Big Sur Day

"Leave the town and come with me,
Big Sur's calling, let us go
on the road beside the sea
where the salt filled breezes blow."
What a journey - what a drive,
Highway One to Monterey,
Made me glad to be alive
on this happy July day.

There were surfers diving through
waves that rolled past to the strand.
Standing on their boards they flew
swooping, twisting back to land.
Through the windows open wide,
glorious scents and sounds came in,
coming from the countryside
far from town's eternal din.

Here and there a house I'd see
nestling in the green leafed space.
Oh how happy they must be
living in that perfect place.
Seaside rocks were lit with spray,
boiling sea just sparkled white,
bright around the cliffs of grey
In the sunshine's brilliant light.

Homeward bound from Monterey -
hairpin bend and twisting lane -
we'd had such a happy day,
would it ever come again?
We thought we would stay a while
looking at the sea green view.
Looking up I saw him smile -
saying what I always knew.

Let the others pass us by
till the starlit sky is bright.
In each other's arms we'll lie,
listening to the quiet night.

Mantis Religiosa

The praying mantis lived on my roses,
two hands raised in supplication.
She seemed to be permanently praying
to the Mantis god,
a plea for more insects.

When I visited her daily
quietly moving near,
she would raise her head a little,
then slowly turn it and gaze at me
with a dark frightening look.

A triangular head with strange eyes,
millions of years older than mine.
Did she see hundreds of me?
Or just one large moving object
that didn't seem to be a prospective meal.

The Minstrels of 1524

Come on boys let's choose our gear,
what tunes shall we give them here?
It's a day for merry making.
Round the maypole they'll be dancing,
lassies skip and lads go prancing.
It's May Day and we shall sing.
Pipe and tabor's just the thing
that will make the rafters ring.

After playing on the flute
William's plucking on his lute,
practicing his pizzicato.
The youngest player yet he's good
and plays just as a young man should.
Now and then he winks his eye
as the young girls pass him by,
making them all blush and sigh.

Barty, puffed cheeked, stands and blows
as the slide tube comes and goes
in and out of the brass sacbut.
It's as well that he is taller
than the one in front - much smaller
Roger plays the bag-pipes and
at the dulcimer he'll stand,
sticks of willow in each hand.

Here's their Hurdy Gurdy man.
Hugh will play well if he can -
handle turning must be even.
Finally there's John, the Master
of the Guild. He can drum faster
than the rest but will slow down
when he's marching into town
in his beautiful blue gown.

When you are in Beverley
and go to church, look up, and see
meant for all posterity,
carved in stone, with pride they're filled,
the members of the Minstrel's Guild.

She was pink and white
like the roses on her bushy home.
So gentle and serene,
she seemed to be contemplating my garden
in a very wise way.

Sometimes I would see her catch her lunch.
Those two paws were not at prayer,
they were poised to dash out at the speed of light,
and to clasp some flying insect
as it sailed by.
No hesitation then,
she would cram it in her mouth horizontally.
One end an unmoving silent head
peeping out with a feeler or two.
At the other side of the calm mantis mouth
were protruding maybe two wing cases
and a few slowly writhing legs.
And the huntress quietly studying me
while chewing on the dainty.

Once I saw a male eyeing her from a distant blossom,
weighing up his chances
in the fraught and dangerous game of love.

This is a tricky situation, involving
death and the survival of the species.
Female mantises don't seem to like males.
In fact, "not like" is putting it mildly.
On the other hand,
she wants to have little ones.
How to do this?
From both sides of the question:

Mantus approaches from behind with great care.
The legs, striped like football stockings
are moving imperceptibly,
pausing now and again
while he pretends to view the scenery.
Manta, chewing gently, eases one or two back legs.
Mantus, very, very slowly and carefully climbs on
and then stops all movement, important this.

His ladylove finishes her meal
and turns her head to see what is going on.
Statue-like, Mantus allows not a quiver,
stroking is not a good thing at this stage.
After a long pause, he gently moves,
with the rhythm of his love.
She turns again and he is frozen
absolutely still.
As long she sees no sign of life he is safe.
Alas, he cannot control himself any longer
and with speed and finesse
she whips her head round
and bites his off.

She chews thoughtfully.

He is incredible. He keeps on moving,
headless, and the species survives.

Was she not in the mood right now?
Did she have a headache?
Had he been caught by her with another mantis?
No.
It's just the way a praying mantis lives.
That beautiful carefree
motherly and deadly creature.