Deep within the city park
stood Barnaby, a highly
grumpy, semi- sentient apple
tree.
He absolutely despised
when children approached
with fawning, goofy faces to
steal his fruit.
Whenever kids giggled and
reached up, Barnaby would
furiously shake his wooden
branches.
THWACK! A barrage of ripe,
juicy red apples went flying
like heat- seeking missiles.
He pelted the screaming kids
right on their bottoms, chuckling
a low, creaky laugh.
The children thought it was a
hilarious game and ran through
the park intentionally.
They made ridiculous,
exaggerated kissy- faces just
to trigger the tree's flying fruit
defense.
Barnaby snorted woodchips,
launching a rapid- fire green
Granny Smith straight at a
nose.
The park echoed with loud,
joyful snorts as apples
bounced harmlessly off
targeted bellies.
The grumpy tree finally
smiled, realizing his thrown
treats made everyone incredibly
happy.
We all have
Our own brand
Of functional crazy
A richness of confusion
Don’t shoot your kettle
Pigs in woodchips
Sprawled across dark water
Like the spawning moon
Don’t sleep
In the boot of your car
Mcarthys child, salmon gilding
Cold water of the brook
And duck-egg skys
I look forward to;
Gardening in Greenland
Mist drowning the sun
Hills flowing like water
And lamp lit dark
Shrapnel erratic
As a winged seabird
Licked
By a word storm
Building unseen beauty
Lingering limbs
Soft as smoke
I can’t throw
Subtle shadows of moonlight
The dangers of creation
I am reading like a poet
Are we but constructed of dust?
Remembrance poppies oxidise
To peaceful white
Pillars of ice
Cauldron Snout
Frosted
You can
drive your whole life
not look upon the face
of harbingers in spring wet earth.
Remembering the ephemeral warm
Mediterranean summers
clean Petrich or fresh rain
bucolic life
setting.
Yielding
a nostalgic
propinquity city's
efflorescence dress brick building.
The epiphany of an old church as
it sings the echoes of erstwhile.
Redolent warm feeling
Victorian
versed homes.
Yester
years fine brushstrokes.
Trees towering on the
outskirts of the demesne beauty
Unique, intertwined dalliance with the
farmed and the wild a wonderful
serendipity finds
quiet hunger
of life.
3/31/2016
The city's two-block business district consists of the original brick buildings built in the 1880s and 1890s
I use to work in the Oakland School. They have left the very small town the same, it's like walking into the past. It lays in a valley surrounded by mountains. A very old silo still stands where they use to burn the woodchips. Very beautiful old town.
They're watching you,
they're always watching you,
check out the daily news.
Henchmen rob bank,
two officers killed,
change channel.
Reality T.V.
a celebraity stumbling out of a club,
drunk as hell.
Change channel,
a gay couple buying a house,
in a white collar neighborhood.
They're watching you,
they're always watching you,
even when you don't know it.
Someone is always watching you.
Take out the trash,
wash the dishes.
Watching,
survalling,
like a camera.
Terrorists,
they're always watching you,
Politians always watching you.
School teachers,
police,
FBI and CIA
Always watching you.
Smile for the camera
they're watching
so just wave and smile.
Bullies on playground jungle-gyms
looking out for the ugly nerd,
found him.
Hiding under the woodchips,
get him, beat him up,
I told you, they're always watching you.
Look at me,
look what I can do,
can you see me?
I'll drink to that,
cheers,
for they're always watching.
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