The yellow morning sun rises out of an Easterly gray
sky bringing the promise of a bright blue, cloudless
new day.

A dozen songbirds are hard at work upon the feeders,
the barn cats lurk in the flower bushes, hunting waiting.
A hawk perches upon the barn roof, preening his feathers
in the warming lemony new light. Our red rooster crows
his morning song from the safety of the covered chicken pen.

I stretch, yawn and scratch my itchy bits, standing peering
out the window at the spring dewy grass scene that reminds
me to check and gas up the riding mower.

My hungry hedonistic house cat meows and rubs against
my bare legs, and hem of my old bathrobe, the aroma of
fresh perking coffee brings all morning ritual attentions
back inside, and just like the outside creatures, I also begin
yet another fine new day, content that for this emerging
brief moment in time all is right in my world. For as long
as I leave off the Television.

There it was that cute little spider
Returning to build another web
Debating on trees to go much higher
It always struggles in the end

There it was that cute little spider
Returning to build another bond
Growing older beginning to inspire
Alas I’m still being conned

There it was that cute little spider
Reinforcing the web for the rain
Somehow with minimal dividers
Doesn’t lessen the inevitable pain

There it was that cute little spider
Limping from some injury
They made it home safe and sound
But yet still leaves in a hurry

There it is that cute little spider
What is it that attracts me so?
Is it my desire for them to stay?
Or my heartbreak when they go?

I kept the web safe and proceeded to wait
For the spider to come on back
There I was waiting on the plate
Because I will be their late night snack

Oh look she’s finally here to end me
Gosh how long I’ve waited for this
Never once have I even tried to flee
For this marriage has always been bliss

A park of wonders, where I dropped a stinky trace,
I speak the truth, no f*ing joking here—
For as I walked, a sudden pain did race,
And struck my gut with sharp, unbidden fear.
Around me, passersby with hurried pace,
I count them, yet I seek a quiet spot,
A corner hidden well, with quiet grace,
And there, with scratch of branch, I find my lot.

A wondrous garden, sweet with fragrant air,
Where morning's light delights the soul within,
In shadows soft, I find my solace there,
Beside a rose, where nature does begin.
The crows do cry, the snails they crawl with might,
The dew upon the grass, a fleeting grace.
And fate, it seems, in moments calm and bright,
Reveals itself, unknowing in this place.

Within this lonely, tranquil, leafy land,
A figure stirs, an Uzbek in his dress,
A gardener of the streets, with broom in hand,
Distracts me with his talk, and I confess —
Through tangled brush, his steps a sudden breeze,
He speaks of nations, politics, and more,
As though, in paradise, his mind finds ease,
And shakes the peace of nature’s sacred floor.

So many here, diverse in every way,
From every corner of that old empire.
Greetings, my friend, though I must turn away,
For silence, now, is all I can desire.
The garden fades; the autumn winds do call.
No topic now remains for us to share,
Let’s end this moment, leave without a fall,
And part, with silence still between the air.

Mercy is shown to the guilty
Leniency is a matter of justice , not mercy
But no one is ever unfair for not showing mercy
Are we not all guilty of something ?

This language

Already archaic

Sits ageing on

The page-

A youth-like this
Once was-

Stares vacant
Into space

Eat sleep birdies chirp
tweety-tunes taily-twerks
life survive dawn surprise
tasty worms sunrise  
early-birds catchy verbs

I understand
the language
of sad mornings
I understand the
turning wheels
of cruel madness
I understand
because I have
learnt from the
poets the teachers
of sorrowful things
and through this
thin grey light
I can see the
ghost of her
flying like a
painted bird
I rest amongst the
scattered leaves
I listen to the
weeping of swans …
Clay.M