Ducks wrestle doubly
Wet from rain and river flow;
As above…qua-a-ack…so below.
‘Some people talk nonstop, but say nothing. Ducks speak only one word, quack, and communicate everything.’
- Jarod Kintz, Ducks are the Stars of the Karaoke Bird World
if I wrapped my legs around him
our bellies would sneak a kiss
I came here at a late hour
sure that I left my spirit in the dust of the day
but here after dusk absconded with the light
my muse flutters in
joins the candle flame and the piano fugue
lifts me like a dragon fly
doing acrobats on a summer day.
I write to capture
the small miracle of this moment.
What comes after 'Z'
cannot be expressed
by letters or words.
I'm afraid, it's a bit of
For they have their say
in our struggles and fears,
in our laughter and tears,
in our sighs and moans,
to deep within our bones.
They're in our very own
heartbeats, great and small,
in that place within us
where some rain must inevitably fall.
Where they came from is no mystery,
but we each tend to use them
in the secret hours
of our private history,
like a trail of breadcrumbs,
like a bridge we jump from,
always on the tip of our tongue,
and there it toils...
Marge retrogrades lazily towards the hills;
Her name, printed the width of her cab-over dinette
In crinkled cobalt cursive,
Totters eccentrically as her handbrake fails.
Oblivious to errant camper vans (and centripetal forces in general),
Barney speeds maniacally along a deserted city street;
Golden coated and joyously poochie,
His tongue flabbers as fast as his bicycle courier dad can pedal.
Mr Blue buys buckets at Bunnings
To match his cerulean suit and shinier-than-shiney satin shirt;
Periwinkle rhinestone shoes carry him unabashedly passed the second glances and sideways looks;
There goes the best dressed DIY-er in town…don’t ya know.
Oh, and that’s Antigua Street photography not Antigua street photography. :)
‘I only know how to approach a place by walking. For what does a street photographer do but walk and watch and wait and talk, and then watch and wait some more, trying to remain confident that the unexpected, the unknown, or the secret heart of the known awaits just around the corner?’
- Alex Webb
By the Spanish Arch
a few kind crusty folks
talk in the March sunlight.
Soft incantations of sweet trad
spill from a concertina, tin whistle
and fiddle, sloshing out an ambiance.
An old fella' makes a poor man's black velvet,
The ladies drink Estrella Galicia and San Miguel.
Another lad jokes: my grief counselor died last week
but he was so **** good I didn't care.
A motley crew, good-natured and friendly,
Drawn to session like moths to a flame;
Always I wonder whether I belong.
"I think in his heart Frodo is still in love with the Shire:
The woods, the fields…little rivers. I'm old Gandalf.
I know I don't look it, but I'm beginning to feel it"
Lines Fourteen to Sixteen from The Lord of The Rings.