Winter is cold-hearted,
  Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weathercock
  Blown every way:
Summer days for me
  When every leaf is on its tree;

When Robin's not a beggar,
  And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hang singing, singing, singing,
  Over the wheat-fields wide,
  And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
  Swings from side to side,

And blue-black beetles transact business,
  And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten
  That no time be lost,
And moths grow fat and thrive,
And ladybirds arrive.

Before green apples blush,
  Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country
  Is worth a month in town;
  Is worth a day and a year
Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
  That days drone elsewhere.

faded Ladybirds swarm    my buildings intercom
Are they responding to an electric hum ?

faded Ladybirds swarm
a yellow painted wall
desperation
it is an unyielding prayer
no nourishment before the freeze

two little lady birds were sitting on my plants
i sat there and watched them as they began to dance
going two and fro as happy as can be
dancing close together dancing just for me
they were really happy having so much fun
dancing on the plants underneath the sun
when they finished dancing  they sat there for a while
then they flew away and left me with a smile

People communicate too much.
Their arms, their feet, their eyes, their hands.
Each one tells a story.
Each one differs, interfering and weighing the air down.
Then the mouth opens and words fly out,
A whirlwind of ideas, opinions, tumbling, spinning, whipping out.
So much noise.
A message here, a message there.
The noise is blinding.

Outside the garden is buzzing.
Not the droning buzz of conversation,
But the peaceful hum and sigh of nature.
The leaves wave as you walk.
Flower petals whisper to you, succinct words that don't rattle.
Ladybirds, bumblebees, humming birds hurtle and whisk around,
And best of all, the garden listens.

She leaned back on the black couch,
we merge like gumdrops melted and gnarled;
sticky with sweat, long legs in a nightgown,
the bridal gown she wears
uncertain of whose bride she is;
she struggles at playing chess with her feet,
I struggle with my hands,
look at me, I could never win,
but if she knew the toil I was in,
would she laugh?
She has always had a nice smile.

-Jamie F. Nugent

in a land of fantasy so beautiful and free
where everthing was magical as lovely as can be
there was a purple hedgehog as friendly as can be
he lived in the woods underneath a tree
there were little ladybirds having lots of fun
dancing there so happily underneath the sun
the stars were made of diamonds twinkling in the night
underneath the moon shining oh so bright
the grass was just like velvet so beautiful to see
everything was peaceful so beautiful and free
in this land of fantasy is where i long to be.

They looked behind the mushroom
Turned every leaf over to inspect
Gathered all the little people in a row
every bird, the mice, each little insect.
"Have you seen the Easter eggs" they were asked
They all smiled and said of course not.
Someone knew where they were
The Elf walked the ranks like a Sergeant Major
Looking for a sign on their polka faces.
No, they knew nothing,  Of course they did.
"Where is the Easter Bunny" the Elf cried.
"Bring the fellow here to me!"
The Bunny with guilt written across his face
shiffled forward passing the basket to the
ladybird as he presented himself to the Elf.
"Nothing to declare, you Majesty" said the Bunny
"Dont get funny with me" suggested the Elf
I can smell a plan a mile away Sunny Jim"
The insects giggled a bit under their breath
as the Elf frog marched towards them
"Know something do we" ..then the birds laughed.
They laughed so much the fell over.
The Magpie stood firm and confronted the Elf
"We know nothing" and burst into uncontrollable laughter.
The Elf failed to see the funny side and winced.
The Ladybirds had giggled their spots off
The Butterfly was whizzing in circles dreaming
Then it was spotted.  The basket had been spotted.
Crammed with Easter Eggs and delights.
And it had one wish.  To everyone.  It said
"Happy Easter".  It did.

There's a crowd of pitch black unicorns at a Chelsea Wolfe's concert.
A crowd of pitch black unicorns moving their onyx hooves and horns
at the rhythm of drones dressed in electric guitars. An acoustic break follows.
The vibrations of the music and dancing cause purple flowers to grow,
purple flowers weaned on blood and sticky black tar. There's a crowd of
unicorns dancing at a Chelsea Wolfe's concert feeding on ladybirds crisps
and dragonflies sticks, that once home will play vinyls on mystic turntables of fire.
The purple flowers grow into vines and try to smother the unicorns
to prevent them from listening to bloodred-dyed vinyls on mystic turntables of fire.
Meanwhile in the corner of a museum S. Teresa of Avila's statue animates by itself, walks
to the window and throwing itself crumbles into a thousand of pieces of marble.
The seventh seal has not been opened yet but the ninth the eleventh and the seventeenth
exploded already, cracked their own wax and started spreading tongues of flames
and water to decimate humanity. A woman dressed in a fifteenth century scarlet outfit
leads the pitch black unicorns to salvation creating a safe haven for them
in Manchester and another one in California. They have in the meantime gone bonkers
and started feeding on each other. Equine teeth suddenly grow carnivorous jaws.
Nothing is left in the two oasis apart from a puddle of blood and a pavement of corpses.
It's 7 a.m. Chelsea has not yet finished her concert and her music blossoms around
played by the mystic turntables of fire. That which remaineth is pitch black light
and the breath of aeons lingering here and beyond and nowhere.

hot coffee and stale cigarettes
while i reflect upon circumstances
and i suspect that the regret
will dissipate, while hope appirates
and my self confidence condensates

so i compensate for a lack of self meaning
by pushing the boundaries of what you seem
to see in them; dreaming of my next moves
like a display at the art gallery
you need to stand behind the line
while i sing "come on over Valerie"

so it's self lobotomy
as i open my mind up to the aether
and either i push forward to let go of her
or i stab the inner me that says i need her

so i make friends with the ladybirds
wasps and the ant hills and burn my lip on my cup as
i make a move to get my fills
and make peace with the fact that everything must one day

go up in smoke.

nick

A caste of hawks at  a rage of maidens
Led a cete of badgers to a gaggle of geese
And a school of whales brought a shiver of sharks
To a fever of stingrays at fabulous feast.
An absence of waiters in a crackle of crickets
Served a band of brothers a bevy of beer
Then the army of ants in the choir of angels
Left a filth of starlings decidedly queer.
But the clew of worms in the hive of bees
Swapped the bike of wasps for a ghost of gnats
While the raft of otters in the den of iniquity
Turned the loveliness of ladybirds to a river of rats.
Why an array of eels fed a bunch of grapes
To a pod of dolphins…nobody knows
But a disputation of lawyers cawing
Killed your flock of lice in a ****** of crows.*

M.
11 April 2015