Grumpy hermit

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Talking to a grumpy hermit
is a training and a test.

They toggle their manners
off and on to probe your zest.

 They have the right to be silent.
They have the right to reject. 

Perhaps it is wrong to circulate.
Perhaps they are correct.


poem and photo by rachel mcalpine cc-by-4.0

Flaunt it

A washing line with shorts and long braids.
Washing my hair. So there.

I love my hair
because it’s there
not much
as such
but I’m not bare
up there

like you
and I won’t share.
It isn’t fair
and I don’t care
it’s mine
so there!


Photo and poem by rachel mcalpine cc-by-4.0

I saw this remarkable clothes-line last week, and today, out popped a spiteful, Dr Seussy sort of poem.

How to die

Punting on the River Avon, Christchurch, New Zealand

1. Be strong, be fit.

 2. Take your medicine.

 3. Love every love, every leaf in your life
even more than before. 

4. Complete your life work. Almost.
(Leave some for others to do.) 

5. Say welcome and goodbye
day by day, with lips and eyes.

6. Be gracious
to the lady bringing tea

7. Wait for your children
to arrive.

8. Stop the medication when you’re ready
and your dear ones all agree.

9. Insist on one last picnic
by the river, with beer.

10. Die when it’s time
and you’re tired.


poem by rachel mcalpine, photo of the River Avon in Christchurch New Zealand by Robert Cutts, both cc-by-2.0