Be Fruitful, and Multiply

Scenes from the Chapter House at Salisbury Cathedral depicting Noah, circa HE 11284.

Be Fruitful, and Multiply

The rain comes down and the flood breaks free
And ev’ryone dies, from Atlas to Russia
In the year 2348 BC –
Or so says Bishop Ussher.
And after the waters dissipate
Noah and sons and wives make eight.

The empty land is beckoning them –
Europe to Japheth, Egypt to Ham –
And Asia becomes the realm of Shem,
From Turkey to Vietnam.
So now that the land’s no longer wet,
Just how many kin will they beget ?

Well see, the Bible clearly lists out
Sixteen grandsons, twenty-seven greats –
And these all boys (the girls are missed out),
To found the known-world’s states.
But such expansion cannot last long
Till plague and war and famine are strong.

So let’s say from here, things settle down
And nat’ral attrition soon appears,
And the time it takes to double a town
Is a hundred-and-fifty years –
In Ussher’s time, with coal and machine,
That’s the highest the world had ever seen.

So, taking his dating of when things happen
And taking that girls are as common as boys,
So fifty years later we’ll start our mapping
And tease some facts from the noise –
We’ve roughly a hundred, in all events,
And spread across three continents.

A cent’ry post-flood, or so James willed it,
The Tower of Babel raises its steeple –
But only forty-odd folks can build it –
That’s all of Asia’s people,
Including elders and babes-in-arms,
With no-one fishing or tending the farms.

Then Abraham hears God Almighty,
Telling him that he is chosen
Out of a pool of a hundred and ninety –
And yet his wife is frozen…
The Lord, though, promises a son
To make it a hundred and ninety-one.

In time, when Jacob’s family go
To Egypt – well, the dates allow
For Asia to have five-twenty-or-so
(Though down by seventy now.)
See, that’s how exponentials grow –
They end up big but they start off low.

Exodus – 1491,
(A shorter sojourn than modern lights),
As a third of the world is on the run –
Fourteen-hundred Israelites.
A count of six-hundred-thousand men ?
I think you’d better check it agen.

For those of us who prefer our dates to be logical, 2348 BC is HE 7653, the Tower of Babel is pegged at 7754, Abraham’s calling at 8104, Jacob’s folks move to Egypt in 8295 , and the Exodus is in 8510. The reference to Asia being down by seventy is because Genesis 46:27 gives this as the total size of Jacob’s family to come and join him.

A Nonny Mouse

A Nonny Mouse

We all of us
Are branded and defined –
So that must make me…
Well…nevermind.
If you catch my name
Then all the better,
But it won’t be me who drops
A single letter.
Cos if I’m any good,
Then you’ll find out in the end –
It will beam out through the ether
It will sneak out round the bend.
But just for now,
Go easy on the fame –
My ego, it can take it
If you don’t know what’s my name.

If you really wanna know
Then you can learn it –
But honestly,
I think I gotta earn it.
And as for folks
Who helped me get along –
They’re worth a hand,
They’re worth a whole-damn song.
But they’re more then gabbled names
And anecdotes –
And since you’ve never heard of them,
Best save it for the liner-notes.
But if you leave my presence
With a head full of fun,
Then whatever be my name,
My work is done.

R-Type

R-Type

Little fish, little fish,
Current-tossed fry,
Ninety-nine percent of your sibling-fish will die.
Eaten up, swallowed up,
Too small to run –
Ninety-nine percent – but you, will you be one ?
Little fish, little fish,
Dead before your teens.
Is it down to luck, or is it down to genes ?
Eaten up, swallowed up,
Labouring in vain –
A few of you will make it, to start it all again.

To Those I Leave Behind

Hazel Brown’s Desk

To Those I Leave Behind

Alas, I am an absent host,
But help yourselves to meat and wine
From out my cellar, share a toast –
I won’t be home, but it’s all fine.
My albums should be worth a look,
So find yourself a hidden gem.
Provide a home for all my books –
I have no further use for them.
Please stop the milk and feed the cat
And water Harriet the fern,
And split my cash and sell my flat –
I’m done with them, they’ve served their turn.
I’ve had to leave, I can’t say where –
I don’t know where.  I won’t be back.
This is the one thing I can’t share –
No tears, just time to sling my pack.

Bletherskites

The Gossips by Norman Rockwell

Bletherskites

We knew how it would end-up from the very first –
Someone blabbing to a tabloid hack.
Those who spaff the spoilers are the very worst !

Some can’t keep a secret and will always burst
Spilling the surprises shows hold back –
We knew how it would end-up from the very first.

Some folks love to chatter till they’re well-rehearsed,
And can’t resist the calling of the craic –
Those who spaff the spoilers are the very worst !

Ignorance is fragile, anticipation cursed,
Our ears must hear the constant yack-a-yack –
We knew how it would end-up from the very first.

Impatience is a burden with a raging thirst,
And throws all expectation out of whack.
Those who spaff the spoilers are the very worst !

Once the gaffe is blown, it can never be reversed,
The clever twist can never land its smack.
We knew how it would end-up from the very first…
Unless…it’s just a ruse to throw us off the track…?

