sandstorm approaching,
geckos hunting scorpions —
a restless moon shines
sandstorm approaching,
geckos hunting scorpions —
a restless moon shines
stock grazing grassland
cow pats baking, sun blazing
dung beetle rolls ball
breakfast, grumpy mood
after a night without sleep
August sun rising
mischievous raven
tickles tail of dozing cat –
summer sun smiles
jack and jill boxing
across a liminal stream
the sun and the moon
#hares
Cherry blossom buds
Osaka to Kyoto
Warmth of rising sun

1.
I fell in love with the nose that nuzzled near the nape of my neck,
her fingertips touched mine on Baggot Street bridge that night in May.
We walked with electricity between us.
I talked to myself about the way she spoke through lips I longed to lick.
You could say I was attracted to the ambiguity of her personality, the style with which she tickled my boxers.
2.
I grew familiar with her nose.
The fingers lost their tips.
When the Sun came up, the electric light dimmed.
I got used to talking to her.
The summer sun sank below the mountains, below the plain, lost from sight.
3.
The Fall moon peeped from behind clouds, drawing the tide, going and coming.
Every Night, Dawn, Morning, Day, Afternoon, Dusk, Evening,
every Cycle of Life.
she came to me, to the house of my youth, slipped into me with an ocean wave,
flickering, feasting, flowing.
I married her blue eyes,
and we all lived lively ever after.

Song of the Wandering Fog
If you go out in the fog today, you’re not sure of a great surprise.
If you go out in the fog any day, you may not be sure you’re wise.
For everywhere you go through fog
is bound to be confusing,
and everything that’s bemusing you
means a well of anxiety.
I can’t go out in the sun today, nor under a sky that’s blue,
I can’t go out in my favourite air
nor go forward without a care.
As I go out in the fog again, I know I’ll never be sure
when I’ll bash my head on a wall
because fog is obscure and means unsure,
and can even drum up fear.
When I am out in the fog right now, I’m in touch with reality.
When fog is thick and hard to cross,
I’m sure I am not free to act
in charge of my destiny.
When you go out in the fog next time be sure to celebrate.
You’re bound to get lost,
you’re bound to be tossed
into a new divide.
Should you go left or should you go right?
Should you go back or should you press on
when you don’t know where you’re going?
There’s only one way to decide.
Are you ready to be safe and sure to save face,
and what did you do last time?
How strong are your arms, your legs and your heart
’cause they here to help you start,
to welcome the dark,
shake hands with the gloom,
and muddle your way towards a rising moon.
You’re born with a light that shines
from an undergrowth
and you’re never alone in a vacuum.
No fog can extinguish your will to adventure.
Now where shall we go today?

He looked directly at the sun
and the sun shone back.
He felt the smile flood his Queen’s eyes,
stretch ruddy pink skin,
the slightest suggestion of dimples.
The sun god Ra rose from the bed
naked.
A fire in Ra’s eye raged,
falcon’s feathers flowing
in celebration.
This was the day.
This was no ordinary man
Voice of his people
taller than warriors
big in boots
staccato words
triumphant
bombast
Jamaican Infante.
The sun god’s cobra curled …
Watching you watching
her play in the swimming pool
a lizard soaks sun

The sun overachieved
when she provided light, warmth, direction, security and reassurance
to the solar system.
The moon overachieved
when it reflected, drew tides, cast shadows and fed poets
mottled metaphors.
The stars overachieved
when they gave Hollywood a reputation, grains of sand a run for their money,
and inspired the search for Graham’s number.
There’s a woman with blond hair, tall, blue eyes, imagination of a harlequin,
and an inclination to call herself
overachiever.
https://audioboom.com/boos/5039858-new-poem-as-soon-as-we-wake
As soon as you wake up,
you’re seduced by the sun
that comes over your horizon
and shines light throughout your land,
sky and heart scape.
As soon as I open my eyes,
I’m seduced by BBC News,
emails, notifications, Twitter, Facebook,
Instagram, Anchor, WordPress, Audioboo
and
“From Bath to Cork with Baby Grace“.

Warmed
I am a wood frog in a previous life.
You would probably think I was dead
if you saw where I was inside logs and burrows
heart stopped
ice crystals in my blood.
I defrost in the warmth of Spring.
Before that, I am a deer mouse
huddled together snuggling with the others
I don’t live for long.
In my time, I am a white-tailed prairie dog, a bat, hedgehog.
I am even a skunk
suspecting that’s where I began.
Last December
I all came together in this chilled life –
until my sun got warm again.