Like links in a long chain. Encrusted links, green with lichen and moss.... Links extending from the instant of conception, right through to the moment of death. Patterned with pain and passion, forged in fire and frozen in the blueness of deep ice.

An encapsulation of all things relevant, an expression of the best and the very worst of this binding edifice that is life.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

From your end of
Telescope

Thirty years scans
Infinity

From my end merest
Blink of eye.

When slightest wink
Of billion mile
Star

Outlasts every planet
In the sky

Yesterday, I was minding my own business, feeling good
and then my brother called to tell me to turn on the tube.
***, excuse me here, it was another all-time Trump ****
show. I could not believe the words and actions of our
nations non-Presidential President and rabid lap dog VP.
I was shocked and sadly embarrassed by their behavior.
When I wonder will my 74 million mistaken and fellow
Americans wake up and realize that they have voted for
an egotistical sociopath to fill the most powerful office in
the world, who may now blow up that world.

And what else does it take for all those spineless men
and women in the US Congress, Senate and the Courts
who meekly kneel and kiss their leaders ring, to stand
up and speak out, take some actions that rectify their
unfathomable silence and misguided allegiance to a
megalomaniac that would be King and actually already
believes that he is.

I felt a little sick by these latest events. I turned off the
tube after two hours of that **** show, but my blood
was still boiling. Needed to go take some Tylenol and
watch some feel good Nature channel. Cleanse my soul
a little bit with the sight and sounds of Birds, Trees
and Flowers in and around a mountain meadow.

Standing at the portal
Of the massive stone engender
Clenching as the sweat
Runs down the sinews of my arm,
Glaring at the enemy's
Rendition of surrender
And knowing, well within,
Why he means to do me harm.

Watching so acutely
For the sliding of his eyeball
Inching to the left
In a slithering advance,
Waiting for the quiver
Of deception's feint, so ribald,
Then lunging with the blade
At his severanced last dance.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

I was always turning around to see
who was behind  me
and there in lies the danger
and so the past holds me in its arms...

...the tip of your cigarette glows in the dark.
(the light without a flame)

you are sitting in a chair.
I m sitting in a chair.
we don't speak.

that is my everlasting memory of you.

the fire had taken flight.

you bought books and never read them.
you always used too much perfume.

I had no time for you, lonesome dove.
my heart of sand,
but thunder now follows my heart,
with the perfume of things lost.

I was thinking that If we create an all-knowing, all-wise and all powerful AI, we should probably pay someone to sit next to its electrical plug.