Two years old here, but the poem is probably well over ten years now.

As it Comes

Apple orchard with apples on the ground, Hawke's Bay District, 1920s-30s.jpg

A jubilant summer’s breath whispers
as it dances through my hair;
entwined and everywhere, a rush
caresses me from within.
Fields a glaze with dew and song,
apples fall and bound along
till picked up from wet grass
with a touch, a hold so whole, like
a cool, everlasting kiss.
Suspicion turns to face the breeze,
emotions bristle over skin;
a touch from everywhere, so real,
becomes a dream inside.
The orchard pales to black and white,
all I feel is the cold sunlight
till a breath of air is warm and near
and I fear, if I tremble I will fall, so
I hold onto you, a cool everlasting

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Monsters and ‘Artists’ #Haiku

For Haiku Horizons prompt ‘File’.

Piles of single file
Each yard a pace to slaughter
Carvings have no soul

Aristotle Mourns

Half of the remaining population of elephants rest in a park in Africa awaiting death presumably. The pressure is on China and the USA and the UK to ban all trade in ivory despite despotic men acting as president lifting bans on trophy hunting meanwhile.  China and half the African continent are finally doing their best to wage war to try and save this magnificent beast – doing its part in this masquerade during a massacre all because of greed and chimes of ancient times and ‘remedies’…  Luckily the youth of today are awake and will not stand for this….to the rest of us…Wake up! And that’s only elephants.  Just angry, just passing, just fundraising.  Hope you’re all well.

As it Comes

The Ancient Greek philosopher, Aristotle once said that elephants were “the animal which surpasses all others in wit and mind.”


Wandering on migration’s
paths in mud caked days and cooler night winds of the dusted parks,
in search of food and shallow pockets to bathe,
three generations of elephants; a herd in tow, they walk – wafting on rumbling
storm clouds underfoot – in the ruddy, powder trails of the lazy, thirsty,
arid soils – they are drawn, respectful.
Delicate strokes for each long lost family, each historical bone is touched –
bleached white stoicism’s stark seeds in the ghosted graveyard terrain –
relics of familiar ancestors. Even the smallest mourner is tender;
curious reverence is succour while tranquil, emptied carcasses
await closure – life hollowed and stilled –
not abandoned but grieved for, not forgotten but reunited –
by touching caresses of long reaching
history and emotions, intimate gestures

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Not So Shining Armour (part I)

Something different from a while back.

Part 1 of a short story.

As it Comes


Long, long ago in days of old
When dragons roamed and knights were bold
Damsels a plenty hung loftily from towers
As shining heroes wrestled for hours
With green scaly demons, that is, until
A knight came along to challenge their will
The kingdom cheered and they honoured him
He rode off to battle, our knight, not so dim…


Sydney, our shining knight of the realm, casually waved aside a nervous fellow called Gravel and the armour presented to him.

“But, Sire… you really ought to wear this.”

“Worry not Gravel.” Sydney continued to throw his spiked iron ball up in the air, catching it repeatedly only just managing to miss Gravel, his long suffering aid, by inches.

He flexed his upper body and neck, and with precision in his eyes, directed the ball at a makeshift target of stacked wine urns. He took a full length of his…

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