skin slightly paler and just trusting enough
the younger twin by two minutes explained
sometimes mom gets this way
standing at the open trunk of the ‘84 Mazda 626
feeding the feral dog old bologna
somewhere in the deepest humid South
late summer, two-thousand two –
driving her home from school
the oldest sits double uncomfortable
with cramps and an upset stomach
while watching me
doing the strangest dance of delicacy
as who knows the mystery of the first moon cycle
…safe! –
tromping through the stream bed
string-less sneakers barely remembered
against all odds and laws of physics
face still ***** with a sugary ring
smiles fly as the biggest agate of day
lay in stubby strong fingers –
strange prompt without limits
on this second day of poetry month
two-thousand sixteen
invoke old memories of strangers
becoming a family….

one day their children will call me Grandpa,
and Sam will quietly slip away –

finding myself struggling with twenty-seven years
the magic number until I can retire
seems a thousand lifetimes away
and how will I ever stay in one place that long…
for near forty years’ worth of days
I have floundered between part-time
and joblessness… some of it as a ******
some as a young adult trying to find my way…
pondering solvency, monetarily
I consider my real options:
theft leads to jail
hard work leads to hard work
401k’s and retirement planning
are often stolen by the greed of the 1%-ers
bailout for the monopoly kings…
where is my bailout for living in America for this long?
who has been diligently investing in my trust fund?
why is this what ‘making it’ looks like?
answerless questions lay piled on the floor
some hurriedly jotted on napkins
others tattooed on my forehead
none ripe or ready…
I know I can keep on keeping on
I hustled ****** for ten years
….but I want it to be easier
I desire to bathe in bling
and throw hundreds out the window
yelling about how much I don’t give a ****
….but for now, I will just get up to my alarm
wash my face and hands
and play slave to the machine one more day

rapping with rappers on the radio
filling the gaps with extra lyric
mapping the sappy way they pretend
and offering 16 beats a breath like a boss
rick ross looks lost when handed floss
and jay z is crazy lazy in May, maybe cause Beyoncé’s
bounce house lacks compressed air
and the weave in her hair ads to the growing despair
like Dr. Dre cares about flared out khakis while Rakeem’s
grill gleams like flava flavs time piece –
b-boy stylin while in the dance hall
and balla’s with creased collars
throw dolla’s at bithces locked in the twerk
jerkin off in the corner lil kim seems thin
since aids came to play
and fat joe and heavy d sit with harps
lookin down at the crowd jumpin around
they floatin on **** clouds proudly
snoop’s pound frowns at clowns
tryin to be down
but really just hangin around
like the Mississippi mounds
poundin ***** like Tupac on acid
and that lil goblin from hotlanta
actin like he steady mobbing
they robbin the hood for goods and services
while talking **** to easily impressed suburb kids
acting like they got a message
but only KRS got anything to say
and that was just the one time
chuck d and that insane griff
talkin mad crap about gay rappers
and casting couch happenings
has me reacting like maybe I need to a new faction
cause I ain’t into none of eminem’s new action
and poor ole busta
nuts bein busted
in those funky *** dreads –

encased in energy oozing with a combination of anger
and apathy
I smile and extend my hand
“sign here” I say
….with a grumble they comply
as life up to this point has given them no reason not to
a DR or daily fail can mean fourteen to 40 days
no more good time for the student inmate with a bad attitude –
Doing my best to have fans running and any available window open
I attempt to remove the atmosphere of daily prison life
with the exception of everyone being in the same dull blue
and carrying the same emotional strain
hardened faces contort trying to remember
why y=mx+b
and I all can do is watch the struggle –
elation fills one corner of the space
as someone has a break through
I smile quietly to myself while reading
one less for the recidivism rates

edgy
semi-hostile;
opinionated *******
with mad skillz
and
no remorse –
I use the hate
the anger
find myself
satiated
by social unrest
and cultural rage…
a bully,
on a pulpit –
I have no consideration
for the feelings
of those scorned
skin thickens only after reddening
evolution and growth
rarely come pain free –
So many tears
flow freely down ***** streets
void of children’s laughter,
or simple sounds of midday traffic…
I sit on the corner
enjoying the un-comfortability
of a nation locked
in systematic racial injustice
and unease over whose **** goes were –
My **** roosts in a shabbily build coop
looking over a brood
producing eggs
that I will soon abort
and create a lovely omelet –

where is it we go
when the energy shifts
we see the tree stands strong
rooted deep and soaking sun and water
only to be transformed
metamorphosed to desktops
and old-time pencil shafts
it exists still
     further explored
     to the fire pit
     homes heated though combustion
     this smoke travels into the ether
     becoming yet another form
     dissipated and displaced
     but real nonetheless
when I slip into smoke
what will be left to circumnavigate the globe
particulates of Sam
jet streaming to infinity
like so many forest fires
our mingling energy
the very air you breath

