Short Hovels Poems

bat
echo detective
hanging around hovels
pursuing dwellers of the
night...

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From every side rise 
forlorn cries, hovels ghastly
plunged in darkness deep...
The winding way to grandma's house
s a secret he'll long keep...

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Adriaen van Ostade
peasants&hovels were his special fad
His brother Isaak followed the same path
their amusing art still produces a laugh*

*https://www.wikiart.org/en/adriaen-van-ostade...

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Grey rabbit... White paper...


I am the grey rabbit
Snared, trapped by restrictive wires
Unseen
I reach for the quill of significance
Yet she teases
Just a tug too far
Ink wells spilt upon verde grass
Parchment paper
Leaves me parched
I cannot paint nor write
My fluffy tails lost it's sheen
I'm off down the burrow
To lick my wounds
And
Ensure my hovels clean...

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if adams and eves be
hovels for souls
- and -

their bodies of some 
thirty trillion cells
- then -

they average genes about
thirty five percent human
- meaning -

the adams and eves be as
two thirds earth eden garden
- soil -

mirroring all other life forms
seen in the earth eden mirror
- so that -

in caring for their own health
they be guard'ning the survival
- of earths -



stans sand...

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I want to write words in the thickness
of a single sheet of paper
Words that imprint themselves
in reality
like a stick of rock
that sits upon
a salted hovels shelves
bringing nightmare recollections
of drowned holidays
and fragments of broken families
that build sea shell razor beaches
Wish you were here
is always somewhere else
And frozen seas of froth and plastic bags
that took away the child
seem to whisper please stay
please...

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I yield to the earth
in supplication to nature
with worship in each breath


listening to a sermon
of kookaburras
as a kangaroo bounds out
a plate for tithe


I see goannas parade
the ancient rites
and koalas swoon
with the new age gospel
waving their faces,
and hanging from their mouths


and the platypus
monks of cold,
carry the testaments 
to the deepest hovels


living with just one heart
I can breathe a tide,
and find home...

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Sometimes we dream
  Sometimes we do
Which one's for you?

President Jimmy Carter
  Made speech after speech
Do you recall one word he said?
  Just who did he reach?

Then he left office
  Picked up a shovel
Built homes for the poor
  Replaced huts and hovels

Jimmy Carter made speeches
  Mere promises, 'preaches'
Then he built homes for the poor
  Changed folks' lives; that's for sure

Sometimes we dream
  Sometimes we do
Which one's for you?...

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It is gone from us
Between our fingers like sand
Ars Moriendi

We shall never more
Find purpose or grace for it
Midas immortal

Bartholome stays
In hovels and parliament
The blade shines the sun

O Yeats, it's worse, worse
For gyres multiply like wasps
On the children's eye

The city travails
And in every place you hear
The glass shattering

Something in labour
I can't define its presence
Too cautious my eye

But we shall not find
Not till the hourglass dries, that
Ars Moriendi...

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It went wrong,
two days to visit my former life
as a Londoner.

Old men in East End pubs
knew my past
but the tour bus
did not pass that way.

Trips around Buckingham Palace,
the Tower of London,
no time to visit the grey hovels
of a hobbled childhood.

London forgot to be me.
My childhood buried too deep
to find word of itself.

After the sight-seeing
we drove to the high moors
and green hills,
places where my footprints
could still be traced on local maps....

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Traveled the globe      For many years       My haunting memory       Are the children`s tears        Tattered rags       To keep them warm       Roadside hovels       Shelters from the storm     All they have is a mother`s love      Hardly enough       When push comes to shove         From dawn to dusk        In the street       Pleading to strangers        For something to eat   The horrible truth       No one cares to see        Only a fortunate few       Exist long enough to be...

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