional elephants yet we kill in God’s name, we

Poison one another and blame it on God, where
God is not the problem, we

Instead believe the sycophant –



♦picture♦ Brian Snyder, Reuters

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Nipponia Nippon

Nipponia Nippon2

Grown men cry saving birds in nests perched high,
Teeter on long bamboo poles,

Fighting snakes,
and extinction,

Cry in despair when a chick dies,

Cry in joy,
When two,

Shake tremulous crowns, childhood plumes,
So tenuous,

Parents squacking overhead in the damp,
Damp valley,

Valley so high on the dull,
Dull mountain,

Afraid of the snake that comes at dawn,
Through the leaves,

In the tall, green forest,

Tall trees, Nipponia nippon, and
Men up the tree,


No thought for slackline or failure,
-the snake almost had them the last time –

Grown men cry,
Cry saving birds,

Cry heavy, heaving sighs, cry,

♦picture♦The IUCN list of endangered species

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We garden together, He and I,
Uprooting rocks, chiseling Fuchsia,

Argue a lot, and;

Framing roses in gold, morning light or,
Flaming red sunset,

Helps cool raging fires.

Birds join us when we are not too loud,
Sipping iridescent water from clay pots,

Serenading nectar onto rhamphothecae;

We squash fat slugs accidentally,
And bitterness.

pictureKevin Truong @TheGayMenProject

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Smogasbord, and so

A dashboard of delights.

Supine could be;
Relaxed on a hospital bed,

Goose down,
Luxurious but bad for your back,


Sometimes current but initially,

A sister healed,
A discussion beyond Mum,

Silver hair framing,
Ice-blue eyes,

Wrinkles round a mouth;

Ripe fruit is determined by smell, and
A mango,

Will flood a kitchen with colour.

Who are you now,
Riding on the upper deck to Luton with,

The Book in your lap and,
The Wind in your hair?

Why are you a mango,
Ripe to eat?

When love is alive, or

Aroma disperses into cupboards, is
Dispensed across sofas, and

Out walking I thought,
A million dollars can change everything.

– have your wings clipped but clip them yourself,
spoof your location, so health.

Angels are born everyday.

♦picture♦ – Eartha Kitt, Wikipedia

evocative short poetry – words move