Midas is one of the images which lurks around in my brain. I thought I would give it another outing this lunchtime.

I seem to be stuck on two lines stanzas at the moment, I dare say it will wear off at some point.

Midas

Yellow tulips spout between the courtyard slabs
Scent themselves; brush against the wind like seductive strippers.

A head rolls a short tide under a moon of thought,
Watches the fields of diluted amber gather.

They dream of Mida’s touch
and Midas, cotton sheets of red and white.

The greatest things in life never have a price tag. Often it feels the things we do not want come easily and the things we do, evade us. We succeed but not in the manner we desire try as we might.

The Standing Man

Ten men of Midas stand
roll, turn green on vegetables and
haemorrhage red on being dumped.
They survive
sit in Midas pocket like unwanted guests
come back like boomerangs
into an empty home.