Jewels

Raised up from clay to velvet beds,
clean polished faces winking wealth,
cut gems adorn decrepit heads
and nestle skin past youthful health;

cold shards of rock armoured in gold
and silver glint eternity
while stony silences unfold
a coolness for mortality.

The shower of goldfinch comes to ground
beneath a golden oriole;
pearl bordered skippers zig zag round -
an airy, dancing, vital shoal.

Jewels that live, like rubythroat,
should stun us more than minerals;
both rich and poor alike can gloat
at silver throated emeralds.

Spring is coming to a winter garden

Goldfinch dip down from the frosted bushes to perch on the feeder but the blackbirds ignore the bread thrown out on the lawn for them, only pausing to peck occasionally at a more tempting morsel. The scene resembles a teenage dance floor in a music-less interval. The boys chase the girls and see off other boys while the girls chase off unwanted boys and in their excitement even chase each other. In the overhanging oak, staid pigeons seated around the edge of the action, oversee the actors, monitoring each fluffing flutter and remembering with nostalgia the lost vitality of youth.

What matters?

Not where you've been
and what you've seen
nor who you've known
or what what you own
and certainly not what you've earned
but rather what you've learned.

Not your good looks
or published books;
not your physique
however sleek;
not what you've won
but what you've done
to make life fair
by what you share.

Not fine careers
all through the years
(respected names
untouched by blames),
not what you wear
but how you care
for others who
have need of you.


Not what you drive
or how contrive
the deals you make
and cuts you take;
not where you live
but what you give;
not how you live
or how you die
unless you question "Why?