A channel of warm coastal breeze
and sun this afternoon lights up
the patio deck on forest hillside.
A dozen tiny flies now congregate
mid-air beneath the redwood limbs
nearby, and here the dance begins.
Clay Sombrero Man on patio delights
in all the revelry. The flies now circling,
dive and dance, a flit and flirt.
Patio Man wonders at the grace
of this tiny troupe of dancing flies,
spiraling, then vanishing in shadow.
The tiny acrobats have gone.
They've left our Clay Sombrero Man
to muse the why of things --
the where of things,
the feet and wings of flies --
the flies of wing and dance.
Sombrero Mice
There’s a family of tiny Town mice,
Living in a Sombrero Hat.
They’ve been in there since Tuesday
Well, what do you think of that!
sombrero 'pon peg
owner six feet underground....
poncho wiggles fast
You're wearing a Sombrero
though you're not on holiday
Do your children wash
behind their ears?
An aladdin's cave is awaiting you
Its down Croydon
with a topical Sunday Market
The Autumn crocuses
hypnotize you like unwritten sentences
We fled in grief
drawn to dark stained sands
Why not scorn the passing centuries
with the spat mouth of roots and berries
My sombrero is black, my bandana is sweaty black too.
Digging up weeds in the east field is hard work, but I don’t mind.
That field is mine and every last weed and whatever in that field in mine
I can do what I want and don’t have any ramrod to tell me what to do.
That field is mine now and maybe I can make it earn me some money.
Cattle won’t work, crops won’t either. Guess I’ll just let it sit there until I’ve
a good mind to know what to do with it.
Put some horses on it, I don’t think so. Too far from the bunk house for their
proper care. No water to speak of for them to drink.
Why’d I buy it? Land is better than money. Money can fly away like a bird in the sky.
Land is for ever and my nature is to sink my roots deep into it. Guess I'm just doing that.
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