Month: November 2024
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Being like a Bat
What is it really likeTo be a bat?OthersHave asked,But nowI think I know. One flewThrough an open doorLast night;The room was hotSo I’d snuck outsideFor a little breezeAnd left a fanTo wobbleIn the room. For a bat,It must have seemedLike the beatingOf a thousand insect wings-A ChiropteralShangri-la. ButThe one that enteredFlew around the walls,ConfusedAt its…
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Tis in my memory locked
For some time now, I’ve wondered what makes some places feel like they are a part of me -or more likely, that I am a part of them… And why are some things only superficially appealing, in spite of their evident attempts to mimic authenticity? I suppose we all have different needs, so perhaps generic…
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The Fallen Leaf
THE FALLEN LEAF The movementCaught meBy surprise –The colour,Too,I suppose. I was walkingSomewhereBehind my eyesThat day,Not in an autumnWood. I should have noticedChangeAll around:The lack of birds,The crunch of leavesUnderfoot;But insteadIt was only thoughtsDancingCarelesslyThrough my brain. ThenI saw a leafCome flutteringDown,Unsteadily:A lost childSearchingFor the groundAnd findingMy footInstead. I wonderedIf it knewAnythingOf Death,Or simplyExpectedSalutationsOn arrival;AssimilationWith its…
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Aye, there’s the rub
When I was very young, my older brother played in a minor role in his high school’s production of Brigadoon, a musical written in the 1940ies. He made it sound like a real but faraway place he hoped to visit one day. He was older than me, so I believed him, but I wondered what…
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In Memoriam Felis
I saw a cat on the sidewalk this morning. I was walking back to my rooms after breakfast in Kerikeri and had not noticed it earlier. I reached down to pet it, but it seemed cold and didn’t stir. Lying on its side, its little face wore a peace that only sun or death can…
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Someplace Safe
I’m looking for a place to rest my eyes-Some place safe;Some place they will not be swept awayIf they land too hard,Or accused of trespassIf they stay too long.They always attract attention though,Like a face peekingFrom behind a curtain,Or lights coming onIn a previously unknown room.They can be a curse,My eyes,And yet without them,I would…
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Remember me?
If I were put in chargeOf what I thought,Things would be differentIn there.Ideas would marchIn single file,Not crowd togetherLike childrenAs recess ends.FeelingsWould listen to reasonAnd accountFor their whereaboutsEach time they leftThe room.There would be no needTo rummage throughA pile of wordsTo find a nameOr link a faceTo a pictureI can’t remember taking;No reason to forget…
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