……. the sustaining aspects –

victimized by happenstance
the moral majority leans
crumbling faded pages
fall disjointed
the bible has slipped to light bathroom reading
and those betrothed to Jesus
cry themselves to sleep –
wringing clasped hands
and looking skyward for answers
they watch in helpless dismay
as true equality and individual freedoms
crushingly stomp values
based on 2000 year old desert stories
the dried tears
turn into salty anger
and systemic hate
based in fear –
gays proudly wed in churches
once maligned for witch burning
taking turns carrying each other
over middle-class thresholds
adopting impoverished babies
and the unwanted immigrant children
only to be blasted on mass media
for their ****** and unholy lifestyle
it seems to me
American Christians
have lost sight of the work
Jesus actually did –
Avidly reading and researching
the world’s religions
seeking eternally for the reasons
some semblance of an answer
as to why gods of love
would instill so much hate and fear
in their constituency…
their flocks ……..
those blind to reality
and subject to irrationality
because someone once told them
this book is the only way
and without it
salvation and peace
are bad jokes –

single dark hair pokes through
natural fiber button-up
clinging to a bulging belly
free from beer to blame
38 year old frame
six feet five inches
hides 300 pounds
along with two or three x’s
depending on the brand
and bran
and counting
longing for that ole ****** sheik
that only came with ******
and emaciation
information avalanche out of control
living with bread addiction
sounds silly after melting crack with vinegar
pop can spoon fed
looking at fields of wheat with contempt
longing for enriched flour
status vs station
am I built to die young?
like my fathers before me
extra fat on the organs
can only lead to uncomfortable death

a barely noticeable breeze
passed by the delicate pear blossom
and along its journey
caught my nose
the light fresh fragrance
became the universe
as I closed my eyes
and deeply inhaled  --
behind sunlit lids
my imagination created soft pink petals
dancing and twirling
barely attached to the larger twig
being folded and manipulated
by strong bumble bee legs
as pear blossom pollen
is gathered for a entitled
and specific queen –
further along the breezy voyage
the light scent transports me to a feast
guests grotesquely gorging
on the bounty
of a delicate pear blossom
allowed to pass away
and give life to fruit
harboring seeds
genetically coded
to create
delicate pear blossoms
caught in barely noticeable breezes
their wafting perfume
enticing one to
travel most beautifully –

election cycle returns
and the returns are in
no one gives a ****
about economic downturns
or pacific trade agreements
built to further gut
the Amerikkkan dream
Honey Boo-Boo lost eight pounds –
wingless welchers tirade over lost causes
causing the public to collectively *****
only racial injustice strikes cords
or the ever popular threat to children
outside of that, the general consensus
is to give the Dugger ******
a second chance –
guns for drugs
bombs fall on Bagdad
homosexual agenda
the imaginary scourge
melds with marijuana laws
giving the conservatives pause
but only until the Letterman finale –
sightless masses spoon fed by multimedia
millionaires
much maligned in the middle
misrepresented and mismanaged
mean well
but they have given over control
to the television set –

~
Midge had a smidgen of misgivings regarding pigeons
grey and blue and cooing while she, on the stoop,
only wished for winged flight.
She had tried flapping wildly, mildly spraining her thigh,
and jumped off a dumpster with eyes to the sky, but
its wasn’t until upon the davenport that the idea stuck her
with the force of a horse kick she’d pick up some luggage
and soar like a bird on an airline called United (even with the bad press
she liked how they sounded.) So she found a round trip to a high desert plain
with lines of the Nazca… famous for aliens or pre-history pilots or maybe
hot air balloon wanders. It was there she felt peace and a semblance of home
as these people too had longed for the sky paying homage to insects
and drawing roads to the heavens. She sat down, looked around,
and ate some break, unleavened.  /

