Birthday Tanka

on my birthday

coconut macaroons

for breakfast

my toy teddies watching

this child of seventy-six

Yes, 'small stones' are supposed to be observations of the external world, not so much one's inner processes. Hope it works to put myself under the microscope on this occasion.

The Find

Small yellow notepad,

the right size to slip into

a shirt pocket.

An inheritance.
Perhaps
a message?

Most pages empty. 

Neat blue printed lines

waiting unfilled.

On one page, notes:

'Memoir.

Write the truth.'

His writing, 

In the blue biro

he always used.

Then a space of a few lines

before the words,

'& end'.

Linking to Flash 55 for 31 Oct '15 at 'imaginary garden with real toads'

Young Man Observed

Overlooking the garden

he sits mute,

music in his ears – his alone  –

through long white cords;

a small smile, and his fingers 

caressing his phone.

Past and Present LIves

In her vision

the cobra was black,

confronting her

with a large emerald

shining between its eyes.

I told her

she must have been a queen

in old Egypt.

She said she missed her slaves
(hated cleaning the house).

After Last Night's Thunder

After last night's thunder,
which rumbled close
around the house
like a man with heavy boots
walking all over the roof,
I open the door to a day
washed clean by rain,
bright in the sunshine.



Process notes:
A series of half-rhymes: close/house; boots/roof; day/rain – the whole enclosed in another: thunder/sunshine.

A Vase of Gardenias

Their tiny white heads
bend forward over the rim 

to release their piercing scent.

The leaves are standing up

forming a green ruff
around each neck.

The green glass vase holding them
swells like a full-bodied woman 

in a sarong ... maybe she is pregnant.

Unseen, the Gecko

Unseen, the gecko

on my outside wall

chirps loudly, 
staccato.

It wants to slip in

under the door

through a crack

and skitter around the house

between concealments.

I know without looking

it is tiny, pale grey,

and if it enters will die soon
for lack of insects.

Street Scene

The girl across the road is a teenager now,

riding up and down on her scooter

in front of her house, laughing and chatting

to her older brother, who is tinkering with his car.

They don’t seem worried about the storm clouds

and the few small spits of rain, nor the rumble

of thunder getting nearer. Her bright orange curls
float on the air behind her as she speeds and turns.

Vista

The cane is cut now

around the intersection,

exposing, over the flat fields,
endless horizons of pale blue sky.