this is the way that you sigh,

a leafless branch
wavering helplessly

between tides

waving goodbye to some great memory

exhaling depleted air.

Sloping beaches
roman snails
slinking deeper
into my pail.

on a hillside a log topples downward

showing a fungi of colors
in millet-seed sized scales

a devils cup
curls up

under the dark undergrowth

a mat of mossy sponge
    too lichen thick

drains its
blistering-ulcerating-soul
into an inner memory with as many folds

where are we now?

us,
a wandering tribe of black eyes.

The candles flicker and fumes
Rise from the wick
Into my room

A baby flame
Born at once
Took a breath and died

A mother with a coin
in her pocket chooses
poison as her diet

With gun pointing at innocents
The all say
Death for them is a child's play.......

Of artists blocks
and charcoal pencils
lines drawn
blackened white
with hearts the stencil
gouache pastels
in dusted hues
smudged by
whetted thumbs
from moistened lips
colours gently bruised
with fingertips
stroked by brushes
firm tipped certain
outside the frame
of loves drawn curtain
softly washed
in watercolour fade
the painter plays
loves serenade
emboldened strokes
in oils dramatic
his canvas laden
replete
climactic

J.C. honey- tiger 09/08/2019.