In The Drink
Some people say if you can’t see it with the naked eye you shouldn’t be looking. It’s a form of discipline, like not walking on the cracks in the pavement.
Taken to the extreme you would never look inside, because inside can’t be seen with the naked eye.
We have the tools and tools are for using. The tools were conceived inside and made out here.
We can now go where no man has gone before. Into the wild blue yonder, or yinder.
The trick, or discipline, is not to get lost in what is seen. Outside or inside.
What we see out here is inside.
Where inside? Where I see inside.
Look at these magnificent creatures. You’d never see them with the naked eye. Neon fly I call it.
Twirling and dancing on the leaves about the garden they are as elusive to capture as the magical Faerie Queene.
Life, proud, contained, in a beautiful little body coloured and shaped as no man can make.
Standing alone in the vastness of my world, exposed to what may come.
Eating, another fly that also stood proud, contained. Could just as easily happen to him, my little neon fly.
Cleaning his wings after hectic flight, the way all creatures do. He eventually ends up in the drink. In the fish tank.
Reclaimed by strands of green algae, the colour and form reduced to whence it came.
Life returns home.
Red Crowned Angel
Prowling around the house, seeking out the hunting places of frogs and things, I came upon one more creature of wonder.
Out of the dark of the night she came. To rest on the wall of my house. And grace the place with a certain light.
Not a light of the day or man. A light of the night.
Red capped wonder, dark ringed danger, gold frilled. Pearled - silver mantle. Tuft of silver nose between new moon eyes.
What a beauty. Resting on the brick wall. The wind blowing the longer gold hairs one way across the ladies red cap.
Her cloak wings tiled with scales of silver pearl, shielded from damage by soft white hair.
Antennae swept back along the line of angel’s wing.
Tufted legs spread flat, gripping with invisible fingers.
Powered by the invisible darkness.
Welcome!
Oh! And don’t forget the spider. Little jumping spider’s got eyes on you.
Jumping! Jumping! Jumping! In the minds of men.
Tick, tick, tick. Tack, tack, tack. Little fingers moving.
Better watch out or he’ll get you!
This way and that. Tick tack.
Copyright reserved / Mark Berkery
