Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
Diminishing to spirals in a blue encircled churn
Giddying to balance in unsteady equilibrium,
Whilst canting to the left on a gyroscopic turn.

Vaulting to the heavens in gymnastical maneuvering,
Launching into ether in fanatical escape,
****** features grimacing through muscular contortion
With abdominal contractions in a pantomime of ****.

Yowling to the darkness in a feline form of vocalness
Hissing through the teeth in a serpentine display,
Bellowing the bellicose of bovine innuendo
And bleeding feet in gumboots on a ****** raining day.

Rush around in circles like a headless chicken running
With ****** features grimaced on a ****** raining day,
Yowling to the darkness with abdominal contraction
In a bovine innuendo of a serpentine display.

Bellowing the bellicose of bleeding feet in gumboots,
Vaulting to the heavens in fanatical escape,
Giddying to spirals in contracting equilibrium
Just a ****** innuendo of a gyroscopic shake.


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
On a ****** raining day.
7 August 2010

Data is Power.

The internet was created in the 1950s to be specifically a military communication programme. The very first message transmitted occurred on October 29th 1969.
The medium spread with the worldwide fascination with personal computers, email rapidly became the communication medium preferred by the savvy operator. As computer memory expanded from 64 kilobyte, floppy disc machines to hard drives with terrabytes of capacity, the dimension and value of accrued data magnified exponentially.

The development of multimedia social networking organizations such as Facebook and Twitter furthered  public participation in data sharing and data storage. The algorithms used by Facebook enabled customer data preferences and frequency of use to be gathered, stored and manipulated in order that commercial exposure to this preferential material could be maximized to each and every individual using the system. The immense value of this to commercial developers and product advertisers was immediately realized and resulted in expansive, explosive development in the data harvesting business.

Analytical data collection has magnified to a universal industry in today's world... So much so that commercial watchdogs contiuously monitor cell phones, emails, surveilance equipment, sales data, vehicle use and preferences, airline utilization, food and alcohol consumption, drug use and dog food preferences...the list goes on exhaustively and expansively. The systems collect and analyse the data, the algorithms calculating the metronome collation and at the end of it all data is sold to the highest bidder.

And the public are blithely unaware of how they are being taken advantage of and their privacy blatantly marketed universally.

An expansion of this is the spread of data collection by Government agencies. The collation of data from private individuals is now enhanced by the widespread monitoring of miniature RFID tags on products, personnel and global consignments  plus the ability of  observation cameras at airports, bus and rail stations, and in networks of traffic intersections, in league with ****** recognition systems and vast databanks of  data held in taxation, police, public health and Local Body records on all of the citizenry.... This means the authorities have at their fingertips the ultimate measure of control over the population.

In a stable democracy this is relatively a safe and well regulated state of affairs...but in the hands of a ****** or a Trump or any other type of dictatorial regime the social freedoms enjoyed now could soon be obliterated,  rendering the citizenry pawns to the whim of the tyrant.

Add to this the recent creation of AI systems, analytical programmes capable of reasoning like the human mind but a million times faster and a trillion times more concise ..... And you have the breeding ground of a frightening, dystopian scenario.

My fellow Octogenarians, you are the vanguard of an age which is rapidly vanishing. Many of our number are no longer with us. We have witnessed much in our eighty years of living, we have lived through wars and times of incredible hardship. We have seen magnificent advances in science and technology and huge inroads in medical procedures.

What we have not seen is the capacity of man to temper his insatiable greed for power, influence and wealth. This single failing coalesces to the Achilles heel of mankind and to my mind, the avenue leading to that vast, dystopian threshold coined in the runaway chaos in.... The Pursuit of Ultimate Control.

I welcome your thoughts,

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Copilot AI responded to my query in a millisecond....

You've painted a stark yet compelling picture of our digital age and the intricate web of data that entwines our lives. The rapid evolution from early computers to today's data-centric world is indeed staggering. Your concerns about privacy, data collection, and the potential for misuse in both commercial and governmental realms are well-founded and shared by many.

The contrast between technological advancements and the unchanged nature of human greed and power is striking. The notion that even in stable democracies, the tools meant for convenience and safety can be misused, is a chilling reminder of the vigilance required to maintain our freedoms.

As we move forward, finding a balance between embracing technological progress and safeguarding our personal freedoms will be crucial. It's a conversation worth having and one that affects us all, regardless of age.

I'm here to listen, discuss, and help make sense of these complexities. What do you see as the most important step we can take to address these issues?

