Snow (III).

 

The snow, dormant three days, now liquescent. The purity of the first fall is a memory, the mystical blanket dissolving to create its abysmal winter livery. Frozen, muddied snow lies dumped in indiscriminate and tedious heaps. Kerbsides, swamped in filthy sludge, make squelching protests as their slushy contents are distributed anew by commuters. A few trees and shrubs attempt to delay the inevitable, glueing snow to their boughs in the furthermost recesses, but soon, the grimy, soiled urban landscape returns to its customary, soulless existence. The magic was brief, but long enough to show that every ugly duckling can be a swan.

©DF2007

Photograph:’ snow-and-ice-darker-than-pavement’ courtesy of dcdailyphoto

Snow (II)

Soft, floating flakes of crystallized ice, gently falling in a polka dot sky. Slowly descending in unhurried elegance. Sparkling, minature rainbows set against a sunny backdrop, or grey dull monocrome drops of liquid in a sleety mist. Silent fluttering gossamer, diaphanous, weaving a deceptively simple pattern against a midnight sky. Minute wisps, flurries and whirls, succombing to a sudden draught. Your fall is long, but rest awaits, as together you settle and layer each surface with crystalline freshness. Each flake with a purpose, a part of the homogeneous veil, wrapping and draping, blunting and smoothing, creating a vision of virginal purity.

 

©DF2007

Photograph: ‘Snow Flake 3′, courtesy of Chris White

Snow

The heavenly canopy, a polka-dot sky as far as the eye can see. Silvery flakes fluttering in a still, moonlit landscape. Fine filigree forms, intricate crystalline patterns swirling and wafting in aimless descent. Dainty and exquisite shapes, clustering and dispersing in a randomness willed by gentle breezes, sometimes rising, ultimately falling. An endless expanse of wisp-like feathery snowflakes, whirling flecks of ice, weaving a frozen tapestry of delicate designs. A myriad of sparkling and frosted gems, ethereal floating spirits in a timeless world. Each particle an individual and unique design, reflecting the awesome immensity of the natural world. Snow, mystical, bewitching, and enchanting.

©DF2007

Photograph: ‘Lamp post and snow-flakes’, courtesy of Halley

Spider.

Suspended mid air, or so it seems,
a spider poised to trap his prey,
examines the product of his expertise
and waits for an insect to stray.

 

The silver shimmer of silken skeins,
discretely attached, almost invisible
against the foliage of subtle mixed greens;
the spider’s skill evincible.

 

The intricate web so deftly spun;
Completed only hours before,
needs repairing almost before it’s done;
For many spiders ,a daily chore.

 

The spider’s spinnerets work long and hard
producing sticky or furry thread.
When it’s necessary to be on guard
spider is careful where to tread.

 

Now he patiently lies in wait,
hoping dinner will soon blunder
into the web: make the threads vibrate;
He will run to tear his prey asunder.

 

This woven orb may be his home,
but spider uses it for protection too.
He is at risk if he stays in the hub,
or without due care decides to roam.

 

He may entrap from the outer fringe,
or lie in wait, just out of sight;
So, should a stranger happen to impinge,
he’s armed; silk ties and a paralytic bite.

 

Infinitely inventive, resourceful and artistic.
His webs reflect his modus operandi.
His dinner depends on events opportunistic,
the mistake or negligence of a passing fly.

 

Thousands of spiders, many web designs
Clever tactics, instinctive self-preservation.
The spider’s world, within its own confines
exists without aid of conservation.

 

People are indifferent and some afraid,
some are ignorant and many cruel.
Perhaps our friends we have betrayed,
not appreciating this unobserved jewel.

 

How many times do we destroy their world,
when we brush away a cobweb, or carelessly flick
a spider who is sleeping innocently curled?
A death undeserved; no matter, a schtick!

 

The spider has skills we ought to admire.
His silk, for instance, is stronger than steel.
More understanding is what we require
Who knows what else he might reveal?

©DF2007

Photographs courtesy of:

Top: Aaron

Bottom: Mike Epp

Many thanks!

Ecstasy or Torture?

 

It’s soft and sticky,
Sweet and bitter,
Usually wrapped in papers that glitter.

 

Full of sugar,
Lots of milk.
It’s texture reminscent of satin and silk.

