BEGINNINGS OF A STORM

Astral annoyance
In clouds darkens
The tips of trees

Throwing
Different voices
A rumbling power sounds
Fathoms of airwaves.

I feel the tension
Before a glass breaks

A gunpowder throat
Sparks rumour among fields
Loaded with numerous
Silos of tensile
Seed-heads which jettison
A powderpuff capability.

BLESS THE MACHINES

If only our machines had
Polished love - assembled
Like Concorde, the Duchess of
Sutherland, or the oak sides
Of Chitty Chitty bang bang

If only all our machines
Were uplifting, strong and
Useful as the Forth Bridge -
Treasured like the fob watch
Grandad swung on his chain

Today there are too many buttons
Too many variables with extras
No sacramental buttons to love
(...Apart from my Nano I-Pod)