The Hummingbirds and the Honeybees



The Hummingbirds and the Honeybees

The Honeybirds and the Hummingbees and the sand swirls all round

An entire day passes

What reason, within, judges me against my will?

Trap of wonder tightly drawn around the world

Skymachines bony-finger Cupidís cuddle clouds

This unpopulated tract of unkempt scrub makes a maltreated hideout for many a loosed miscontent Iím sure

Invasion of Flowers

Sit in the burnt remnant smoldering
Flamethirsty crumbling unencumbered

The days and ashes shuffle in the wind
What's that hanging from a limb across the way?

The patterns of the people last
In colors through the char
The way they used to laugh
Rushes waving in the yard

Gaze fondly at the weapon in your hand
A piece of steel bent to an ungainly shape by the fire
The wreck of lives etching its inscription
Now, see flower-vine tendrils spiral forth
Petals reckoning through the rubble

Twine the person in this pedestal
Endless flower fascination
Let color be unsteadfast
Shine past imagination

Garden Path

It was raining up above the trees and ghost-making mist moved in clumps over shivering hollows of us lost but never wanting to go home where all the colors are unvariegated and all the wood unmossed.

There was a cave down below the trees and rocks for tables rested easily on a dirt floor we pawed lightly in the unmistakable moment of friendship as the night drew in around the stars.

brian brock late october early november 2016