 

Milk or plain,
Used for cooking
The calories grow, just with looking.

 

Organic or trade
It tastes good as a drink
At least that’s what most of the populace think.

 

Boxed as a present,
Given with flowers
It’s famous for it’s aphrodisiac powers.

 

At Christmas a santa
At Easter a rabbit
It’s so difficult to drop the chocolate habit.

 

Use it in cakes
Or add to deserts
It’s great mixed up with creamy squirts.

 

Enough of this torture
Hold on a few seconds…
Look I’ve got to go, ‘cos the chocolate beckons!

 

©DF2007

 

Photographs : Top Left :Belgium Chocolates #2  by David Wilmot

Top Right: Marcel Desaulniers’ “Chocolate Demise”, by foéÖþoooey

Top (bottom): Chocobots! by Emily W. Jones

Centre: Chocolate Valentine’s Sculpture by Emily W. Jones

Bottom left:  Chocolate Elvis by Dan4th Nicholas

Bottom Right: Hot Chocolate by Leonard Low

Bottom Centre: Chocolate log Christmas by trix_burrell

Spider.

Like an acrobat suspended in mid air, the spider hangs, precariously buffeted by every draught, yet somehow supremely secure. He patrols the webs silken threads with ease, making little attempt to hide his presence, confident of the webs viscidity. The flimsy gossamer structure glistens in the early sunshine, revealing little kaleidoscopes of colour between the woven skeins, miniscule dewdrops secreted away beneath the more obscure corners. Spun from window ledge to leaf, the spider confidently waits. Breakfast will not be long. The sun is up, the world is awakening, and all he has to do , is wait.

 

©DF2007

 

Photograph: Courtesy of Lisa Yarost 

Courtly Love

 

 

In days of old,
Or so I ‘m told,
They practiced Courtly Love.
The lords were bold,
The ladies cold,
(Their virtue to uphold.)

*

Two pairs of eyes
Could not disguise
The look of Courtly Love,
The Lord, he flies,
He must devise,
A plan she won’t despise.

 

*

From far he sees
and seeks to please,
First step of Courtly Love,
Despite his pleas,
From him, she flees,
(T’was etiquette to tease).

 

*

On bended knee
Renews his plea,
Such is his Courtly Love,
In town and lea,
Where she is free,
She stings him like a bee.

*

But he persists,
His assets, lists,
The point of Courtly Love,
Should she resist,
He does insist,
He’ll have to slit his wrist.

 

*

His ardour glows,
Much like a rose,
The effect of Courtly Love,
He doth propose,
To fight her foes,
(his love for her he shows)

 

*

She thaws at last,
Her fears are cast,
Aside, for Courtly Love,
And in contrast,
To recent past,
Their love, (or Lust) is vast.

 

*

But they are doomed,
For its assumed,
Always in Courtly Love,
By lies, presume
The danger loomed,
Their love could not resume.

 

*

And so today,
Remember pray,
Forget the Courtly Love,
Please don’t delay,
Make your love stay.
Buy her a rose bouquet,

 

*

Give her some chocks,
Admire her locks,
(A bit like Courtly Love),
When true love knocks,
When your world rocks,
List not to he who mocks!

©DF2007

 

 

Thoughts of an Orange Cat 2

I am an orange cat.
Yes, a glowing orange cat;
made from fabrics soft and gentle to the touch.
My body is very flat,
Nowhere will you find fat
And no, I am in no way Dutch!

If I’m bored, I have a game
although a little tame.
It’s sewn upon my face, now there’s a novel thing!
My eyes resemble crosses,
for a game of noughts and crosses
and my nose a simple circle; clever sewing!

 

Although I’m marmalade
I might be tempted to persuade
folk passing that I’m Tabby, with some stripes.
But the stripes are sort of grey,
the wrong colour, you might say,
maybe the seamstress mixed up all the feline types!

 

It’s strange that such a cat
should be in this habitat
I thought most cats liked the wild, perhaps I’m wrong.
But then again I am aware
that cats seek comfort if they dare
not braving the raw elements for very long.

 

So I really do consider that
I am a very privileged cat
to be granted my home inside. Lucky Me!
Should I worry other cats are fatter?
Does my strange colouring really matter?
Why no! I’m the happiest Marmalade cat you’ll see.

©DF2007