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”

Plotting

He wondered what to grow in the small plot he’d turned over.  It was a pleasant sight, clods of dirt mounded up in tidy squares; he watched worms wriggling as he gulped water, splashed his sweaty face.  The sun had long since burned away all dew, it was on fire. Continue reading “Plotting”

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