One fine day

A heady stir of musky earth

Moist heat rising after early summer rain

The live heart of a scarlet leaf

Islanded by dying edges

Nectar-laden bush bees

Droning between sun-warm crocus

A swell of purple blossoms against cerulean sky

Jacaranda carpet underfoot

The citrus swirl of myrtle

Spurred by a scattering of brush turkeys

A chorus of lovesick cicadas

Drowning out the traffic background

The sun oozing ripe persimmon as it sets on

Another hottest day on record

The sound of metal striking metal

Inside my head

sabre rattling

brazen hide blanching

in the white-hot glare

the paper tiger blows with the wind

cockfight on the Pacific

puffing up their plumage

two noisy minahs crow

over a torn white dove

stormy days

darting here, scurrying there

the old fox digs new holes

before the coming surge

( micro poems a follow-up to my ‘Metaphoric rise’ (Trump) suite)

Suffer       the little children

The last star     climbed the still-black night

Sha/dows creep/ing,    he app:eared

Lam/b/ent shaft        by       her side

Unholy wailing      un/leashed   under eaves

The first star       crossed the coming-night

Shadows rose:as    he declared

Take her now        be/fore it's light

Spit(e) searing     smoke-   filled    air

No     bright-star      came     to guide

Shadows  scat/tered,    no shep/herd

On that     long    and     winding ride

Through    stinging sleet     un/heard

All the stars         had  hid      their light

In shadowed gather/ing     he emerged

Bring-him-away-quick      devil's    blight

Looming ha/bits,     great     black     birds

Not-a-star      climbed    the heap/ed night

Shadows fall/ing      she       slipt-away

Child-mother    night-visited    only-son sacrificed

Secret burdens      she would      bear   to the clay

A  lone star         skirred the     cloven night

Under- sha/dow     he was      dis:  appeared

Swaddled tight       stones      piled high

Alone     to hold him      through the years

Until       the last star    breached the darkling brume

Between      gasps         came their cries

Shadows    passing    through-the-tomb

From

            Which

                             He'd rise

(In memory of the eight hundred unnamed babies whose remains were recovered in 2017 from a septic tank on the grounds of the former Tuam Mother and Babies Home in Ireland, and the many others who may never be discovered.)