Cocooned within the wings of a butterfly
where even thought can be war or peace
we meet on a level deep as the universe
way yonder beyond the ken of our minds.

Giraffes have their heads in the tops of trees, merrily munching
great big beautiful eyes and just the cutest faces, heads way up there in the clearest rarefied atmosphere
what a stretch that must have been for evolution, millions of prototypes,
and then the finished article, just as well we do not eat them, can't imagine eating a Giraffe burger with ketchup and fries.

These fingers retract and a fist is born
where moments or ages ago
they wrote a poem on a cave wall
knuckles protruding out the skin
bone to club prey to death, death
the beating, pulverising, Ape of Man.

On the other side of the street
we pass each moment unknown
busy watching our steps
heading for the great escape
if death would only hold off
till we got it together to leave.

anger is a fierce lion
he gets hungry
best stay out his way

cannot remember when I felt 'fit as a flea'
more fit as a sloth, on the verge of a twelve hour sleep.

Seagulls above the fish farm boats
wheel and dance:
White vultures

Love me like a Praying Mantis
Woman,
and when we are done,
eat my head for supper

Across the house,
There's something going on
Sounds louder than ordinary
A discussion maybe
Exchanging views
They are shielded by the hanging leaves
Of a row of banana plants
Heads are bowing...then rising

Suddenly....a loud mix of sounds ...

A light wind blows, banana leaves sway
And the heads of those present spew
Angry meows,  
And arrrs,
And  hrrrs
And growls,
And grrrrs
And the enraged yelling of a human's voice
Overpower the soft, scared purring
In one corner...

Soon,
Inch by inch...
Three, four, striped stray cats, with a few kittens in tow
Distance  themselves
Away from a big, wide platter of food,
Being selfishly devoured
By two big mongrels, of brown and white...
The Feline Forum, supposed to be with free dinner,
Is over
Has just been disrupted
By unwanted visitors
Starving intruders that came by
This  early evening.

It is dusk...I see fire...I see both dogs
They're black as coal...fiery red-eyed...and triple-horned
Holding on to each of their tridents
I wish they'd go to hell....where they belong.


Sally


Copyright October 8. 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Rehydrated the little larynx
like a small wild animal
hunts around for words.

holding your breath, holding out
for one more time
to sing like a bird of paradise

Man is prone to overkill;
just look at the ways invented to ****** a fly.