I like the night
even in the city
where the hum never quite goes away.
The noise is somehow different —
muted, perhaps —
from the daytime'shive of bees.
The lights brighten the places
where they shine,
but their blues and oranges
are not the natural colours
of the moon and sun —
and they add to the lightpollution.
Yet those alsoilluminate the way
helping us findthe places to step.
And, overall, they cast
a gentler mantle
on the
earth.
image by Zelko Nedic
The Mag #128
How long has it been
Black Dog,
since you insinuated your way
into my life,
like the thinnest, darkest shadow,
then landed on my chest
with a huge THUD?
Five decades next year
you say?
I knew it was a long time.
I didn't think dogs lived that long,
but you surely have.
I thought I was rid of you a few times,
but like the cat who came back
you've continued to dog my steps.
Like Professor Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes
we seem to be bound together
at opposite ends
of this invisible lead,
which likely cannot be severed.
Well, my familiar,
let's go for another walk.
Perhaps I can lose you
in the undergrowth.
Though I
seriously doubt
it.
~ Bear ~
Morning fog
floating over the city
like a fine gray blanket,
dulling the buildings,
obstructing the sun
with a cool sweatiness.
A stodgy, sticky start
to another
day, another
week.
~ Bear ~
I have seen the pictures.
Scorched land
burnt trees
dead animals —
including a Bear
who thought
he could avoid catastrophe
by climbing the tree,
which was then
thoroughly charred.
The fires,
illuminating
the incinerated hills
and smoke-filled sky,
pressed on,
oblivious
to what they consumed.
Some fires are
entirely too
anti-social!
~ Bear ~
The old mate
I see him; I see him so clearly.
Battered cap
for his balding head,
frazzled beard
at the bottom
of a well-worn face.
Eyes sets in,
piercing the horizon
of the sea,
or your soul.
The long-time sailor
now serves the boat
poked into his arm,
and greater vessels
in his mind.
Those were the days
of derring-do —
the "one hand for yourself;
one hand for the ship"
kind of days,
when the sails billowed,
and the sheets tangled,
and you could lose an arm
if you weren't careful.
Ships travel by diesel
or bunker fuel now.
But the wind,
which lost its usefulness,
is still a power
to be
regarded.
Prompted by Rachel.
~ Bear ~
