31 January 2013

of wings

'Why is my love always a crying thing of wings?'
So asked Carl Sandburg in HAZE from Harvest Poems. Oh, that is such a marvellous line, I am deeply admiring jealous of it.

Here are some poems I wrote today:

*

My green hearted forest of blooming dreams
Brave are you
Tall are you
Pure and waving are you.

*

Within each, a lover and a thinker.
The poets, however, have forgotten how to think at all.
The philosophers are in love with thinking.
The fools have all together forgotten love.

*

The roots of a mighty tree spread wide;
"But I know nothing of vast things," says the tree.
"Only, I wear the setting sun as a crown every day
And am satisfied."











26 January 2013

Praying mantids

It's a girl. In the stairwell outside my door.


It's a boy. About 200 metres down my street.


One is looking for love. One is looking for love and a snack. Apparently the male is only actually eaten by the female in about 20% of cases, they usually manage to get away.

It's fairly unlikely these two will meet. In fact, I have seen the male in more or less the same spot a week apart, although he could have some brothers nearby. 200 metres for a mantis must be a long, long way.

Spotted

Space ships - so last century.


Ainslie IGA

Cardiloquent

Commission for work colleague



Niece birthday


deep sufler the large businessman to like!