Month: September 2015

Pandora lost

pandora fish

IMG_0609 - Copy

Just for fun,

Ginny swims in the cool Adriatic Sea off Croatia.

With her team of adventurers.

Aquatics are their creed.

Finding that it can be fun to be a little lost

On the other side of a shrinking earth.

(a place I had to search, since I’d never heard of it)

Croatia is rich with centuries of conquest, invasion, occupation.

Surrender, triumph.

She relives that as she swims for miles.

As She dives, determined,

into wind driven squalls,

in a fishless sea.

she wonders aloud to tempests,

‘Where have all your creatures gone?’

None swim beside tourist or immigrant.

Sealife pushed to brink of extinction

In a warming world.

Netted by need, greed, oil, war.

No pipefish, goby, blenny. No Pandora.

No cuttlefish but the intrepid SQUID.

Just beyond the Adriatic,

Current history finds another flood of migrants

Another tide of humanity,

Becoming a tsunami.

Drowning in turbulent religious fervor.

They flee, anointed by a baptism of terror.

Finding themselves lost

Under a massive surf of inhumanity

Brought to the brink of extinction.

In a cold, shrinking world

Simple it is,

Our desire for freedom.

To do as burns within

Some by choice, piety, or devotion

Others by destiny

Conviction Or captivity

Ginny photographs echoes of stone stockades

Man seems compelled to reprise The Wall.

Capturing tides behind one conquering barricade or other.

As she wonders when fish will return,

She finds how easily she

is One with the tempestuous sea.


Thanks to my Cowriters Ginny West and Lanny Page

Fortress in Croatia from 700 AD

Fortress in Croatia from 700 AD

7th Century Bastions in Croatia

7th Century Bastions in Croatia

the real reason pigs can’t fly

Did you know that pigs can never see the sky?
They’ve never known a sunrise,
Full moon, blood moon, shooting stars
All lost on pigs.

For even while lying on their sides
Caked in clay
They can never see the sky
They don’t know for certain that tomorrow
Is tonight’s sunset rimmed in
crimson and maroon smoke from far away wildfires

It’s a fault in the setting of their eyes
On too wide heads
They only know that there is sky
by its reflection in mucky water
So perhaps that’s why they don’t want so much
To fly

I’ve wondered about myself
How often
Do I look up to see the sky?
Except for the times
Floating on my mat in my tiny backyard baby pool
Searching for UFOs

I’ve flown but I didn’t care for it
Enough to ask for wings.

Perhaps we all decide choose
To live in our mud of choice
To turn
Even one eye
From simple truth of earth
To simple truth of stratosphere

How blue
Must be
The Skeye.