Jesus' Christmas Message

Enough is enough;
you’ve been cooking too long for
my birthday party.

Stalking Flowers

Lilies stand like snowcapped mountains there,
rising green but, strangely, bigger at
the top; kind of inverted, growing fat
the more they stretch away into thin air

and now the flowers bend as if to bow
all heads and turn from green to silky white,
shining, reaching down in patient light;
mouths outreaching slowly, oh so slow

they suck towards the ground with milky shawls
turning slower than an eye can see;
aliens that need an insect’s hair,
cunning, deadly, stirring up a gene pool
into procreation, ruthlessly
blasting out a sweetness everywhere.

Time

I reason, heading West
into a squinting sun

that cloud shapes, dappled
herringbone, will not be around

for more than minutes
before they fall or soar

and make their way back home
in hours or days by plummeting rain

along a stream and river,
freshwater clean,

until, salty as tears, in the sea
after three thousand years

they are blessed again with ascension,
I reason, heading West.

Cycle

No, I say, get off my turf,
my front door’s shut, bugger off.

Hello, I say and think – maybe -
blow a kiss, a smile for you.

Thanks, we say, winkety wink,
have a cuppa, share a drink.

Goodbye, you say, I had a blast
and walk towards a fire, the West.

Oooo

Waiting, it finds you
- wind on your face and hands -
usually cool,
on the move

(as breath
soothes your nose
below brainbox’s branches,
above all those words on your tongue)

roaring a bushfire, crackling twigs
from tree onto shimmering tree.