spoon beat peppermint fudge
trudging through
rotation
strengthening forearms
and developing rhythm
creating deliciousness
over high heat
settling in a foil nest
awaiting “cool”
eager eyes peer onto the countertop
examining
eating without ingesting
each nuance
rising peak and falling valley
thoroughly explored
patience escapes
and the moment of truth arrives  
serrated butter knife
pierces the exterior
sliding nearly effortlessly
bringing delight
and salivation
to all who witness –

sharp granules jut forth
piecing skin wrinkled  
crimson droplets leave paths
across white stucco
and dingy linoleum

yellow dots
speckle the lid
peanut butter smear
dulls the shiny silver handle

pattering feet
isolated hurricane
towels acts as wind gusts
dripping shorts a deluge

flying crust lands in green grass
flying youth lands in cool blue
screams fill the sky
but only rushing bubbles does he hear /

each day brings more frightening imagery
compounding hate and bigotry, free press
humanity cannot survive under such duress
the wall writings tell a simple tale needing to be heeded
there is no winning a race war on American soil –
blacks attacked will eventually fight back
and tear down any vestige of the status quo
leaving those of us with fair pigmentation
to bake and rot in the late summer sun
this, of course, barely placates the new power –
too far gone down paths of racial injustice
has America travelled to tout itself as the land of the free
from mistreated natives, land stolen and treaties broken
the poor Japanese citizens placed in concentration camps
more than two-hundred fifty years of my country
abusing, cheating, prostituting, and disenfranchising
the men and women who built the nation that hates them –
I find myself with a growing concern regarding our direction
daily, news outlets give fuel to the most dangerous of fires
working with super-human diligence and verve
they impart violent propaganda to impressionable children
babies with access to bullets, beaten, battered, and beneath
the lines of poverty so prevalent within this culture –
I sit at a dinosaur click-clacking away
behind the glass patrician, inmates of every walk
all quietly working, pencil to paper
fourteen testers with no common heritage
working together for the goal of their education
it is here, in the penitentiary, I see what hope looks like –

i took a drive up to the mountains
stopped near a dense part of the forest
casting my eyes over the forest floor I noticed the ferns
and even as I sat in the pouring rain
looking around for elusive Chanterelles
i felt at peace and at home

not an hour ago I had left my home
and here I was deep in the mountains
never one to be deterred by the rain
i stepped out amongst the ferns
becoming part of the forest
i spotted my first Chanterelles

oh! how I love to pick chanterelles
on the floor of the thick, dark forest
lost in a valley of ferns
with just of touch of cool Oregon rain
no thoughts for the worries of my home
just me, communing with the mountains

from before I could walk I played in these mountains
remembering my youth and vast forests
tucking behind my ear the frawn of a fern
tasting the nutty peppered flavor of fresh Chanterelles
truly, this was my real home
an Oregonian child at peace in the rain

brought back to the present by a large drop of rain
i thought about my family at home
and their connection to these same mountains
and while they did not love Chanterelles
they very much enjoyed playing among the ferns
in this special part of the forest

few things hold a place in my heart like this forest
or the beautiful orange grow of a new Chanterelle
i breathe in deep my home away from home
enjoying each and every drop of falling rain
looking across the range of mountains
sprinkled with soft and gentle ferns

i left my home in search of chanterelles
but was captivated by the mountains and made whole by the rain
in the societal forest, I am but a fern

~



flickering gaslight behind barely tinted safety glass
shadow plays across pale skin and
wine glasses rest on silver laden holders

languid smiles find me eager
and the gentlest stroke of an index finger
send shivers rocketing up from my toes
and over the top of my head

she pulls away playfully before I can
collect and hold the appendage
wry eyes cast glances
and she leans in placing soft sweet lips upon my own

we think ourselves safe and alone
as the petting becomes more heated
far off to the west, peering in through the patio door
an old lover wanes and falls behind the curtain  /

crassly clashing
diametric opposites
seething hostility paints tar-stained walls
coated against cold indifference
interfering ideologies cause pause
cryptic clauses calculate circumstance
vs.
significance
symbiotic relationships deteriorate
puddles of love remains…unwashed
free-flowing determination
wrestles mindlessly
paraphrasing haphazardly
seeking direction

there is a space
      far out at low tide
          near the mouth of a river
               where the sand is flat
                                                 and wet ~

one instantly remembers
why people thought the
     world had an edge

why they shook

        fists and sticks

ran clutching babe

         to safety of cave

when asteroids passed by ~

why when the goddess comet
               Venus
finally came to find her home

and Mars no longer suffered

when gravitational pull and
      magnetic fields
                   did     not     exist ~