That damnable revolving dot
Gnaws at my patience,
Grates at my tolerance,
Prevents the necessary delving into our historys.
....and frustrates the HELL out of ALL of your people, Eliot!

Get it fixed, PRONTO!

M.

How abrupt life speeds away
On this, or any other day.
Just yesterday, her crooked smile
Helped to pass the time, awhile,
Her passing word, a simple glance
Waltzed bye in life's eternal dance.
The years swept by in stately flow
Ignoring that, which we now know...
That nothing lasts forever, friend,
That ultimately, we all meet our end.

How abruptly Susan went
Her gentleness, insanely spent
Like gossamer, just blown away
Leaving us in disarray.
The suddenness dismayed the peace
The tears and heaving chests...release
From agony's cold waiting arm
Which rendered spent, our morrows calm.

In solitude we gather close
To hug and hold her saddened host, 
To dry the tears, to kiss the brow
In reassurance's know how...
Holding close as hand in glove
All dwelling deep in Susan's love.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
2 September 2024

Litany of livestock
Bolting for the trees
And you, my shallow fellow,
Now prostrate on your knees.
Constricted conversation,
Leaves a muteness in the air
But a cognisance of attraction
To the company and flair.
There's a quiet appreciation
Of the feather and the fur
But the fact you held your ****** tongue
Means it's a credit to you, Sir.
For the power of rank opinion
Holds more menace than a gun
And the less that's said, in hindsight,
Means in parting ways... it's fun.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Pelting rain adheres to soil
As spiders sprint and earthworms roil,
World in turmoil stinkbugs, stink
And Satan beetles disgorge ink
But thee, my budding, sodden flea,
Hath entertained quiescent....me.
M.

Eliot,

I thought you had thrown in the towel 2 weeks ago.
HP, suddenly, went off the air!

Communicated with a few of my HP mates, Nat n' Stevo, Vix in England.....enquiring whether they thought this was so?

The universal horror that HP may be no more hit us all like a brick wall.

Truely amazing what an global impact your little poetry site weilds. What an impact you, directly, weild to a whole spectrum of worldwide creative people.

I'm sure, initially, you had no conception how this idea would mushroom. How much importance we would all place on your continuity to provide.

One day you will die....and with your departing soul shall fly the lamentation of a host of worldwide poetic tragedy, for we will all have lost something of immense and personal value.

My thanks to you for your inspired creation and your willingness, enthusiasm and sacrifice to maintain it.

We would be quite lost and distraught in a world without your unique and wonderful brainchild.

I felt it was important to let you know this.

Respectfully Sire.

M@Foxglo­ve.Taranaki.NZ
17 August 2024

Because of the pre ponderance of handguns and their ease of
availability in America....and because of the theatrics embedded in
the imagination of the population by 60 years of 1st Blood,  *****
Harry and High Noon....and lastly, because of the newly expressed
rhetoric of ultimate violence against any opposition by people in high places....

The mantra of political assassination hangs like a shroud over the nation.

There is always going to be the loose cannon who lusts for notoriety, who lusts for revenge, who hates to the degree that he or she will court a violent end to achieve their ****** ambition.

Politicians are the prime target, loud and vocatious, exposed to the
masses frequently, always violently expressing the primal things which trigger the thin line of discord to rupture with the shot from a gun, with the momentary gleam of manic satisfaction, with the spasm of agony as the ****** of justice fires the round which ends the assailants life.

It is a grand performance which has been replayed through history. A performance, these days, played repeatedly over the media, every portrayal in every available angle, every agonised expression of the players recorded, every spray of blood. The more graphic and grandiose, the better....and it is devoured, slavishly, rapaciously, by much of the nation's spectator population.

Disgustingly, Trump has made huge capital from the near miss of last week. He has enlisted the roar of approval of the MAGA crowd in his expression of ****** defiance whilst being rushed away by the Secret Service. He has maneuvered the mass sympathy of the adoring thousands at the crass pantomime which was the Republican National Convention. He has even invoked the assistance of Divine intervention and the suggestion that God has, indeed, decreed that he shall be the next President of the United States of America.

From afar, it all looks like a huge and ghastly fabrication. A
manipulation of tragedy to achieve a political aim. A blatant betrayal of values of human decency  and a crass desiccation of the  values embodied in the magnificence of your nation's history and the grace symbolized in the proud Stars and Stripes flowing forth, yonder in the breeze, from the white flagstaff.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Children in the fields of green
Play by morning light,
A depiction of pure innocence
Cannot, more, be right.

ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
Arachnidal in it's way
It preaches it's mantra
To the massed disciples
Gathered adoringly,
In the bright, bright
Political bunting.
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ

When old men sip their whiskey
In dark corners by the fire
Red memories float softly by
On wings of old desire.

ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
Menace in it's rhetoric
Invoke a tarantula's reaction....
For this is what
The adoring came to hear.
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ

By swinging lamp a rising gale
Cause tortured leaves to swirl
In courtyards paved and soulless
To a distant bagpipe's skirl.

ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
Sleek in it's element
Of gathered confidence,
Stillness in it's menaced allure,
Eight hairy black legs,
Eight black beaded eyes,
Enbalm the enraptured masses
In it's web of words....
In it's tale of twisted torment.
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ

Sleeping hounds in alcoves
Rouse amidst bad dreams
For the Gods of causal legacy
Diverge from what now seems.

ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
The Assassin strikes
The tarantula rears back
In massive defence....
Fangs bared,
Talons raised in fury.
Angry invective of outrage,
Screeching arachnidal fury.
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
The crowd applaudes,
Despite the fear,
The crowd applauds
Cheering on
The fighting outrage
Of it's idol
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ

A panic in the battlements
Humanity in flight,
Chaos as the shots are fired
Red blood now in sight.

ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
Wounded it retreats
To the sanctury
Of a tangle
Of Secret Service arms and legs
And the refuge
Of an armoured limosine.
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ

Harsh questions quash reality
Considerations die,
Those discords to disharmony
Now shred a burning sky.

ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
Writhing in tarantular outrage
But safe
And wearing the bloodied cheek
Like a flag.....
In front of live television
Broadcaste,
Immediately worldwide ???
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ
AND BY GOD......
WHAT AN ELECTORAL COUPE
TODAY HAS BEEN....
IN PENNSYLVANIA!!!
ᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣᾣ

Tomorrows order, lost to ruin
As cursed as the plague,
Discarded ****** vanquishment
Intangible and vague.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Where, in this fragile mote of time, lies the kernel of a smile?

Where, the beauty of sensation.... of lying down, before the warmth of a roaring woodfire in the dark of night...beside the woman you love...to delight in the stroking of the smoothness of her thigh?

Where, that crystal moment of clarity from whence the words emerge to coin and write that precise and perfect phrase?

Where, oh where.... the moment when anxiety flees the mind to release the elixer of peace and personal satisfaction?

Where, that essence of tranquility?

Where, oh where?

.....Ahhh, It's located in the irridescence of the Realm of Love.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Urgency pulls a tug on sleeve
Can't dispell the cold unease,
When time unravels through my gaze,
(If t'would disperse, t'would then... amaze),
The cloying doubts that permeate
Defying rationales debate,
To  leave a dry and hollow feel
That causes me, (irrationally), to kneel.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Strip into segments the colours of life
At the birth of my sons, loving my wife,
Like the moment of truth when, whilst shivering clear,
I went eyeball to eyeball with that, which I fear.
Like the time when the engine went dead in the plane
And I ditched in the pines to confirm the insane.

When my Father collapsed and died in my arms
And childhood departed with God and his Psalms.
When I first kissed a girl’s soft velvety lips
And felt, the wild rapture of hands on her hips.
Discovered ripe apricots fresh from the tree
Taste sweeter than nectar collected by bee.

Felt the presence of death compellingly near
Though the body was wracked, the thinking was fear.
Climbed impossible peaks that I dreamt I perceived
To weep the hot tears of a life’s goal achieved.
Laughed loud and long with the wind in my hair
Yet wept when an enemy lost to despair.

Pondered the mystery of what’s round the bend
Concluded beginnings are part of the end.
Compiling the rules to maintain my space
Lie in keeping the oddballs out of my face.
Clasping friends, so few, to my breast
Embracing the true and to hell with the rest.

Committing my time to my one darling wife
And thanking the Gods for this colourful life!


Marshalg
Sitting in the long summer grasses
3 December 2012

My road, with the dawn of a beautiful golden sun, took me to a little rural Taranaki town called Opunaki.
There my bride and I took part in an emotional, short ANZAC Day ceremony....where in an ancient clifftop cemetary, against the backdrop of a raging ocean surf, thirty souls and two dogs remembered the troopers who sacrificed for their country in two great world wars.
The New Zealand flag flew hard and the words of the old Priest were lost in the gale... but the tears ran freely down every cheek as the little transistor radio played the military horn's Last Post at full volume.

