On Cue

The fat crow caws

from the top

of the peppercorn tree

kraak kraak kraak

loud, loutish, laconic

& the bloke next door calls out

to his wife

what’s that, dear?

what’s that?

Feathers

I don’t feel like meat tonight.

Red or white.

Perhaps bananas and ice cream

Though I remember what my son once said about ice cream,

How it’s made from the feathers of birds.

I’ve never felt right about it since.

I’m afraid to look it up in case it’s true

And I’ll feel even worse.

But ice cream feels right.

It’s a hot evening. I’ve had eggs and bacon for lunch

So something soft seems just the ticket..

I just wish I never heard that about ice cream,

That the thought would just grow wings and fly away.

pic courtesy of Pinterest by ehow.com

Berating a Barramundi

We were talking about Milly, Bev’s cat

who had just butchered a baby blackbird

when Rob went feral.

I have never liked cats, he said. They should be locked up. Murderers all.

Go easy, I said. You ever eat at a restaurant?

Of course, he said.

Ever ordered a barramundi?

Often.

Ever sent it back because it was too fishy?

No, of course not.

Well, I said, you may as well berate a barramundi

for being a fish

as to castigate a cat

for being feline.

Zen Sandwich

Zen Sandwich

I am eating my zen sandwich by the side

            of a blue lake . I hear the sound of

                        two wings flapping .





A fawn falcon plunges down the side

            of the volcanic cone , its claws extended

like the landing gear of a plane .





As it skims across the surface — a sail-winged

             skater —- the talons lacerate the taut

                    skin of that lake . It bleeds blue .

Out-Foxed

the nefarious cat

is taken back

the nest so

cleverly concealed

in a thicket

of thorns

& prickles

there is little

she can do

but sigh —-

and eat

humble pie

  • photo courtesy of Ulle Haddock

What Moves You, Moves Me

the musky glow of the candle bowl

the frisson of flesh on flesh

the cinnamon zing of Venetians

crosswords over coffee

Joaquin Phoenix singing Cry, Cry, Cry

the ineffable sadness of Jackson because we both

know people like that

the voice of Johnny Cash, proof that there’s a God

Rick Springfield on Gospel Radio speaking to the sky

& those blackbirds, after rain, bless their untidy little hearts.

Are You a Friend of Jesus?

I was walking along the Semaphore jetty

when a roly-poly guy from the Gospel Ministry

waddled up to me with a pamphlet, asking:

Are you a friend of Jesus, friend?

I said that I was but I didn’t know about

my web-footed friend almost at my side, but

if you threw him a fish I’m sure that he

would be too.

Now I don’t know whether Jesus had a sense

of humor but this guy didn’t even crack a smile

Like Hummingbirds on Crack

D,H, Moore wrote

in 2014

that his thoughts buzzed around

‘like hummingbirds

on crack’

but I like to think

of

Wordsworth & his sister Dorothy

wandering aimlessly

as a cloud

through the fields

in 1804

& being seized

by the vision

of the ‘host of golden daffodils’.

my distractions sit

in between

plentiful & constant

as weather;

sooner or later one settles

like a hummingbird

on a flower

pic courtesy of Wiki Commons

How to Catch a Seagull

stephy-miehle-ndaEWVql1fo-unsplash.jpg

My grandmother taught me

how to catch a seagull .

All you had to do, she said,

was to sneak up

behind one and sprinkle salt

on its tail .

How this was supposed to work

or what to do with it

when you caught one —

she never explained

but I tried it a few times .

I went down to the beach

with a salt shaker

and sneaked up behind some gulls

squabbling over chips

but one of them

always saw me coming .

It doesn’t work, I told grandma

but she always stuck to her story

but now I take it with a pinch

of salt .

 

 

john malone

See Ya!

IMG_20190327_163201

I hope old Schooner’s all right.

He looked a little cranky last time.

He knew something was coming down the pike.

Birds know. They have a crystal ball.

They foresee earthquakes, tsunamis.

He must have foreseen the sale of the pub

& the old drive-thru that housed his Taj Mahal

Of a cage where he held court rasping, See Ya!

To customers who had stopped to chat.

I hope he’s okay where he is.

Each Friday at the pub I raise my glass

To Old Schooner.

Here’s to you! I say. Stay cocky, dude.

See Ya!