when it could only
      be God
parted waters

and those
feet
in sand like this

saved them ~

global disaster destroyed
                  collective memory

so many have
       the tales

all of their gods
                  saved them ~

it’s easy to remember,
                all so innocent

when the moon
                 is new

when the season is summer

and toes, exposed

can follow a river

   to the sea

          at low tide ~

when stars reflect

                and the world
                       floats away

when it is at first
                       terrifying

to be so small

and simultaneously

invigorating to the
               point
of physical vibration

when recognizing oneself

as part of the all

made by the all

and therefore

yourself the all…………..


I see you Whitman

with your toes          in sand
                
                                                    like this    /

On the counter sat a faded black and white photograph
a young woman’s face smiled bright with hope for the future
a future that included me and my brother, a husband,
and one lover only she really liked.
A cough caught my attention and I looked at her wrinkled face
it had been days since any eye contact
since food had passed those dry, cracked, and peeling lips,
instead a small pink swab attached to a plastic white stick
brought dabs of moisture to a shriveling tongue.
Candles burned around her high school graduation picture
dark wisps of ashy smoke braided itself and disappeared
I took a cold unresponsive hand in my own
and thought about how many more times I would be able to touch her.
Each room in the facility held the same story
though none of us spoke to each other during those days
aside from an overly friendly care giver trying to delicately
flop a body around to change sheets or clean soiled sundries.
Mom’s breath stopped…
just at the moment when fear of being an orphan
had locked my chest in God’s own vice grip
she exhaled.
I laid my head against a cold steel bar
there to protect her from falling out of bed, but also
to  keep me from crawling in and wrapping my arms around her body
in an effort to keep her warm.  /

~


days expanding beyond mere hours
the long dark of winter sweeps the land
              wide brush strokes lay snow across canyons
                    famished mammals push thick undercoats
                            to the limits of temperature control

red chapped cheeks carry scarf string
holey mittens and thin thermals
           barely sway the frigid breath
                icicles stretch and grab
                            clawing at beanies

strollers set in the drifts
playground toys like sticks pushing the odd
                     single bar into the sky
                            one lone sled waits by the hill
                                   hard red plastic shell and yellow rope handles
                                             as isolated as an Antarctic station

my words fall as fog
spilling to the frozen ground below
               my thoughts held in the tundra
                       await the spring thaw
                             so that they might finally express
                                 the ‘buuurrrrrr’ that no one heard   /

heat emanates
drawing my cool skin closer
pressing my leg
against the back of her tight
sleep finds me again –
rustling leaves flutter
just outside the open window
morning breeze sending a shiver
I wrap myself tighter
snuggling deep into her skin –
ah, to be a tick
or bot fly
but I would wish no disease
just to be closer
silence of the lambs style….
let me wear your skin –
pressing fresh and smelling faint shampoo
a smile passes my lips
as I think more crazy thoughts
before getting up for work –

Musing


         at holiday music…..



                                                  lea­ving


my muse




to sit




                                                         ­             
                                                                ­     unamused.

To my surprise,
a little scrub jay
lit near me

its blue head
faded into the blue sky
and I thought to myself,

“Everything IS a hologram.”

~


deep dark water holds
     the entire spectrum
           heating sheets
                  flooding shorelines

deniers hide fat red faces
        drunk with power and ignorance
                under down-filled pillows
                    and 1000 thread count Egyptian cotton

granules traverse deserts
           eroding hillsides and
                  depositing in swallowed lakebeds
                       fossilized cacti whisper in the howl

people crying out that change is a hoax
          everything remains eternally static
                   a garden pre Adam
                        their insanity hurts my head

bending my neck into distorted positions
     I try to see their point
              my eyes bleed
                  trying to see their side
                      I would agree to disagree
                              if the lives of my children and grandchildren
                                 were not hanging in the balance  /

nostrils flare as capillaries expand
rushing blood as the ******* rushes
pin-pointed eyes cannot hide
and I decide just one more hit –
stabbing wildly
the great vein hunter seeking
the most elusive of prey
…it’s a ******* wonder I don’t drop dead
obviously I have no veins…
how on earth is the blood traveling –
picking a spot only slightly tinged
my 25 percent Native American blood
leaves my skin mostly white…
but when I rub the pin hole
and the blood moves around, smeared
my skin takes on the hue of the red man,
I stab again, and again….
top of my left foot
edge of my big toe
in-between the first *******
the fatty part of my thumb
forearm, armpit, left arm, switch
wiping away blood
stabbing again
more blood
more stabbing
blood
stab
blood
stab
….the minutes turn steady
and the sweat drips in time
when in an instant it happens
the addition of a pink pastel
the recognition of acquisition
I have a vein
the near clear fluid travels
from the 1 cc
into me
and I am free
……………………………………..
………………………………………
for about 17 minutes –

