After a fine early dinner I had
fallen asleep in my easy chair.
The house was hot when I awoke.
Stepping outside onto the porch,
the valley was bathed in golden
departing light, our Hazel Nut
orchard was alive with dancing
leaves of fluttering green, like flags
of a million tiny ships upon an ocean.

The cool brisk breeze from the West
off the sea embraced me with it's
invigorating freshness, I breathed
deeply and smiled as perhaps only
an old man can within such a realized
moment of absolute peace and perfection.

Combinations, badly put
Assume dimension, found afoot,
The very stuff of human kind's
Ability to see ... whilst blind.

For instance, take the last four years
Where insanity drove dulcet fears,
Keelhauling reason's rationale
Beyond the realm, beyond the pale.

Consider this, Sir, if you will,
Fascination's trough of swill
Where every man beneath the sun,
Under the pillow, keeps a gun?

Intriguing how, across the globe,
Despite sophistication's robe,
Pandemic rages forth, unchecked,
To foolishness's disrespect.

Futility of righteous flame
In seeking absolution's claim
By whispering in hallowed ear
Thy Catholic sins in shades of fear.

East / West drowning in distrust,
Wall Street terrified of bust,
California's deep disdain
Of climate change's promised flame.

Some you win, some you lose
Wisdom depicts those who choose
Sink or swim, the game decrees,
Observing mankind on his knees.

Combinations, badly put
Assume dimension, found afoot,
The very stuff of human kind's
Ability to see ... when blind.

M.
Foxglove, Taranaki NZ
12 July 2021

The descending sun turning sky and clouds
to yellow gold, evening shades pulling the
reflected glow into the sea, behind the hills.
Low amber light spilling across the valley floor
casts muted textured shadows, the loveliest light
of the day.

Doves still calling to one another, perhaps
discussing where to bed down for the night.
Peaceful voices of reassurance and calm that
always makes me smile.

In an hour, darkness will intercede, the clear
heavens will radiate and sparkle, stars much
brighter with but a diminished crescent moon
for competitions light.

In the coming darkness the night music of
crickets and frogs will begin to serenade,
and as I recline in my comfy porch chair this
seductive creature orchestration, may induce
early slumber in me, so difficult to evade.

But then what better way to end a nearly
perfect day?

The bent old man limped
out upon the wooden pier.
The day was bright and clear,
he had fished there for over
72 years, a high mountain
lake he revered as both boy
and man. Now at 82 every
step he takes hurts. Even in
sleep at night his pain persists.

The sparkling clear calm water was
like looking down into a mirror.
To his own reflection staring back
up at him, he softly uttered,
“I used to be someone,
but not anymore.”

No one was around to see him go,
or hear the splash that took him low,
deep under to his own desired ending.

For most of my son's life
I was his teacher,
Now as an adult man
my son is teaching me.

He stalks and low crawls across the space.
Eyes wide and focused upon his prey,
a millions years of instincts throbbing
through his brain and sleek body.
His toes and claws flex with the coiled
anticipation of a hunter predator.

In a sudden burst of energy and blinding
speed he launches his attack, at the last
moment I pull up on the bait and he springs
three feet high into the air front claws extended!
For the next fifteen minutes the three month
old still a kitten, and I engage in our twice a
day ritual dance, a sparing inspired and facilitated
by a little feathered stuffed toy blue bird on a sting,
and I the puppet master.

His resolve is limitless, he will never quit, in
pursuit he springs and jumps circles in mid
air until I eventually end the affair for his own
good, when he begins to pant mouth open.
Then it is cat nap time. Sometimes for us both.

The darkness is not frightening
it enfolds, shrouding everything
even me. I had all but forgotten
it's feel. The silence, the thoughtful
contemplation.

Four days and dark nights without
electric power, or water, layered in
the grip of an ice storms power.
Trees, plants and fences, everything
encrusted in thick coats of ice.
Power poles and lines toppled and
snapped. Hundred year old trees
uprooted, falling upon homes and streets.

How many times have I still flipped
a light switch or tried to flush the
toilet, all to no avail, how easily our
all electric lives can disappear, cutting
our dependent umbilical cords to all
technologies that we take for granted
until they disappear, living by faint light
of hearths fire or candles glow like our
many times removed ancestors did long ago.  

Cold food and cold rooms, huddled
by the fireplace for every bit of warmth
it offers. All in silence but for occasional
crackling sparks from the fire, my own
audible breathing, the snoring of my old dog.

Inconvenient yes, but usefully instructional if
we heed the message, even rather peaceful too.