The Brute throttled Red of Tulips, do like a splash of colour in the park, drawn even deeper with the lack of sun
of course, the hillside plump with gorse, canary yellow, refulgent with the summer pong of coconut butter
over the brim, yes, the wild, wild grey dirge of the sea
Knight of Cups
……..
this morning, whilst daydream pottering over a cup of Mint and Liquorice tea
found myself being stared down by a cat through the window, Obsidian stillness, killer gaze
curious, goes deep, this the knowledge of being watched, for once we were hunters… and the sometimes hunted
i would prefer wolves? yes she will come, and there will be many
but before, face you down, a moment of stillness, you will know it will happen, you will know
but a leopard? face in the bush? part of that the nameless dread…
dropping silently from above, else stealth pounce, all claw, fang then rend… the candle wick of life, snuffed to nothingness
….
yeah yeah psssssht, shoo… go poo in someone elses garden!…
ha, gosh gibberish, fortunately don’t get many leopards, or for that matter wolves round these thar parts