Great and Rugged Pyrenees
Whose solid presence demands
Notice of lush valleys
And Spanish oaks that dot the glens -
Prevailing winds churn in wrath -
I stop to breathe in them;
You cut the horizon in half
And grip my eye with icy hands.
Your cohort - a mix of clouds -
Can't forever hide your majesty.
Seville looks on from the south;
Andorra claims the victory.
Kalimba notes drift out
To my delighted ear
As if the Matobo plains
Were conveyed from afar.
The tines - reverberating -
Complete an ethereal bar.
Each bar - artfully plucked -
Speaks kindly to my heart.
Under a sky of celadon –
I watched bees huddle
In frenzied expectation
Of riding a flaxen petal.
Lupine and globe mallow
Danced about while sage
Waved at me from below -
Comprising my entourage.
I saw pale butterflies mingle
Within dewy creosotes
Then came an argent gale
Which tugged at their cloaks
And then - the drape shifted
But my vision proves true -
A celadon echo gifted
To me that sunny interlude.
Upteenth instance where yours truly
experienced assault upon hindquarters.
A worse hellish fate than perdition
and the closest in the throes
of agonizing death scene rendition
stabbing sphincter muscle spasms
wrench yours truly
analogous to contortionist,
who presents convincing torturous scenario
even absent primal screams
readers or eavesdroppers
envisioning his twisting and writhing
as if body frankly zapped
courtesy jolted electric tradition,
(cuz these intestinal blockages
happen time and again)
even after applying anal douche.
I am living la vida loca
Every single day here on earth
Also I am already used to that
I enjoy living every single day
La vida loca
Yes I am having a busy life
That is la vida loca
Every day first thing in the morning
When I wake up
I pray for my Father
I thank my father
For keeping me alive today
Also I never complained to my father
About my life
Because my Father gave me a beautiful life
To live
Also I don't have no more good health
And every day I am looking after my health
I will not let my health go down hill
FLYING HOME
Birds showing their expertise at navigation
Not only the long annual trek of migration
But their returning to one specific location
Flying back, perhaps to their nest in a tree
Which tree, branch or twig, difficult to see
Good eyesight must help make the decision
But straight in, seemingly without hesitation
Into their otherwise hidden accommodation
And on landing, then met with a sussuration
After a thousand miles crossing land and sea
A compass brain and that recognition ability
Yet ending with such a remarkable precision
The door is locked and I hold the key but it will not fit, the window seems far and my bones splinter as I try to open it, I put on my church shoes but they aren’t as shined as the Gates of Heaven, I can not enter The Doors unless they shine like the sun, I can not turn to face God, yes His light will shine but it will burn through me, He will see through the performance that has been my life, he will know what crawls under my skin and see that the water I drink is not holy, that I sip from the cup of doubt, the taste of restraint stains my lips and cripples everything I do, He will be the