In–Sects

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 I started my hobby when 60 years old
I’d left it a bit late I know 
An interest in ladies I soon found out 
Well it gave me somewhere to go

Nothing afraid
I cashed life’s cheques
Every second a buzz
Nothing complex
At simple sex
Never afraid
I plied my trade

Until one day
A well-heeled lady
Enticed me with her laugh
Her chequebook too
Rang loud and true
I fell for her autograph

But then one day
I chanced to say
I was interested in sex
A hobby I wished to follow

But suddenly
Her demeanour changed
She said she was disgusted
And I was maladjusted
Of all the things that she objects 
She said the worst was insects

I tried to make her understand 
A spider with eight hairy legs
Was not my idea of fun
Too late, too late,
She’d upped and left
I was perplexed
I should have guessed
Insects ARE worse than sex

 

 

 

One evening in July

High in the sky
crescent wings spread
swallows swoop in the setting sun
sweeping the sky in graceful bursts
of focussed energy

squirrels scamper back to hide
in the broad bold arms of the copper beech
massively dominant
heart-fulcrum of this garden’s universe
dark and russet red
against the pure blue of the dying sky

all movement
matching mood
the random respite in the dreamy breeze
the occasional breath of the wind’s touch
and sporadically
 complete stillness

greens, so many greens
each tree, shrub, plant
varied in their shades
proving their uniqueness
setting themselves apart
by shape and colour
claiming their own personality

offshoots of dandelion down
breeze-drift ever upwards
losing themselves in the beech’s canopy
awaiting an eventual
descent to earth
and re-birth
to live and breed again

a low-key insect hum
a buzz about the borders
and the beds
those ‘I-must-be-about-my-business’ bees
bustling flower to flower
seeking out colour
honey essence
on the move
feasting
surviving

other minutiae fuss and flurry
in their chosen domains
butterflies, beetles,
hoverflies
nature’s drones
engaged with their own agendas

the collared dove cooing on the rooftop
the chirrup, twitter, chatter of
evening’s bedtime birds

the whole garden sings softly to me
showcasing summer’s sustenance
the season’s splendour
acknowledging the diurnal cycle
preparing for the sun’s departure
and the oncoming darkness
bringing languor and tranquility
paving the way for the
life of the night
to commence