Bobble heads on teetering shelves,

There are so many eyes, looking


Down on me. I try to reach up to

Still their shaking heads, but even


When I jump, I cannot seem to reach.

Gunboat diplomacy
Dynamite archeology
Unnecessary surgery
The way we mince our words
Virtual friends and views
Terrible ends
We refuse
To see as nothing
That could happen to us
As conflagration moves like water
Over an acrylic floor
Which morphs into a globe form
To welcome in the war.

Two new roses
growing next to each other,
silky petals just touching
Their delicate stamens
the sighing breeze
sets up a rhythm of caress

A honeybee brushes between them
understanding the ways of young flowers
His probiscus delicately probes
until it releases a flow of nectar
They comply
reluctantly opening

As a heady perfume
is released into the air,
the honeybee replete
weaves his way back to the hive
He hums with intoxicated
honeyed repletion

The first peach ripened
on the young tree
is easily plucked
It’s velvet against my lips
the ******* of it’s delicate sweet juices

Some cream to pour over it
then we eat it together
Our tongues touch
it’s soft flesh yielding

Then for a single plum
with it’s silken bejewelled skin
I delve deep to release
the gushing juice
anticipating
fresh figs, persimmons, morello cherries

Cleft of mystery
shadow leading to hidden waters
A mysterious spring that feeds
the well of dreams

Essence of rose,
she is bound with silver chains,
released to ride the night

At sunset I enter
love’s Eleusian mystery
Lost in her flowing waterfall
of midnight hair

She is rose and jasmine
and tigers breath
Orchids of night surround us
ecstatically she sips their nectar

Moon moth and night blooming flower
at sunrise vanishing
into the carmine sky

O Holly and Ivy
they are both in full moan
No Christmas tree for them because
the delivery man let them down

O the disappointment  of the sales
of hangovers undeserved
Don’t leave your curtains open
for the next door neighbour perves

Our neighbour is called Blossom
so white with nausea
She polished off the Prosecco
then threw up on our rug

O the horror of our relatives
and the misery of mince pies
Not so bad when you’re eating them,
but they end up on one’s thighs