The Bus Takes The By-Ways with Weaver

So this week we're being driven by The Weaver of Grass, and that means a leisurely pace on country roads where we've got to stop and look... at nature.
Which is not my forte.

But Weaver's words and the magic of TFE's Bus must have fired me up, because for the first time ever I've done a Rachel and written more than one. The first two are short and finished, and the third is a work-in-progress.
But I won't be doing any more thinking now because today is Party Day and I am, unfortunately, the Cecil B. DeMille of parties. Just can't seem to help myself. And Monday is work-strewn.

Anyway, enjoy; you can catch the Bus and the rest of the passengers here: http://weaverofgrass.blogspot.com/

Shout

Cast your clouts!
May is out.

The Nemesis, Canton

Poppy frill
Poppy shrill
Poppy kill

Poppy head
Poppy red
Poppy dead

Poppy fires
Poppy liars
Poppy pyres



Octopodes: an elegy

When the previous cosmos collapsed
there was a sole survivor
of the wreckage, who squeezed
his form through the tightest crack
into this our universe.
Copper-blooded alien,
he lives yet.
Eight-armed wonder,
each one of the eight
autonomous;
to know what it is doing
he must watch himself.
Invertebrate intellect,
sole invertebrate intellect,
the only part of you
shell-solid, death-dealing,
is your beak, that mouth
a voice for food.
You will die
with the procreation
of each new generation,
and if threatened
you squirt dispersing ink.
Romantic, pedantic,
aquatic octopodes.
Floating in that element
I fool myself
I know you.