Advent in November

christingle

Advent in November

I remember we’d troop off to Grandma’s old church,
(My parents not having a church of their own),
And there, with my brothers and cousins, we sat
Through the joyfulless carols and reverent drone
That tried to cajole in us love for lord Jesus,
And bribed us with candle-and-currant Christingles.
We’d dutif’ly queue up, us kids, at the rail,
For our symbolic fire-risks – and catch the first tingles:

The season had started !  The countdown was counting !
And even before the first door was prized open,
The tension was banking, the pressure was mounting –
The avarice simmering, quaintly called ‘hoping’.
Our candles were dripping, the service was over,
So back home to Grandma’s for crumpets and cakes,
And writing our lists from the big book of Argos,
And tingles that gradu’ly built into shakes.

Fingerfluffs

Photo by Leah Kelley on Pexels.com

Fingerfluffs

Ev’ryone makes typos,
Where a silly misspelled rush of prose
Is hiccupped in its fluency –
Careless hands work careless labours,
Jumping cases, catching neighbours,
Letters standing in for others,
Covering their brothers’ truancy.

For as our fingers run and leap
And waltz and peck,
Too busy to go back and check,
So in the errors creep.
Too quick they ran, too soon they leapt,
And where our eyes should intercept,
They’re mesmerized by finger-dances,
Only sparing random glances
At the all-important screen.
Or else they stare out straight ahead
To read instead the words unseen,
That float midair, as thick as flies –
The copytext behind the eyes.
But if we’re lucky, underlines in red
Will warn us what we’ve said
And give us chance to clean.
But otherwise, each error cries unheard,
Each mangled word and un-snipped thread
Is slurred by digits over-keen.

So ev’ryone makes typos,
Where our textual flows get bent and dented,
Letters get disoriented,
Weakening intent –
They may look careless and inept,
But these days we’re all quite adept
At reading what was really meant.

Unvictus

The Laughing Cavalier by Frans Hals

Unvictus

Blockbusting, balls-walling, entrepreneur,
Overman-achieving and Sorbonne-viveur,
Moving-and-shaking and never-make mistaking –
God, I could never be so bold !

I’m the one who failed to get to know you,
I’m the one it’s easy to say no to,
Nobody’s enemy, nobody’s go-to,
And always the last one to be told.

I know that you work hard, but always with results,
You go the extra yard, but you don’t do nuts-and-bolts
It’s down to me to tidy up and lock the doors at night,
While you’re off making masterplans to set the town alight.

I’m not like you, off to change the world again,
The hero of the story, the driver of the train,
The leader and infallible, the oysters and champagne,
The charismatic marvel to behold !

We cannot all be actors, we cannot all be confident,
We cannot all ignore the inner voice that never gives consent.
I guess I don’t blame you, when your talents are so rife –
And when even I would toss aside the novel of my life.

You’re the exception, but you think that you’re the mean,
It’s only for your eyes that the world is bright and keen,
While I’m drowning in the wake of wherever you have been –
But hey, that’s just the way the dice were rolled.

Foreword & Forewarned

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Foreword & Forewarned

Dear reader, thumbing through my book –
Allow me to ally your quarm,
Dear reader: you shall fetch no harm
Within – for ev’rywhere you look,
I promise you shall only find
Here poems with their lines entwined
In rhymes and rhymes which lace and bind
Agreeably with eye and hook.

Nowhere in my whole collection
Shall you need to choke a groan
At all the orphans, all alone,
With friendless lines in disconnection.
Barely noticing their neighbours,
Such lines flail with blunted sabres,
Never pooling all their labours,
Pulling ev’ry-which direction.

Dear reader, pondering my book –
Feel free, take your time.
Take the long and thoughtful look
And do not worry – they all rhyme.

What Have We Learned ?

Hope by George Watts

What Have We Learned ?

I know it doesn’t feel like it,
Especially on the news,
But the world is getting safer all the same.
Wars are killing fewer,
Though it’s hard to spot the clues
In the endless rounds of jingo, spin and blame.
But there, buried in statistics,
Proof is waiting to be found
That murder, rape and violence are down.
We’ve never had a world so good
As this world here, right now –
Better than our hope could dare allow.

It never was forgone,
It’s taken so much hard work to achieve –
Work we never knew that we could do,
Was going on.
So ev’ry time we heave,
It seems we get a little calmer,
And we get a little kinder,
Though we need the odd reminder to believe.

And yet,
We know it doesn’t feel like it,
Especially on the news –
For all this peace, there’s not that much about.
We’re killing people daily,
And ev’ry time we do, we lose –
So war is down, but war is far from out.
Our angels may be better,
But our angels still fall short of best –
The world is getting good, but not yet blessed.
Our progress may be progress,
But it’s coming far too slow –
We cannot wait for fairer winds to blow.

It never is forgone,
And all this work could quickly fall apart –
The darkest days of our old ways
Could yet be set upon.
Let’s hope that we are smart –
We haven’t time for shock and awe,
We haven’t time to settle scores –
We need to stop the wars before they start.