Grey bound
Green leaves
Grandpa's dream
Grandma's crown.

Dammed good facts,
today is a surely measurable day.
Set in the common course of human events
from the bottom,
where the world at this altitude,
is wintering, while
from the top we feel the sun, straight on
hot
as Mohave at solstice,

such as I, as we, seeing we live in order
to live
in order to help

eh, hey, hear us near us say, we know

weyekin, ye ken, visionary wisdom wedom

poet singer sayer pre-sent, and representing
words
living in timespace at time's own pace, passing

Dark cold winter, time for inwalled-usness use,
we become the whole room,
sometimes, all eyes on I, the one, in the middle
- there
- being the connection, anhamartia-tic,
coherence
here and there, a web conforms to koinonical
image entonations, owls of common sorts,
and squeeking black lizards, settle in the shade,
to night we go,

onward, to mark the time, watching all the old
knowing proven,
as the sun rises and sets, facts
as measures confirm, solid-ifity convey, say
so it is, con-fide-used knowing, faith,
as we say.

We are the people who know this mystery,
we live in life, as bits of all that ever was,
by now, all that is weighted

significant from first landmarks set in times past.

some, not my we, some see life as a struggle, see
from a salmon's POV, the sense of efforting
is joy,- efforting rejoicing +
this is right, this is how I form the people,
offsprung from war wage slaves,
who **** us,
to hide the stars at night.

Humans in the future shall love water flowing
functionality,
and starry story tellings
un seen in cities since the great white way
attracted the sharks into the tank.

(In memory of Norris Hickey 1935-2014)

Love of family and fly-fishing: twin tributaries flowed
into your heart like a braided river.
Paradoxically, a sociable man who preferred to be alone
on some braided river,
basking in the peace of the wilderness,
hearing only birdsong and the gentle whirr of the fly line,
its nylon whipping to where you hoped the fish would rise.
Patience comes easily in peaceful surroundings,
unlike waiting for the blessing of grandchildren.
Eventually rewarded with five blessings.
You always said what a lucky man you were.
I’m glad your luck held because you would weep to see
your precious braided rivers drying up down here,
****** dry by the farmers’ greed for white gold
and the threatened tarāpunga (Black-billed gulls)
getting their nests crushed by callous four-wheel drives.
It would be enough to make your big, generous heart burst.

© Andrew M. Bell

If that was a blast of love
I’d hate to see your hate.

Your blunt, forceful love
comes from fear,
rains in blows,
and leaves me -
smaller, sadder,
reactive—
reeling for equilibrium.

We're kinda small,
But we can be tall,
And play with the switches
On the walls.

We can run.
Ready. Set. Go.
You'll never catch us,
Don't you know.

We can reach anything
Out of reach.
We ride our bikes on our street.
We sometimes laugh until we ***.
We get our bruises riding scooters.
We're one on our teeter-totter.
We see-saw you.

Aine, Xav and Ga, their dog,
Were hiking through the Sifton Bog
On Sunday morning, sunny and warming,
Hunting for their Easter eggs;                                                    
When Ga sniffed, then barked in a hollow log. 
What is it, Ga? Aine asked in wonder
Is it a frog? Xav asked Pumper.

But Ga smiled and left to lift a leg.

So Aine peeked in one end,
Xav peered in the other.
It was hollow, that's for sure,
They waved to one another.

Oh!... But Oh!... something moved inside.
Brown and hairy, with flaming red eyes.
It moved at Xav, who stepped back, then cried:

Aine, come here! Come here NOW!

Quick as a flash she stood by his side.

(Together they would live or die.)

With twelve powerful legs and six beady eyes,
It leapt at them, then hopped outside.
There cuddling ‘n twitching at Xavi's feet,
Were three wee bunnies, cute as can be.                              

Ooooo, Ooooo, they both sighed.
Can we take them home to feed and keep,
And play bunny games till we fall  asleep!
Xavi asked. No. Xavi begged!

Hmmm, thought Aine, quite perplexed;
But then remembered what her parents said:

Be cautious with our furry friends;
The birds, fish and earthy crawlers;
When you find them,
Be careful-kind,
And they'll be with us always.

Still,  Xavi worried, so he asked his Sis,

Are they okay if left like this?