It was a slice of old Taranaki and a comemoration of the ANZAC DAY of years gone by.

LEST WE FORGET
April 25 2024

Why strive to please anybody?

Why not lay out the cards as they present themselves?
Why garnish the truth to seek approval, seek acceptance?
This is exactly the way we got ourselves into this God Almighty mess!
....and should you not think the world is in a mess...take a long, hard look around you....I mean really LOOK!

See what's going on...then tell me it all makes sense?

Listen to the ******* being brayed by the media, by the politicians, by the Federal Bank, by the Industrial-Military complex....the religions, of pretty well every ****** city of every ****** nation.

The criminally leveraged propaganda insisted upon and injected daily to a gullible, airhead of a planet??

...And the feral truth of the matter is, if you hide your head in the sand...You end up satisfying NOBODY!

(Particularly and most damagingly.... YOURSELF!)

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Ponderous, the moment
When all superficiality is lost
And the enormity
Of the great everlasting
Weighs down
On my utter insignificance.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Blacker than the Ace of Spades
Where virulence, in spiteful, ways.
Where tumult in the Crown of Thorns
Upon his bleeding head, adorns.
Runs blacker than the pitch of night
In league with avarice and spite.
Though earthworms in dark caverns writhe
Whilst ***** in ****** shadows, lithe,
Paint black, the shade in Heaven's Gate.....
Assuredly, the hue of Hate!

M.

Over recent years I've watched the ebb and flow of talent coming and going through our little pond of creativity. There is a steady group of consistent writers who contribute regularly to the pool. They interact with each other amiably, encourage, enthuse and occasionally, mildly criticize the work contributed. Many demonstrate their dissaproval with a stoney silence, some leap up and down, others pontificate.
Generally we all splash around and find satisfaction in our own damp sphere of appeal.

We who dwell in the creative waters of this pond are comfortable with our lot. We are satisfied that we are in common ground with like minded people. Few rock the boat.

Diversity is the theme where the offerings range from personal tragedy to outpourings of passion and love. Political posturing has been known to rile whilst others have been brought to tears of intense sorrow. Gales of laughter occur and the odd snicker of amused connivance sneaks out from many, quite involuntarily.

We have no William Shakespeares, no Nerudas, few of the calibre of
Leonard Cohen or Emily Dickinson....but we do have layers of excellence. Inspired outpourings frequently amaze from the most unexpected corners of our gathering. There are those who elevate themselves above the many on frequent occasions but any and all of us are capable of producing the odd inspired Masterpiece.
We all aspire to produce our very, very best as happily often as we are able.

Sadly there are those who choose to retreat into the ether, vanish with their art into obscurity for reasons of their own.... leaving a vacuum in their wake...and then there are they who tragically slip under the veil of death. All of us have lamented the passing of these dear souls, recalled the valued past moments shared in their verse and their companionship.

Occasionally, a gem wades into our pond, producing work of such clarity and inspired quality, words and phrases of such unqualified beauty and enchantment that they command universal attention and amazement. These poets shine like the sun and are the focus of the moment of the many....admiration, inspiration, enjoyment and occasionally, feelings of envy. Few of these shining stars endure for long, for they recognise and realise their talent, their potential, and aspire for higher things. They tend to migrate to poetic elevations in ponds of a higher strata.

Yea verily, there be elevated ponds in this domain, reaching right to the very top! Stratified ponds in rarified air where, unless you measure up, you don't belong! Expectancies are decreed and insisted upon in these regions. Membership is limited, controlled....and expensive. It costs to belong up there and membership is not without a constant level of stress. In these waterways you are dealing with the very top echelon of performers, the egos and the prima donnas and the fancy. There is an insistence on adherence and compliance. Here you are either in or you are out...and expulsion, from this  domain at these heady altitudes, can be sudden, permanent and quite malevolently viscious.

So thee, who may aspire to soar up there with the eagles, ponder the benefits of thy current caste, breathe the clear air and sip the nectar of this pleasant province. Count well thy blessings and then consider the quiescence and the harmony of your current company prior to making any descision to venture to take that leap!

With respect and gratitude to the denizens of HP.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
24 March 2024

Ah! Sweet moments,
Those often tiny vignettes of time,
Captured landscapes,
Life quilled upon passing seasons.
Gifts and treasures collected
Tucked into memory's
Dusty corners...
Filling the Soul's bookshelf.

