Dear little fly,
You didn't have to die,
But you've made a crucial mistake.
You said that you'll come over.
Then you flew over my sofa
And landed next to my chocolate cake.
Your two small wings
In the air it sings,
Though it's annoying in my ear.
And to no one's surprise,
Your untimely demise
Will become your very worst fear.
When I finally saw you,
I only yelled, "SHOO!"
You thought you had more lives than a cat.
But you landed on the wall
And had a great fall;
For my Giant Fly Swatter went SPLAT!
You just sealed your doom.
And now, with my broom,
You were swept up and laid to rest.
In the garbage you go,
Because you're too slow:
Good-bye, you miserable pest!
On holidays, the texts will fly;
Good wishes will begin.
There is no need to wonder why;
That’s how it’s always been
At least since texting was a thing;
Before that, cards were sent.
The mailman was the one to bring
Somebody’s good intent.
It’s strange it takes a holiday
For people to connect,
But that’s become the common way
And what you would expect.
Yet still, it’s nice to hear that ding
And see upon the screen
A greeting that your phone does bring
From one you’ve hardly seen.
Fly BMI, to land in time
There is no time to waste
Stroll down along the Serpentine
The morning air to taste
Across the park to Albert Hall
To Kensington High Street
And further on, towards the Mall
Where you can rest your feet
It’s got to be the Living Room
Their Dover sole is great
Pale sun, and even paler moon
Fall down on your plate
Two people here, three people there
Dull people talk and turn
I like the fuss they make, don’t care
To be liked in return
On Charing Cross I’m quick to toss
Some CDs at the Foyles
A truly searching lad I was
To find my kind of noise
End of the day, the hotel bar
I’m looking at the floor
There is no more Thistle Hyde Park
And Living Room’s no more
The times have changed, but I remain
About the same today
Although it’s quite a different game
I imitate to play
Those were the days, my darling dear
Those were the nights as well
Fly BMI, to disappear
No one would care to tell.
The male Hine’s Emerald patrols his cattail fen
low through sedge and seepage
his compound eyes pluck gnats from the air
two yellow bars flash along his thorax
hindwings catch the morning
Chimanimani Mountain mist beads over quartz
the female Rock Threadtail
six black feet braced on the edge
her wing tilted toward the sun
eyes—black
He misses the gnat
darts, veers, halts midair, pivots
his ommatidia fixed on her raised wing
smitten, his heading shifts
the female Rock Threadtail rests above her stream
=======
Spring's gentle prelude,
Swallows fly into the mist—
Seeking distant skies.
My grandpa could do it
from across the room
He also skipped rope
with the small intestines of a cadaver
when he was a medical student
Both stories make him interesting
to me, and worth remembering
I killed a fly tonight
with Ben’s Halloween sword
from last year
resting on the top
of the fridge,
where the fly swatter
should have been
My mom later shares
tidbits with me
while I prune dead leaves
off acorn squash and cucumber plants
from my son’s spring garden
He will not eat the vegetables,
but he nurtures them
like bald babies
I tell him what my mom told me:
how my great uncle
covered tables
with thousands piece puzzles
until you couldn’t see
the color of wood underneath
My great uncle Bill’s
great love died
so he took up puzzles,
trains, and golf
I loved the smell of his house
and picking raspberries
in his backyard
on the Fourth of July
when I was way too young
to understand
the complexity of
of living
To kill a fly
takes a steady hand
To live a life full-lived
takes something more
“please stop religious fundamentalism ~
just let God’s light ignite mind-body prism”
~ quote by poet
If you believe in this and I in that,
just let it be dear heart, just let it be,
for there is on my door no welcome mat
and since with your scripture I don’t agree,
know that your next victim cannot be me.
Consider what if our roles are reversed
and you are by opposing views coerced,
where I say it’s my way or the highway,
would then you not feel that you have been cursed,
to suffer at my hands day after day?
My eye is a small brown bird
that won't stay in its cage.
It slips through the bars of my lashes
and flies straight out the window,
chasing a real bird across the sky.
Grown-ups call this a non-focusing,
the eye should perch on the page
like a good, quiet pet.
But I think my eye is a bee.
It wants to land on everything sweet:
the crack in the ceiling, shaped like a river,
a shoe shining like a black lake,
a little galaxy of dust
turning to gold dust in the sun.
And when my eye flies home again,
it comes back full,
its wings dusted with honey,
ready to pour all that sweetness
back into my work.
So let your eyes fly.
Let them drink the whole wide world.
Sitting still isn't the only way to see,
sometimes the best seeing
happens in flight.
You are
now free,
Jackie. You
knew your time
had come. Your job. on. earth
was done. Although ill, you raised your
eaglets well. You are never really
gone; Your legacy lives on. You
brought us all together.
May your journey
find fair weather
back to nature
and your sky.
God's speed, my
Queen. Fly high.
lonely tree in yard
houses squirrel and robins nest
the two do not mix
The air starts to shift and turn cool
A gentle whisper, nature's rule
A softer light begins to gleam
Reflecting in a sleepy stream
A scent of earth, a hint of frost
Where summer's vibrant bloom is lost
The sun descends in golden haze
Through shortening of passing days
A silent setting starts to weave
That only souls who watch believe
The trees in robes of russet dressed
Their leafy crowns now put to test
The fields are bare, the harvest done
A resting time for everyone
The scent of wood smoke starts to rise
Beneath the vast darkening skies
A comfort lies in the night`s chill
As the cool breeze stands deeply still.
This autumn breath, prelude to frost,
To winter`s advent, never lost.
My old soul is what I feature
Never asked a reason why
Never tried to doubt the nature
Only feel the urge to fly
I’m a metaphor you might
Recognize in times you follow
The trajectories of mind
In the dimness of tomorrow
When I’m tired of the flying
See me resting in the shade
Too much rest may equal dying
But I’m not at all afraid
I was born to find my light
Be it deep, or be it shallow
Flecks of sun, or moon at night
Lantern glimmer in the halo
I know that I must beware
Of the flame, but it’s a joke
I instinctively take care
From the turning into smoke
Only freedom is the cause
Of my little fragile life
Flying over, I take course
To whatever source of light..
The soft light slowly starts to fade
Where shadows erewhile softly played,
A PENUMBRA begins to spread,
An ELIXIR sets out to head
IMBUED with a magical shine
That seems to lengthen one`s lifeline
With outgrowth of a tender grace
Seeming to fly in time and space
With onset of a feel of peace
And a sense of distinctive bliss.
I want to fly as I dream, dream.
far and far extending the brim.
I dream on my expectation
always aiming my ambition.
I’ll soar high to the extreme.
That’s my goal seems to be supreme.
I garnish dream on devotion
till my dream gets its completion.
Rising scarlet sun shimmers for a long while,
hanging in the halcyon horizon of color pile.
I get from it the dulcet gift of a promising day,
try to walk another unknown mile all the way.
In seamless spread of the cerulean satin sky
thin cotton cloud clumps float cheerfully high.
Their flotilla format allures me to fly like a bird free.
Flair of celestial scene creates for me joyful reverie.
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