Hmmm, thought Aine (who's getting real good at this).
Let's call Granda.
Tell him what we've seen.
Mom says he knows everything.

(They Zoom Time on Mom & Dad’s phones)

Hello, Granda, this is Aine.
Xav and I have a question for ya.
We came across some wee bunnies
Huddled in their home.
Are they okay if left alone?

Granda heard their concern,
So he told them all he had learned.

All the bunnies I have known,
Have done real well when they have grown.
I knew Buggs as a wee bunny,
And he grew up to marry Honey.

Rabbit's a friend to Kanga and Roo,
And Mr. Rabbit got carrots tricking Cap’n Kangaroo.

Miffy was Kathleen’s first rabbit friend;
Mark loved Velveteen’s happy end?

And Roger starred in his own movie,
Like me, your Granda, he's so cool and groovy.

Thumper keeps thumping his left hind foot,
And Br'er Rabbit’s still naughty in all his books.

The White Rabbit leads Alice down a hole,
Where March Hare’s late... as usual.
                      
If you like heroes found in comics,
Read Captain Carrot, he’s supersonic.
I can't forget Crusader Rabbit,
He rides a horse and feeds it carrots.    

I’m sure you've heard of Beatrix Potter’s
Tales of Peter, and his sisters and brothers.

All these rabbits were once wild bunnies,
Now in movies, books and funnies.

Why, even magicians pull rabbits out of hats.

Your three wee kittens were left alone
While Mummy Bunny left on her own
To gather food bits to feed her wee kits
Waiting for her safe return.
                    
I surely hope I’ve allayed all your fears,
Don't worry, your bunnies are here for years.

But there's one more bunny I should address,
And I'll tell you who so you needn't guess
This bunny's the one we might like best:

It's the Easter Bunny, au chocolat!!

Xav and Aine were much relieved
To let their bunnies
Live wild and free.

Thank you, Granda.
Hope to see you soon.
Happy Easter, and too-da-loo.

And off they hopped for some Easter treats,                    

Pumper got his treat back home.
Leftover from dinner-
A tofu hambone.

We’re going on a duck hunt; just granny and me!
We’re going on a duck hunt, let me tell you what we see.

We are going to the river, with a bag of stale bread.
Fighting off seagulls and pigeons as they hover above our heads.

We will pass by the riverbanks where grasses and trees grow tall.
Watching and listening to the river as it tumbles, rolls, and roars.

We will see flowers of different colours.  White daisies, yellow buttercups, blue cornflowers, covering the parklands in a dazzling display.
My Granny says seeing the kaleidoscope of colours makes her day!

We will pass by rabbits hopping about their homes of grassy mounds.
Every now and then pricking up their ears; listening to every sound.

We will pass by geese gathered in a gaggle.
Big bottomed geese walking with a waggle.

We will pass by swans gliding with their necks held high.
Several young cygnets tucked in and swimming by their mums side.

We will pass all these wonders of nature as we make our way to the ducks.
Listening for every quack and cluck.

We reach our goal with a bag of bread in-hand.
Throwing the bread to the ducks who say thank you with a “quack” and a “cluck.”
Before you know it, the swans are there too.  Then the seagulls and pigeons “shoosh, go away you!”

Ducks are the best of the lot you see.  They make me laugh; I think they are funny.
No particular reason but my granny says, “It is because I am only three.”

We’re going on a duck hunt; just granny and me!
We’re going on a duck hunt, to feed the ducks their tea.

We can't ever offfer
That inside sleep
Of solitude and peace.
Yet this promise
We will keep.
Wake or  asleep,
We are with you.
Always.

So, Sleep, Ciaran. Sleep.
Let no one claim your dreams;
Listen to your childhood rhymes;
Worry not of place or time,
For all is still
As it seems.

Oh! Sleep, Angel. Sleep.
Shield your heart
As a secret power
In your waking hours.
Spread your winged smile
With candescence,
To brighten, and alit,
Where Angels sleep.

2020 - day 181

Monday, June 29, 2020
9:39 AM

one new day with no agenda, plenty of water and fresh air,

I walk a mile according to GPS, encouraging me
one daring deed done,

what's next? Write readable words, breathe life into readers,
read them,
without you, there are no living words, dear reader, rare
as you can imagine you are,
unique, an itty bitty unique being, on the grand scale.

