Web of deceit where
spider waits to ambush,
pounces on a fly,
wraps silk around
so carefully
like a ladies’ dressmaker.
The insect briefly struggles,
goes ominously limp.
Unless you’re the spider,
then dinner is waiting,
a fly smoothie.
In the morning
dew drops
decorate the web strands
reflecting an
upside down world.
Rocs, manticores, and spiders,
magical predators
all dream
of blood.
Photo taken at Jack’s land, Catskills, 2019.
morning
sunlight against shadows
birdsong wakes the day
cat and me
curl in the armchair
i stroke his silky fur
his ears perk
at a sparrow hopping near
Griffin
stands proud guard
gazes over lush land and
glittering city
She squints with stern eyes
into gleaming sun
as it descends into crimson clouds.
She sharpens beak
on gnarled oak
sniffs the scent on the air
claws tucked away
as assassins hide daggers.
Griffin
watches for evil
creeping across the valley,
She wrenches from earth
a black mist of madness
and tosses the demon high in the twilight sky,
tears that fiend into pieces with beak and claws,
devours each segment with relish.
Now sated,
she flies back to her perch
stretches incandescent wings and
watches,
protecting us
through the moonlit night.
My lovely children,
gangly,
they hum or sing
but do not talk.
They reach out
to grab forcefully
and will scrape their fingernails
down my arm if I let them,
leaving red hieroglyphs
of their inner life
and sorrows.
I hold them closely,
squeeze shoulders,
and direct with my hips.
We walk together
down the school hallway
arm in arm
like guiding the blind,
though which one of us is blind
I am not sure.
Certainly, they don’t see their way into our world
and I can only glimpse into theirs.
We will sing
and taste the world,
look for confirmation
or challenge.
I will proffer words,
holding them out
like Theseus’ rope
guiding them
to the love of others.
For love is communication
and words travel through air
to vibrate and tickle
another person’s ears.
We will seek each other
through fingertips
and song
and sometimes even
a picture or two
or a collection of distinct sound waves
moving between us.
I hate trumpets.
Their blaring voices
whining
loud and assertive,
demanding that I listen,
announcing arrogant kings
and the gleeful start of wars.
Dawn lays golden light across rooftops in the city
The cool air brushes cobalt sky
The almost empty streets
Today have hardly any wrapped up sleeping people
A few bees whir to break the quiet
at the placid harbor.
Ferries plow the harbor
in the stirring city
footsteps and chatter break the quiet
brilliant sun scales the turquoise sky
people
clutter the streets
safe from the streets
mothers show their young children floating ducks in the harbor
construction workers sit on T-beams and eat lunch. other people
swamp the coffee shops and benches munching the noonday break in the city
cumulous clouds decorate the sky
cars honk, trucks rumble and there is no quiet
school children are bursting with noise, certainly not quiet
as they energize the streets
look at the royal blue sky
wander to the welcoming harbor
scatter over the city
mingling with friends and anonymous people
weary people
plod homeward in quiet
city
streets
ships come into harbor
rose and tangerine light in the sky
lampposts obscure stars in the sky
bands playing in clubs filled with people
ships moored in the harbor
artists work in contemplative quiet
laughing young people strut in streets
colored lights shine from buildings in our city
Moon reflected on harbor water from ebony sky
city people asleep in their beds
quiet streets
Black and white fur, green eyes and pink nose
At the first light he bites bare, tender toes
Pushes coins clinking from drawers to wood floor
I turn over and attempt to ignore.
He pitifully meows when he wants some food;
He’s a little lion with attitude.
If he wants to play he sits by his toy
I fling it around and he leaps for joy.
He sits on the window watching the birds
He calls to them but they only make turds.
He crouches and jumps to catch flying bugs
Tortures and tears them apart on my rugs.
Black and white fur, green eyes, and pink nose
On my computer he curls in repose.
My fierce friend
Dangerous hunter
That fly better look around the bend
Or he’ll be torn asunder.
Work is over
and day opens
even though it is dusk,
red and purple in the sky.
I return home
to light
and warmth.
I wait for my love
in silence,
the porch light on,
cat across my lap,
the night traveling through time.
gaia mouse 