I step outside and look to my left,
And suddenly I see seven of the ducks,
All ‘ducked down low’ and sitting
On the slope, their heads all the same way.
‘Which one of you is the mother?’ I wonder,
‘Or is she even one among you?’
I’m struck by the fact that I couldn’t tell,
All seven sitting quietly looking the same,
Their heads all pointing the same way.
All I know is I’m worried ’bout the babies,
There were 8, then 6, then 5, and now 4.
And I haven’t seen any this morning.
So yeah, which one is the mother in mourning?
What’s a mourning duck look like?
Is she cemented in grief by 6 of her kin?
Siting up there on the sloping lawn,
Chastened by the night that brought this dawn,
Their beaks all pointing the same way.
Used to be mine
Before my landlady
Moved the chickenhut.
Now she comes on down
Like I imagine she fancies
She’s rolling down a tunnel
Long and smooth, past Tony’s
Twice a day to let the chickens run.
Is a sloping square
Where I fill up on nature
Out by the firepit and duckbath.
But I gotta work on it ’cause my friend
She comes on down and I greet her warmly
And we talk together of ducklings and firewood
But really she wants to tell me the music’s too loud.
Getting up early
Placing the chair where
I can witness for once (out of bed)
“The Arrival of the Ducks”
(followed by the pair of doves).
Scattering the cat biscuits
Far and wide like
I am sowing seed in the dawning light
When arrives Frodo the Cat
Who softly, with surprise, grazes.
Happy Birthday wishes to
Piet Radford, 83 an elder today!
Deep gratitude for the great pleasure
Of your company these past few years!
All the best for many more years living
(as you say) ‘your dream’!
With Aroha and respect
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
I went to look
For a special YouTube video
From my library to send to you,
And found the perfect one.
This is called a ‘3-D fractal trip’,
Using very good computer software
That’s based on Mandelbrot mathematics
The 3-D solid-looking ‘architectural’ structures
(which as an engineering man you’ll appreciate)
Are being constantly ‘fleshed’ in and out
By other 3-D similar forms ‘growing through and receding etc.’.
(and hence it’s 4-D really as we’re including time).
Anyway – have a cup of green bush tea on me
And check this out.
For one wise man and never-grow-old inspiration
Who is young enough and still kicking (ass)
At his age to know what ‘trip’ we are talking about here.
And it’s the perfect present
As it’s what you’ve helped me realize.
Life is ‘Like In A Dream’.
Well done, Frodo my cat.
‘Frightened Frodie’, scaredy-cat,
Mister Frodo, beloved cat.
This morning I saw in our interaction,
you have achieved your mission;
from frightened Frodo
to Frodo the Super-chilled cat.
You were one of a litter of five,
where your four siblings were
put down by the SPCA
for being too feral, too feeble.
For your mother was a stray,
(and your father who-knows-who),
and you have found your way
and survived your frightening journey.
From ‘Frodo more-backward-than-
forward shy cat’; to approachable
and approaching Frodo with Mojo,
beloved and loving cat.
I release my need
For the woman I want
And want instead
The woman I need
A little miracle
From a long time ago
When I chance upon this photo
Jessie and Karen,
Jessie, at her age,
Put the stickers on the photo!
Got the colours well.
At the bay
Of manuka and pohutukawa
There is above, the park
Of linden, maple, oak and gum.
In autumn colours
Today, stands a tree.
Several silver branches lean fallen
From the recent storm.
Into the sky are
Arrayed, expanding flights of
Green and yellow, warm pink and orange
Amid dying claws of brown.
But look down –
Among the fallen, the graves
Of dark leaves hanging on silver, the one
Bright heart red, trembling.
The loose metal road climbs
up from the bay.
A walk in the park was a
walk through the past today.
Memory, as a whole, is a
warm capacity for feeling.
But every episode remembered
leaves me yet, in their multitude,
A trusty stick sweeps away the
wreckage before me, the single
feeling returns, as a warmth
in the air I’m breathing.
Across my shoulders it goes.
The posture, if a pose, still
expresses and slows into depth
this feeling, with hands,
like bridge supports, holding both ends.
The rocking of my spine, the
sure grip of both arms, and
pressing on uphill, a sudden sense
shifts the scene, as it feels
like it’s a rifle I’m shouldering.
A soldier returning, a cup of tea
when I’m home, if not company then
some toast with tomato and pepper.
My mind drops into a grave
and sombre respect for the brave.
As I trudge up said hill, the past
no burden but the warmth of the
present, all homes, built on the warmth
of those who protected, yet were
subject to trouble, neglect, dejection.
There are a million ways
I delude myself.
There are a million ways
May I at least have
Made it amusing to
Open to be inspired.