Living words live in living readers... hmmm, never imagined
that,
did we become farmers first or story tellers?
it's in the meme's
more than the genes, the giants men imagined in the past
memetics passed in spiced wine mulled with stones
from the edge of fire
where we entertain such strangers as come upon us
unawares

⌱⌱

the price of my attention is what I choose to pay.
is it mine?
my attention, yes,
it
is my own to pay with.
What am I buying?
Whence comes this
currency
most valued in my time?
2020 vision plainly placed to catch
those of us,
our kind, dear readers in times of performance art
acting right... as deemed
by the academy
of performing artificers...

Daedelus, make me an imaginary universe in which I may
be mayor.
May shall be
my word, but here, in mine and mr. hicks peaceful kingdom,
may is yours to use as you will,
dear reader role deafault mode,
may being the impetus in the petition we agree to re
petere
to pass those impearled palisades of instuted gnowns
holy-way-outer-otherwise
saints and disconnected, click
st. peter -- all those pearly gate jokes, those pearls financed
nuance novus ordum did dump dump dump

-- look what the pigs ate.
-- naquered NAND gates in series, shitcity wecan go any where, from here

we could build a Yeti world from yak turds, according to
grandaughter number two's review
of Smallfoot, the -- what is this? new truth to reveal the old truth
which is this truth re

presented as drama of original intention, aimed at children,
my grandchildren,
memes reinforcing heresy as a silly gift intended for kidding... poking
stuck in the mud old dudes into the now,
your now, my future...

nice

haecceity, I think is the term that yoosto mean uni-kitty,

quit. really, as real as you may imagine --- There is a character,

known well to my granddaughter noel,
Unikitty -- quit, you are kidding
(playing by saying an unbelievable thing, testing an olden
rule,

is this that, ex-act, post-done? only kidding, we yoosto say.}

to ti esti, as Aristotle is said to have said, in Wikipedia,

{beta galactic encyclopedia, eh, 2020 tech is enough,
we can finish art ify ing the substance of hope,
set a watchman,
build on that rock,   -- kidding, I see the key peter issue lock
spring open

in my future, may hap or no, who knows?
Eh?
He knows what grows, who knows what seed he sows.}

Were we to agree we listen to voices singing the same tune,
often in time with more mind in default
wandering mode, fretless, fectless functional bliss,

in some songs we get carried a way, a meme away a meme away
we
leavened a world with new hope ***, and boom,
babies, all over the world,

and war claims the reason... the worth to be set on historic scale,
of winning the power of the
cultural corporate mind's will to POWER, bogus sci-******* vision,

woe is us, the truth has been eradicated,

we stand, one nation, under God... since the summer of 1954.

But words and pictures, now, for history, we have witnesses
who, technically, cannot lie.

we have moving pictures in technicolor with grand artworks of music
tuning us in to to

to ti esti, the what it is question's answer. What it is?
Word, old dude, Blue Mountain Rastaman, to ti esti, be

******* way t'say what it is. Tiswhatis.

Watchadoinswatchadoin t'me. I'm fine. Made up m'mind t' be agreeable.
Jes' don' lie, fit me to d' T. {wink} AI mind if you mind, but not much.

I received a few little letters
Scattered by my shining sun
Digitally mastered, he has overcome
Somewhat (insert a pause)
(I struggle for the word
For mixing up letters - you know the one)
DYSLEXIA!
He enquired about his grand sire
Wanting to know everything
Every little thing
For he perished when he was very young
He then recounted to me
His one remaining memory
Of finding a tiny little turtle
With great glee and awe
On a walk between our two houses
And their interchange there and back
Now I can but wonder
Would he have any idea
that one small adventure
Would be all that remained
In a boy’s mind, now a man
With two boys of his own
Of their short time together in life?
When he swung his walking stick
And batted that tiny turtle into the pond
Would he have reached over
And picked it up instead?
Or let the boy who was so excited
To find a tiny turtle on a walk
With his beloved Papaw
That memory has the same impact
As your walking stick on a tiny turtle
I suppose.
I do indeed wonder as I sit to compose
Words for my grand babes to find
And come to know me by
And I let that Sun’s memory guide me
On our little walks now....
We might find a little tiny turtle.