Sentimental Attachment
There is a mosquito in my room, it’s slow and
Fat, when it comes near, I’ll kill it even if all
Life is equal; the damn thing may carry Dengue
Fever and, anyways, it isn’t possible to have
A meaningful relationship with an insect and feel
Distraught when it drowns in your coffee.
My neighbor has a lamb in his shed, it’s baaing.
All day, misses its mother, the company of others.
Lambs, to jump in the air, on a field, and look.
Cute; now it is being fattened up for slaughter in
In about six months, I’m looking forward to
Be invited for dinner, I have made mint sauce.
Dogs would be difficult to eat, though. There is
Something cannibalistic about it, they have been
Close to us through history, emotionally, they are
A part of us, this is partly true, people in China
Eat dogs, only a few through, the rest are like us.
Give their pet silly names like… Fofino.
In the verdant pasture perched on the hilly spine,
ewe leads her frolicking lamb flock in the sunshine.
A lineage of woolly convoy on blithe bouncy trails,
its baaing symphony in the pastoral plateau sails.
With the satin fleece as soft as the morning mist,
each prancing sheep she adores can’t be missed.
Shepherd's calm control emits from love of ewe,
as her eyes glisten like dulcet drops of dawn dew.
She escorts the flock toddling in a dawdling pace,
ewe notice, she's the laudable lady of great grace.
As the sun sets painting horizon with golden hue,
the sleepy sheep seek for the cuddle of caring ewe.
The Creche Painter
I am a pine, 4 feet tall;
My needles formed in green plastic;
Tiny lights and tiny gifts adorn me;
While I shade miniature figures of glass.
Glass – hand painted lovingly
By poor, worn fingers, with eyes squintly smiling;
The painter glowing, knowing
Her savior was born a babe,’
But one day touched her heart
And found Himself a home.
She hums a hymn as she prays to Him
That she will do justice to his face;
His glass blanket of soft blue
Will warm his dear body where he lay.
And she pats her brush to fluff white sheep
Baaing after their tan clad Shepherd; then
Adding colors bright to night traveling wise men,
She lastly gilts the halos of Mary and Joseph.
A glow now encompasses her table
She is one, serene in her work;
Her heart ever lives and paints in his stable.
Monday Morning
The mist has been hanging low over the village
like a suicidal thought on a long damp evenings.
Poison or the rope? I remember Saddam Hussein
his fall was long and I still hear the snap as his
neck broke. What am I doing here, this tedious,
grey village and the smell of dirty woolen,
baaing sheep grazing amongst drab olive trees.
The pallid houses, shuttered and avoid seeing
the misery of the mist that drips as unstoppable
sorrow of a death´s grief that shrouds all life.
This morning the sun was shining and the village
Looks like a fairy tale. I sit on the terrace try to
get a humble suntan as I´m seeing the cardiologist
tomorrow and don´t want him to think I´m sick.
This is a good place to live a place to live a long time.
A new day awakens in a bonnie Scottish Glen
As I await the morning sunshine peeking over the Ben
Standing at the door of my centuries old croft
The wild fern's arise as the rays makes them loft
A calming soothing trickle delights my morning ears
Meandering through purple heathers as it's done for many years
Hooded crows show their presence, then silence in quietness fall
In timid look they perch, as they hear a Golden Eagles call
The baaing of the sheep resonate from down the Glen
Freedom to roam they are in the land of crofting men
Above the sun now shines amidst a sky of Saltire blue
This land of clans and tartans, through my eyes you'll see my view
Upon the grass I sit, as I marvel at my surrounds
And my desire for a maiden, to share my Highland grounds
A mid morning stroll I take to absorb just where I am
I start thinking to myself, "aye I'm one of Alba's sons"
Summers day, river bank stroll
Fields in gold and greens
Only me, the only soul
Walking in natures dreams
Walking under shaded
Wooden towered tree's
As the leaves wave down at me
In the warmed summer breeze
Skylarks,swifts and swallows
Show each other who fly best
Chirping to each other
In their airborne acrobatic best
Meandering river flows
Criscrossing this fine land
A living entity
One of natures awesome finds
Flowering harvests grow
Attracting insects of many kinds
A humming buzzing score
Scented flowers they all find
The baaing of sheep
As the cows all speak the moo
This ovine bovine chorus
Add to this farmland zoo
I stand rock still, as i look around
To absorb, all these wonderful magic sounds
Like staged musicals as many creatures sing
Listen to The Orchestra of Nature
She sure can do her thing.
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