Replaying what their saying praying they bring light to this white uptight insightful wannabe rapper
Cracking the code attacking the slackers taking wack swings trying to use the Clapper dressed dapper
Like Versace shoestrings singing like ODB making sure my breaths clean, it’s my upbringing two parent
Household got no gold but I make you mind blown rocking rhymes about frog and toad I’m road worn
And born weary love oregon’s rain, dreary love to read Beverly Cleary like Ramona wasn’t cheerleading
A future bare back ******* posing as a children’s reader more like a chicken head feeder yet sweeter
Cold toes in the morning gotta find a slipper pull up my cargo pants, can’t find the zipper feeling like
Jack Tripper …. its slipperier the ***** to attacking Iraq with most black troops a whole new set of roots
The truth is uncouth like jerking off in a telephone booth *** shooting on yellow pages gobs coating
Everyones names strangers in cages with rage faces and misplaced hate…******* ingrates –

E. E. Cummings ‘s

deceased…

                the man known for nonconformity

                conformed in the most predictable way,

                                                           ­        died

wrote volumes poemspoemspoemspoems scribblestampscrawl

                                            ­                                                          Revered­



all the time spent on self-publication...

                                            ­              I have one question to pose back, Sonny

Did it hurt when your brain popped,

Mister Cynic?

                                                         ­                                       --- Sam Temple

lost in opinion
it no longer matters, the facts
only how ideology is presented
the loudest
gets the attention
the most vicious
gets the press
the rest of us
get to watch –
the ugliness of the opinionated *******
has become the standard
in which the United States
works under
the days of community based organization
with goals befitting the common man
are dead
replaced with selfie-sticks
and Instagram pre-teen twerkers
shaking ***** free from development
trying to shimmy flat chests
attempting to sexualize
childhood –
grossly negligent of truth
the masses pass gas and laugh
instead of begging pardon
and creating a social structure
that respects its citizenry
my blood boils
my stomach churns
as I feel my own guilt –
too quick to attack those who disagree
ready like a pouncing tiger
to spring and troll those I love
especially on social media
I have no feelings of compassion
I have no care for your thoughts
all that matters is that I am the loudest
ugliest
opinionated *******
in that given moment…….


But I tire…..

the hard truth is I am the problem
I am the troll
I am the hate speech monster
looking to poke holes in your theory’s
bust your *****
over just about anything
leaving nothing safe
but images of children
and the occasional cute pet……


I used to be such a nice guy….
maybe it’s time to leave the internet
and reconnect with myself
naturally –

used to try writing raps
my version of stealing from blacks
near had a heart-attack over the fact
aint nothing worse than a white assed mac
back to the roots with my poetic muse
but I refuse to lose the blues
or act like they aren’t my bad news
see, I too have worn out shoes
solidarity and commonality through being poor
letters to Santa scratched into the cold dirt floor
always living hungry, afraid to ask for more
only thing ever offered freely was access to the front door
you know..  “complaining ***, get the **** out”
leaving very little room for anyone to doubt
there was nothing of my station granting me any version of clout
and fingerprints across my face were the answer to a pout
now I just stick with poetry, was never really a thief
well except that little piece of coral from the Hawaiian reef
or my trip to Jamaica when I ripped off that spleef
or the time after all that trimming I had 11 pounds of keef
those are all lies I have barely been off the west coast
I wanted you to be impressed so I had to try and boast
like that was the only way you would think I was ‘the most’
guess I will go do my Elwood impression and have some plain white toast

~



mouths move
               gestures grant meaning

                            some smiles pass
                                   and
                          animated flailing follows ~

     one set of eyes
        does not register    
          my observation
   the droning facilitator
              ******* life and air
        from forced bodies ~

the second hand slips gears
                 time reverses

mounting stress and
         flipping pony tails
              an adjusted power tie
                                  tucked into a grey blazer ~

