Vintage Dive
In elder times
humans filled
caves with
sorrow
for
watching summer’s
fall into
the seasons of night

As a surprising
consolation,

we were gifted Autumn

with her vintage
palate of violet
plums and gilded
acorns,

buried under
mosaics of
variegated leaves

which dive through
the dawn
after
bravely
letting go

spiraling
southward
stirring
the season’s ***
while
painting
the forest floor
in
a masterpiece
of welcome
change.

Clouds
sketching
synchronistic
footnotes
into the novelties
of the day

Tucking into the folds
of late August valleys

painted in vintage clover

falling toward winter

Ivory forms lazily turn mobiles overhead

As symbols,
as comfort
as bucket filled rain.

Travel towards the sun by day, until weary then turn left if may.  A cottage in the middle of nowhere you seek, will be just beyond your reach.

As I stare at the verses,
I must seem so still.
She casts a web
from where she sits
and I smile,
but knowingly,
lower her body
down to the table.
She scatters again towards
the page I have just
turned and together we
weep for beauty

I love to go walking, at least once a day
And see what I stumble across on my way
I can cover hills and valleys, forests and fields
To unearth what treasure the next stroll yields

Yesterday my amble took me a brand new way
Through an old wood with a black stream I did stray
I came across a boy with a face grimaced in concentration
A child in this ****** place, aroused my determination.

I said ‘Hey boy why are you so far from home?’
‘Please good sir you must leave me alone’
Then I noticed how tightly he clenched his fist
And knew he must have a treasure to add to my list.

I picked up the boy and grabbed his wrist
I shook it vigorously to open that fist,
Then I attacked his fingers and commenced to pry
From the boy not a whimper, a whisper or sigh.

‘Child I demand you open and reveal what’s in your hand’
‘There’s nothing sir not even a grain of sand’
The sheer cheek of the runt was simply astounding
I would open that paw if it meant giving him a pounding.

That’s just what I did, the boy got a seeing to
I slapped him and kicked him threatened to boil him in stew,
Swung him over my head and dashed him to the floor
No matter what manner of violence the scamp took more.

Exhausted and demoralised I screamed at the brat
‘Show me what you have and let that be that’
‘Please, it’s noting sir as I’ve said before
You can kick me and hit me and throw me to the floor’

Then I remembered, in my belt a small knife
I decided to cut off that mitt and end this strife,
Off at the wrist, open the fingers to look in the hand
The boy wasn’t lying, not even a grain of sand.

After all that effort and a day with no pleasure
I refused to feel down at the lack of treasure,
Next time you’re near to my house you must call
And I’ll show you the hand nailed firmly to the wall.

Seize the speedway.
Try going outdoors.
For at the end of the day
This day was yours.

I hear the crickets,
It's like she's next to me on the grass
Not on a receiver in my room
Because it was quiet
Only crickets purring
and I felt warm.

A broken clarity
scored by fat pigeon coos
and the gangster chatter of crows

A winged court is in session and
they are not finding in our favour

Their behaviour’s changed
so even the ranks
of hedge birds are emboldened
to thumb their beaks
and sing clear in number
and the woodpecker’s gavel falls

When our industry prevails
will we seek vengeance,
or preserve this
hallowed cacophony?