Perched upon a weather worn post, he watches. The field, once a pasture, has become a nest of bowing grasses. Long shadows flee the setting sun. Orange light reflects off onyx eyes of the watcher. The silhouette of birds equal in number to the blades below. The sky is darkened with their number, as they

She walks down the old dirt road bare feet creating no dust. s White skinned trees hold high their garlands of gold dancing in the wind which whips dark hair across pink cheeks. s Her eyes search the sky of pale blues worn through with twisting white mists. s A rumble, more felt than heard

“Don’t throw your muck in my backyardMy backyard, my backyardDon’t throw your muck in my backyardMy backyard’s full!”(Folk song) Steel toed, standing at the tip,A steady stream of garbage slips,Out of mind, out of sight,Forgotten to our mothers plight. Sneaky humans disguise their toxins,Paint tins and consumer sins,Just tossed,Beside the ancient riverside, to reside,For generations,Leaching

In their flannel pyjamas The couple stands roadside The school bus pulls up Their small child steps inside a A sure sign of fall The new beginning of a season Where children go to school To grow and learn how to reason On the rural flats of Salmo break Outside of town Winter preparation must

Grief is sticky green, like gum on the bottom of my shoe break Grief is pungent, the stench hanging in the air No escape from its tendrils forever grabbing relentlessly space Grief is a stale sour lemon with mould forming on the edges creeping into my mouth break Grief is warm and inviting until I

Last Morning Before  sky  bright  eyes burn  face plate shades  we orbiting Earth  control keeps calling, don’t come home