The dasyatis bayonet

 The pompous are up at it again and we can´t stain them back
juice all apple and pale and by the book without a hack
what empire did you start and forget to finish yet still overestimative?
Can you see Out of the isles as you came sun striking outnumbering the natives
and then you lot come down here to retire and visit your far off relatives

Pale and blonde and full of your allergies inside and out
Is this what it amounts to the war cry shout?
Is this what old Georgie meant, southern royal fans?
Churchill´s dream all stiff and flexing over the new islands?

We´ll build a few hundred  hospices and facilities for the overaged
that can´t stomach the old english metropoles or country cages
Your son woods scared of the wasp, so it made it´s way into his shirt
The shrieks and screams sent the children into hysterical laughter

He ran out of the classroom kicking up a storm as the wasp burned a hole in his uniform
stinging at random like a knife attack on the vicar godfearing
The bough pierced by the unseen reef sailors woefully despairing
Young woods plunged into the dirty colony throwback uncaring

Like a clean fabric into a sewer of filth
Was this an example of stoic churchill fortitude?
union jack still hustling the southern winds 
No different to the sails that changed the sting ray forever

Azza´s son

 Azza´s curiosity once created a world from one that had died
eons from his birth

A forested world abandoned by it´s creators
Large factories bulging and protruding from the bush side
Like borders to the once bustling cities
clustered alleys surrounding long open highways

The forest a patchwork of colors and textures
Easy enough to get lost in
And there he was singular perfectly alone
Not ever knowing companionship

Making his way through the low hanging vines
the carcasses of unidentifiable vehicles that used to move that world
Coming to the base of a densely wooded hill trying to access the buildings above
Entry ways were sealed and all that could be heard was the breeze and ghost echos

Ghost echos of a life not yet had, or one that had passed a millenia ago
The boy changed his eyes and honed in on the paths around the closed overgrown structures
Following them through until he got into the city´s mainstreet
hit with the sooty metallic perfume of the past

Alone in the middle of that monstrous city sensing the way things were
Praying to an absent god, solitude in every second
This rusting decaying infrastructure, the priceless art changing over the years
desintegrating sublimely as the boy spoke in that cities tongue as if to raise the dead

And the boy went about recreating something that had lost it´s essence

Azza his proud father looking on from a semi operational city camera once synchronized to his skull

Mother butterfly

 Anne and the butterfly

Anne found her garden of peace and pond water
plants and trees that were mothers and daughters
soil was life, sun was light, night was a sigh
Everyday pondering the butterfly

How it flows in the air
as if transversing dimensions
Landing and taking off from our attention
A symbol for ascension

My mother in this world

What is this chrysalis
we find ourselves wrapped inside
A transitional stage
between light and dark, between seasons

Anne found the stream
There the timeless eel wanders and wades
winding up the autumn clock
as mother´s day unlocks

For my mother

The wings of this quiet season
of falling leaves and butterflies
memories flickering and testing the mind
Until the chrysalis subsides

Random leisure in a generational desert

 They came their spinning vibrant group curiosity dripping from their chins
Shining youth hit those tables looking for those glasses still half drunken
These spinning vibrant girls and boys extended slender rubber arms to drink them
Longing for permission.............................

But Moses wasn´t at the bar to hear underage sob stories
to kill the youth out of themselves ethanol jolly
No Moses was socializing next door with naturals

Yet the clientele weren´t going anywhere
and they suddenly aged 20 years as if lit by lightnening

Now shouting and walking off demanding beer

They were being standoffish creating their individual life like a magazine store front
In an office near the soot greased subway packed in like dirty crawfish

Your next train is a decade away parade predictible another glass you left half full 
and unattended on that milestone improvised speech stained table
That last sip of booze evapourating like friends as new youth begs to drink what´s left

To see him off one day

 He turned to the car inspired
another journey another gulp of life somewhere

not here

Off in that classic car the wind in his face
his second wheel rolling right next

me outer world looking in half curious

intangible

The Journey required a vehicle
one he was obsessed with

well if I could just fly off without having to follow a road
or even have to ride in a car

Yet his life was in a smile that spread after the names of makes and models
Mine was a constant grin the trembled less often over aging

He didn´t really have a destination but pressured the supporters to let him take off
He sped off that half a liter of blessing took him a few trillion miles

The Wares and tears of James

 For the excentric redheaded boy
it was all about confounding convention
immersing himself in comedy and art
Unknown to others, unique to the curious

Burning into controversy
strange obsessions infecting his mind

moving him forward
forcing him to antagonize the status quo
Passion and emotion bursted him often
emotive and british

At the choir tasting his own voice
bitter in winter creative in spring
contrarian in summer
and the feijoa autumn he got lost inside himself

but celebate, for if you were ever complex enough

to get lost in yourself

You might live your life for a change

Phil the creator

 The live environments jersey woollen and warm for the winter
for the routine check on those fish ponds into the valley
His small shed stacked with fish flakes
electrical cables twisted and tangled up to knee height

A liter of milk and a microwave meal
And back to work on the phone, to the farm, into town
A piece of fruit in the middle compartment
electric windows and the brick cell phone

Each time he checked on those fish it was a just a sip of ginger ale
Each time he pottered around his lil small town factory
it was a gulp of diet pepsi and a few uncertain choices
Few would query in, yet the courier sought a cure to his curiosity

Messy working spaces, busy with ideas, some random, some ordered
and the coffee flowed and the life force glowed
And a timeline formed with its own milestones and crazy twists and turns
Sudden emergencies became a monthy occurence

Thanks to that, life had meaning and the narrative of importance
suddenly had weight on the common folk
Other´s ears seemed hungry for convincing
The franchise was poured into separate glasses
caffeinated and swimming with life

The winter drizzle tries to steal a few more grams of energy
windless summer sweat occupying the furrowed brow
At the helm over the aquarium water
A filter for the coffee, a filter for the aquarium
yet no filter for the Phil who brought the world of waiting observers...

a few moments of joy