It struck me that it’s not enough
To like and love and share good stuff,
And maybe feel somehow absolved
From any call to be involved
Because I clicked a smiley face
To show I love the human race.
It struck me I should stand up tall
And play a role, for, after all,
I’m blessed in many ways, but know
How strong the wind of blessings blows.
Today, the values I hold true
Will come to bear on all I do.
Coffee and conversation carve limestone hollows, whetting our minds of clay, till we uproot and rough ride the Istrian hills
On a renewed mission to unlock answers from this paleolithic sleep.
As early ears surface, the turn of a mlin za kavu, and the smallest window stands ajar,
Inside, we lay a table of morning stories
And drink our shared earth from a searching cup.
Serve me a Slovenian palette and I will fashion you a smile.
Life flows easy where laughter tips lips and lilts in softest sunlight,
opening doors in slippered feet.
Vernacular rolls like sweet cherries,
Edible sounds mixed and harmonised,
Nurtured in leafy groves,
then gathered in garden baskets filled with flowers, all bright and tender.
Let me be the scent of lime flowers in your pretty bowl
Let me be a silver thread spun round your perfect hall
Let me be your rhododendrons, pink in dappled sun
Let me be the drone of bees who carry pollen home
Let me be the gentle chime of bells upon your hill
Let me be, just for a while, be here, be now, be still.
Summer rain gambols
nimbly through tree tops,
Dodging snapped twigs
And the detritus of a summer
With moisture at a premium.
Summer rain plays
Tunes on thirsty leaves
Teasing their turned up tongues
With the promise of refreshment
Then running hither-thither.
Summer rain dances
Down summer bark
Rescuing hardy shrubs
And crisp hot grass
catapulting off cobwebs
And wetting our faces
turned upwards, to the sky.
Lightness of touch
Emanating from a demijon
Mapping out the months
Only ready when summer is done
Nectar of lemon filling the kitchen.
Beauty and simplicity
A regular beat as yeast dances
Making our tastebuds tickle.
to an inaudible
we choose not to speak about.
Listen to them sing.