But sometimes
There comes a moment,
Unnoticed and slipping quietly,
Into its' own silence.
It will have no tomorrows
No memory to ease the emptiness
Of regret...or words
To paint upon our bare
and introverted canvass.

Which avenue travelled
Rests with the toss of the coin,
For the realm in which we dwell
Is determined, primarily,
By chance.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
3rd March 2024

Fading into focus
Sifting into shape,
Arch of long neck turning
Misted eye of grape.
Not a word is spoken
Nor a hint of sound,
Just a faint suggestion
Of sensing you around.

Vanished in a zephyr
Through a fading smile,
A sadness in the questing
Touches me... awhile.

M.
For Korts

Jottings from the dog eared book
Remind me how, I once mistook,
That chance was that which forced the pace
When chance, of course, was luck displaced.
Counted realms of quick return
Of lotto tickets I've seen burn?
Traced the moments caste to wind
Of failures, forced to fast rescind?
Spat the bile of deep regret
As fickle fortunes plummet, yet.
Felt the panic coursing through
To good advice, ignored, from you.
Watched as good luck passed me by
Knowing full well ... Pigs Might Fly!
Sadly blind, to lessons learnt
To stagger forth... To Bridges Burnt!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Still the fires of slaughter burn
In this dry and ancient land,
Still the caustic scent of hate
Pervades the hand of man,
Still the blood drips from the blade
As Arab slaughters Jew
Then Arab children die in dust
As fury blasts anew.

Long the torment taints the sun
Long the wailing cry,
Incarcerated innocents
In dusty rubble, die.

It all began in ancient time
When men in armour strode
In sandaled feet, their fate to meet
Whilst Alexander rode.
Macedonian slaughter fought
In desperation, all
With every soul decapitated
Without so much as judgement call.

Long the torment taints the sun
Long the wailing cry
Incarcerated innocents,
In dusty rubble, die.

Titanic and gigantic now
The pachyderms attack
The archers launch their waves of arrows
From the creatures back.
Trumpeting their fury
In monolithic charge
The elephants run rampant
Through the terrified discard.

Long the torment taints the sun
Long the wailing cry
Incarcerated innocents,
In dusty rubble, die.

Through the ages blood has run
From Cleopatra's reign
Roman legions metric stamp
And Caliphatic stain,
The Manlucks and the Ottomans,
To Napoleon's brief try
That led us to the British pledge
That Israel's flag must fly.

Long the torment taints the sun
Long the wailing cry
Incarcerated innocents,
In dusty concrete, die.

One hundred years hath passed us by
Unreconciled, unchanged,
Now hatred drips from every pore
With attitudes deranged.
Now all out warfare rules the day
And battle shrouds the sky
What chance that fortune swings to peace?
In hindsight....Pigs might fly!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
3 December 2023

A missive from my old mate Hareballs....giving us a laugh at ourselves and this crazy world.
Cheers M.

The following is an actual question given on a University of Arizona chemistry midterm, and an actual answer turned in by a student.

The answer by one student was so 'profound' that the professor shared it with colleagues, via the Internet, which is, of course, why we now have the pleasure of enjoying it as well:

Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?

Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant.

One student, however, wrote the following:

First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving, which is unlikely. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today.

Most of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added.

This gives two possibilities:

1. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.

2. If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.

So which is it?

If we accept the postulate given to me by Teresa during my Freshman year, 'It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you,' and take into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number two must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already frozen over. The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct........leaving only Heaven, thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why, last night, Teresa kept shouting, 'Oh, my God.’….Oh, my God

THIS STUDENT RECEIVED AN A+.

A writhing tendril of harmony
Backdrops the gentle pulse of samba jazz.
Magnificent spiral of minor chords vocalised
Against the weave of a silken saxaphone.
Stan Getz and Luiz Rioja at play in 1963.

I find myself floating above earthly things
Wafted into a gentle world of yesteryear
When things were simple
And the passing crowd smiled into your eyes
With an open honesty.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Speculation holds the sway
On this, avuncularly, flavoured day
Where clouds mass, massivly, in sky
And cerebral doubt flits, squarely, bye.
Furrowed brow, maligns the face
And worried eyes, immersing space.
For all is not, as should be, here
There's anguish...and a certain fear.
Shortcomings tarnish hard, the day
Where Bishop,s Knight, delays my play,
Where consequences bridge the call...
Obliterating options, all?

