stonepoem : 365

I’m just a bonsai
watch me grow
I’m not too much
but just enough
slowly s t r e t c h i n g ,
change shape -
patient nurture
tend and care.
Oh reader
keep me
from insects
and brutish
hands.

I hear trumpets
that’s what I heard
so she said to us stood
in the corridor like edges
each like a continent.
without joining,
we paused
we saw her smile
that’s what we saw.
saw the bones moving
under skin like parachutes
stretched below moonlight.
without moving
we applaud.
I thank no-one
who thinks I am no-one
maybe she means to be more to us
more than memories
but flying a kite just got hard -
who wants fists of oily twine?
without rushing
I move on.

It’s where
the weirdos go
so say the locals -
a hollow wedge on the hill
crammed with honey dancers -
James Joyce meeting Man Ray,
Kubrick speaking Rumi,
Australian vocal adventurers -
entertaining the freaks by proxy
and someone woke the weary out the back
smoking with the Russian
new modernists keep on with their delight
post-ale thinking around a book
or two or maybe more.
Time is inconvenient,
Ah. Nectar!

I stand,
on what I said.
Why do you
dig it up?