dragonfly - take two

I spotted what seemed to be an "unlisted passenger" aboard this dragonfly and was reminded of Swift's words: "So nat'ralists observe, a flea Hath smaller fleas that on him prey, And these have smaller fleas that bite 'em, And so proceed ad infinitum."

.................................

my intention was to produce this as a formal sonnet and if i ever get off my GFA that is indeed how i will re-write it

set point




in june
my garden
(a heath which has taken lessons in deportment)
floods itself with white and pink wild orchids
echoing the heather
and
my mood


there should be no problem
peaceful co-existence
(that panacea of the liberal kipper)*
being the order of the day

however
this morning
caught between the sun and the clock
found me with a mower
removing chaos from my mossy realm
perhaps i would take a little inner journey
to
wimbledon
let my whirring blades carve stripes on hallowed courts
and
soothe my poor hay-fevered eyes
with the buttocky balm of the ladies’ singles

of course
back here
(in dust and perspiration)
the orchids served an ace
grass-cutting is out
(you cannot be serious)
and
so
i stop and start
leaving reservations of colour
or
single castaway blooms
on
wilderness islands in a sea of sward




there is a sense of mutual salvation
of
rightness

in the future
(and my misremembered past)
i will spend less time on grass
and
more on flowers



* kipper = one who or that which has two faces and no guts



………………………………

for polona - that dragonfly training course paid off at last :)

.....................

taking in the slack

............................

deep down and gone

..........................

first day of summer

.......................

mood music

after two days of rain
spent walking between cabin fever and someplace low
the sun came out
my forgotten work ethic kicked in
twisted my head round til i was facing the tool shed
i showed some strength of will
turned it right back again
that’s all i can stand and i can’t stand no mower

this was about soul survival in tough times
“no man is an island unto himself”
nah - he needs beer and music
i pushed aside all thoughts of being a tiller of the soil
(and grass-cutting holds too many shades of scythes and grim reapers)

so i shimmied fridgewise
picked up a couple of cold ones
and
out into the afternoon
(then cursed and went back for the opener and a Bflat whistle)
outside again
i leaned back against my “thinking log”
sshhhed open a stella
shared the first foam with my beard
then
put the bottle down and tried the whistle
it’s old
kinda battered and cheap-looking
(you don’t have to be much of a psychologist to figure why i like it)
but
it still sings sweet
low and husky mean and gentle

i shut my eyes
let my fingers run up and down
hold a few long and whispered notes

then
i got that hey man i’m being watched sensation
not some kinda paranoia
not a no officer i was someplace else feeling
more of a sharing


i hushed up and looked up

a cow had wandered over and was watching me over the fence
you after the beer or the music i said
then i looked into these deep brown eyes
don’t abuse the gift of language by using it to mock
she said without a blink
i simply wished to share a little time
while we have it
maybe i could be your moos
reckon you cud i said

then i played some more
and
(i guess)
found a few more bottles

all i know is
next time i looked up
i saw a night sky
and
between the notes
i heard her gentle breathing
and
the sound of someone chewing over the world and the stars

………………………………………