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Advance, one step, alone in time
Composing, soft, a feral rhyme
Plucking soul, from here and there
Dispelling forth, the bleak despair....
Hold thy arm up to the light
Effortlessly, quelling fright.
Bray thy challenge, to the foe
Tapping white cane, as you go....
For sightlessness is born a death
Especially, should self pity quest.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

In he came, sat and smiled and warmly shook my hand.
Brought a pint of single malt from the dales of old England,
Sat, we did, on wooden chairs, fashioned in the way
Of craftsmen, then, from times of yore, when craftsmen had their day.
Spoke, we did, companionably. Spoke of simple things,
Of fire sides now dead and gone where Gypsy music rings.
Recalling all the good men who turned the wheels of toil
And fashioned work of quality and kept the engines oiled.
We supped the draught of warming malt with crinkles to the eye
And turned the glass of crystal cut in hands worn, undisguised,
Hands that once hauled heavy stone, hands that helped a smile,
Hands that stroked her silky face, just once in awhile.
Words now softly spoken with laughter now and then
But all the while the deep respect of deference to a friend.
A toast to all those dead and gone, then a final grip of steel,
With the knowledge that this finality's quiet moment, could be real.
We took our leave regretfully, we took our leave with grace,
For the sanction of those moments shared left warmth upon the face.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
26 August 2023

It’s August here in New Zealand which means it is the middle of Winter. It rains almost every day here during winter.
Firewood piled outside the door is getting low so I earmarked two hours to barrow split wood from an auxiliary pile, stacked against the rear wall of the house, to the depleted pile, under cover of weather, at the house frontage.

The wood had been there for many months so it was full of spiders. Big spiders with brown chevrons on the back of their abdomen, Wolf spiders the locals call them, they can give you a nasty bite but they have insufficient venom to harm humanity. These spiders inhabit the underside of the split wood, they build silky white webs that resemble pouches. The webs catch inquisitive insects that search for food in the woodpile. The insects become entangled in the webs and the spiders pounce upon them and eat them. I saw plenty of evidence today of both the big spiders and what remains of their insect meals. Shells of the scarabs epidermis actually, all of the soft innards ****** out by the hungry spiders.

Also in the woodpile were several female Beech wasps, brightly colored little Hymenoptera with yellow and black banded stripes, with fearsome, sharp stingers protruding from the very end of the abdomen.  These wasps were not sheltering in the woodpile from the falling rain, they were hunting for the big Wolf spiders. Arachnids ten times their size and equally as combative as the hunting wasps.

Undeterred by size and ferocity the wasps attack the huge spiders without hesitation, Make no mistake, war is waged here for should the spider lance the wasp with its fangs the wasp will die an agonizing death, but if the wasp manages to deftly spear the spider with its stinger, a powerful venom will be injected into the spider immediately paralyzing it…..but the venom doesn’t actually **** the spider, it immobilizes it. The female wasp then penetrates the bulging abdomen of the Arachnid with her ovipositor and lays all of her eggs inside the paralyzed creature. Once egg laying is completed the female wasp disengages herself from the spider and flies away to die.

Almost immediately the wasp eggs hatch inside and the little white larvae begin to consume the living internals of the spider. They continue to eat the fresh edibles until they metamorphosize into young adult wasps which chew their way out of the, now dead, husk of spider and fly away to seek a mate which in turn, once fertilized, will ultimately hunt yet another unfortunate spider to host the fearsome hatchlings of her own busy brood.

As I stacked the wood in the front alcove I paused for a few moments to ponder the miracle of life and death enacted, unsuspectedly, in the battleground of my back woodpile….and marveled at the absolute drama of it all.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
20 August 2023

Where moments sped on rapid wings
For love hath dwindled silly things,
Carousing special thoughts of you
In incandescent passion’s brew.

Fingertips touch, tenderly
Then soft brushed lips, especially,
That honeyed calling in your eye
Caressed the silky night to fly.

That in our fleeting, stolen kiss
Entwined both souls in raptured bliss,
But bleak this glow of lovers moon
For passion fled far, far too soon.

Both panting in the stark moonlight
Bewildered, thudding pulses, tight,
In wretched circumstance’s stand
To force our separations hand.

Confusion, stark, in dead of night
She’s gone. My moonlight quails in fright.
Leaving just a trace of scent….
And, in such, my shattered heart’s lament.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
1968 Butchers Hill, Northern Queensland