Autumn’s Fancy

Autumn’s full of flair,
Shaking out her crimson hair,
Fancy, she sipped tumblers filled
With sunlight that in summer spilled,
And now she beams while letting go
Ablaze before the fall.

Woodpecker

The woodpecker way,
Needle nosing to uncover what’s hidden,
Not for the sake of idle nosy-ness
But to get through layers
Where necessary nourishment lives,
One feeding the other,
In the movement a transference
Of information,
Though let’s call them spores or a fungal frolic
Dancing to a drilling drum beat
The woodpecker way.

Slow Mo

Clad in faded jeans and a checkered flannel, where green and blue travelled in straight lines, his paisley cravat was an odd sight with its curled wisps of purple; reminiscent of years of yore when gentlemen sported ebony canes and shiny black top-hats that they tipped up slightly in greeting before settling down to sip whisky while ladies flipped tiles, busy at games of mahjong.  Continue reading “Slow Mo”

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