How long has that coffee cup
                    been floating?    /

~



is it my white male entitlement

    being forty years old

               having a degree in sociology

                               and anthropology



is it a lifetime of observations

           twenty-five years of poetry

                  constantly seeking new information

                           critically thinking



I am not saying I know better

or

that I can live the black or female

experience



I can say with full confidence

***** and ******

only serve to hold you down ~



when any people identify with a derogatory term
the mental anguish brings self-loathing
it is the backbone of the racist and sexist system
that you will willingly keep yourself
less ~



IT’S ABOUT POWER

OWNERSHIP

HOW DARE YOU WHITE MAN!!!






at the end of the day

       I can’t really help

                 being tired of bitten hands

                              I don’t really care to try



this is just some friendly advice

from the devil

from the root of your suffering

from a white man

who thinks he knows /

this July fourth
I would ask something
from white America
which is not going to be easy
but could go a long way
in rebuilding the dream –
do not go to parades
do not spend money on smoke and mirrors
fireworks
twinkle but for a second
but the image of hypocrisy
shines in every minority eye
instead
close the drapes
gather the family in the middle of the room
kneel
bow your heads
like in the Rockwell paintings
and ask whatever you think of
as greater than your self
for forgiveness –
when the red and white of old glory
fly for freedom
think about who is free
and what that means
do not salute
or stand at attention
for the symbol of empire
and oppression
instead
close the drapes
get on your knees
and beg for forgiveness –
400 years of slavery
250 years of empire
conversation of  wall building
deporting 11 million Americans
because of paperwork…
disallowing the influx
of the most war torn and ravaged people
since Vietnam
they are our brothers and sisters
who just happen to hail from Syria –
the United States stands as a global disgrace
in place of the greatest nation
we see hate values and racial profiling
bigotry peppered with intolerance
this fourth of July
think about freedom
think about liberty

Let us consider
The walrus and the carpenter
And the plight of poor
Mother oyster and her babes
To be eaten
To be digested
To be pooed
This is the way of the farm oyster
Cultivated lovingly
For mass consumption
By those with the taste
For salty snot ***** –
The time has come to speak of other things
Like clams, and *****
Lobster and squid
Octopi and the urchin
Jellyfish smeared
On fish pate
Spoken how it is spelled
Fish pate on a date
Seems great unless grated
Or outdated…
Just leave it on the plate
Pate on a plate
For goodness sake
Kaloo Kalay
Fishing is work
Just ask the learning channel
The history channel
Animal planet
OPB
ABC
Fox will tell you it’s easy
But seriously,
What does the fox say –
I sit at work
Longing to be as the walrus
Do a little ocean fishing
And have a bit of a bake
But alas,
Kaloo
Kalay
Cabbages and Kings
Sometimes have to work –

peripheral  happenstance
it seems as I read
those items in the background
seem to swell and fade
as my eyes travel
from left to right the page
I cannot focus
but only notice
the growing keyboard
pushing fast towards my face
only to so slowly journey
back to a resting place
as the page ends –

species massacred for grazing
cows rule the world
the Brazilian rainforest
is now 80 million acres
of open range
supporting our demise
one cheeseburger at a time –
6700 gallons of water
is the cost of a big mac
when you factor in growing grain
giving cattle drinking water
and processing meat
peak water and peak oil
mean nothing when chewing cud –
more than 50% of greenhouse gases
methane from bovine flatus
without a single environmental group
working to stop this plague
instead they openly swallow
government lies about carbon
and the role 300 million United States citizens
have in saving the world of 7 billion
by driving less and recycling –
I laugh uproariously at the idiocy
knowing our karmic retribution
can only be extinction
like so many other species
we’ve killed off to make room
for more livestock agriculture
when everyone knows at this point
we can survive and thrive
off a plant based diet….
I’d write more,
but I am starving for
a bacon double cheeseburger –

flashing tail fins
darting under and behind
Lilli pad leaves
white and orange coy
circle beneath the bamboo –
undefined spots
blend
giving a swirling kaleidoscope
to tiny fish bodies
Heron camouflage –
sitting on a hand crafted wooden bench
I toss flakes into the water
enjoying the quick surfacing
and instantaneous dive
of my scaly entertainers
another few flakes
another whirlpool –
a large orange and brown fishy
swims precariously close to me
gently I dangle ******* into the drink
six inch coy barely mouths
and nudges my fingertips
I think I just got to pet
my pet fish –