@ Nighthawk.

Primal ritual cries of reveille
from innumerable cricket tribes,
during the wake of nocturnal
nigrescence, beckon the
Children of Nyx from
crepuscular seclusion.
A momentary hiatus in the
mesmerizing rubbing of wings
divulges the faint slitherings
and slinkings of creepy-crawlers
and creatures of night, in
exodus from nature’s underworld.
And keeping watch over the
order of things in no man’s land
is a vigilant nighthawk,
whose stark eyes piercing
through the darkness stir
horripilation amongst the meek.

Gone primal, oil on canvas, 30 x 30 cm., Adam Donaldson Powell, 2014.
Gone primal, oil on canvas, 30 x 30 cm., Adam Donaldson Powell, 2014.

@ Imagine.

Imagine —
living in a sanctuary
in some far-off exotic land:
an exclusive enclave where
hirsute eremites can escape the
intrusive indiscretions of
the vulgar and the savage.
Mind you —
nothing too extravagant:
a modest one-room flat
with light maid-service,
a spacious view and, of course,
a state-of-the-art security system.
Just imagine —
it would be a simple life
of reflection and leisure:
basking daily in sun and shade
and, when absolutely necessary,
receiving admiring guests
in true courtly fashion.
(sigh) —
What do you suppose I
should call such a place?
Certainly nothing as mundane
As Eden or Elysium.
No, it must be a name as
enchanting as the fantasy itself:
like Gangros .. or Lurana ..
or perhaps just simply Zoo.


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