Dolphins

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Dolphins

Another life, another world, another dream …  dream of freedom perhaps. A great white shark, fifteen feet long, has broken into the peace of Passamaquoddy Bay. Yesterday, or was it the day before, he snagged a seal and devoured it before the eyes of tourists on a tourist boat. You can see the video on YouTube, but I won’t watch it. There’s too much violence in the world around me. Too much hate, illness, sickness, death, too many predators.

We have fallen in love with violence. Ketchup Violence I call it, because the victims get up after the shootings and appear next day on another eppy-sode, another video, another film. Except in real life, they really don’t. The shootings are real. The victims are really dead. And no, they don’t recover. Red blood is red blood and when we shed enough of it, and when the shock is violent enough, or the hit brutal enough, no, we don’t recover. Human blood is not ketchup spread on the french fries of old bones and recirculated later. It is ours, it is vital, and when it flows out, it does not flow back in.

Contrasts: the gentleness of the beginning, versus the harshness of the end. The hatred and tension that drives us on and on. Perhaps we should all join the army, for a year or two. “There’s no life like it.” We live in a bilingual country, at least, I do. “Pour ceux qui aiment la vie.” Or, as Socrates once said: “The unlived life is not worth examining.” So, join he armed forces: there’s no life like it. Pour ceux qui aiment la vie. Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran, Ukraine, Crimea, Yemen, Syria … where next, where ever next?

As Pink Floyd once said: Is there anybody out there?

Crow’s Feet

 

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Crow’s Feet

So many meanings, so many possibilities. I remember them round my grandmother’s eyes, wrinkles, laughter lines, crow’s feet. And then there are the real crows, sauntering, swaggering, two roadside hops, and take off. So bold, that sometimes they will stand there and defy you and your car, refusing to fly, but always leaving their footprints, crows’ feet in the snow.

We have a family of seven. They own our garden. Visit us every day. Check us out. Nothing like the whistle of the wind in their pinions as they sweep low over our roof, summer and winter, all year round. We belong to them, not them to us.

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Crows: such shadows, hovering  in our minds, casting their shadows over our lives and our deaths, for ‘the coward dies a thousand deaths, the hero dies but one’ and down, deep down, we are all cowards, in one way or another, and the crows await each one of our thousand deaths.

Carnival

 

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Carnival
(29 March 2019 AD
12 April 2019 AD
25 June 2019 AD)

house of cards
jacks and jokers
twos and threes
running wild
vacant faces
loaded wallets
crowded rooms

dry bones
wizened teeth
tongue-tied cheeks
feet shuffling

tiny corkscrew
worms gnawing
through what passes
as a brain

high-wire tumble
into this tumbril
wheel-of-fortune-barrow
plentiful cornucopia
copycat horn of luck

clock faces blank
no numbers no hands,
egg-white circles
stuttering uttering
cluttering
flustered minds
meaningless circus sounds

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Querencia

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Querencia
(29 August 1947)

heavy snow all winter
starting in November
continuing through

neighbor plowed us out
arriving as each storm left
sometimes he came in for tea
we became good friends

now he is moving out west
to be with his grand-kids
when he moves we may
be forced to sell up and go
winter snow too much for us
summer grass too much to mow

querencia
it’s a bull-fighting thing
there’s a spot in the bull ring
where each bull chooses
to make his last stand
it’s his chosen place to die
like this is mine

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