Gate-Keepers & Fate-Reapers
Time was, when a budding poet
Only needed to send a sample in
To a magazine or publisher,
For them to recognise their kin –
A fellow wordsmith, to be lauded,
Calliope’s very twin !
I guess their sheer class shone through –
By which I mean their bourgeoisie.
For had a working-lad likewise,
There’s be no welcome-mat for he.
These days, of course, they snub us all the same –
Well, that’s equality…
Let Our Freak Flags Fly
These days, ev’ryone has their flag,
Their brand, their team –
I see them as their colours stream upon the breeze.
I don’t know what they mean,
Not any of these –
But they sure look grand !
These layer-cakes in purple, pink, and green
To folks in far-off lands
That will never be reached by me first-hand,
But it’s good to know they’re there,
That they still get seen.
And those who fall-out inbetween,
The citizens of elsewhere,
Who are ev’ry bit as keen to share –
Not part of this, nor part of that,
Yet part of where our culture’s at –
They’re hesitant to wear the stripes we’ve flown,
Or sport our crest –
Well, there’s always room within the nest
For strangers with another face –
They get to make a banner of their own,
To fly with all the rest.
Eventu’ly, I’ll see it grace
A new lapel or wedding dress –
Another flag I cannot place,
But somebody salutes, I guess.
Well, good for them – what’s one more more-or-less ?
Note that St George’s Cross should not be left out of the fun.
Neptune’s Daughters
As a kid, I used to believe in the Seven Seas –
But which on Earth were they ?
Clearly the Channel, the North, and the Irish,
But which were the other four ?, I’d say.
But then I learned there were dozens of others,
From the Med to Aegean to Adriatic –
Time for a rethink, I thought, to the map –
Clearly the rolling waves weren’t static !
Some people say they were numbered by the Arabs
From the Gulf to the South China Sea,
Others that they represent the oceans
In one big continuity.
But some say currents can separate them,
So some shall flood while others seep.
And others again say the seas are layers
From the sunlit shallows to Challenger Deep.
As a kid, I used to believe in the old salts’ notion,
Until I did no more –
And then I believed in the Panthalassic Ocean,
Lapping ev’ry shore.
And then I believed in gradients and upward swells
For the flows to surmount –
Yet the tides never asked their name as they rose and fell,
And the seas can’t count.
Like the Wriggle of an Eel
Rivers are boring when they’re straight,
We’ve got the canals for that.
But rivers will race and rivers will wait,
As they twist through their habitat.
They’re in no hurry to terminate,
They meander around, and ambulate,
Through oxbows of a future-date,
Until they’re old and fat.
I used to marvel how they’d know
Which way to go to flow through ev’ry town.
But gravity cares none for to or fro,
For fast or slow,
As long as they flow down.
Rivers are boring when they’re straight,
But once they’ve earned the name of ‘great’,
They carve their many strands through delta sands,
While the hungry sea must wait.
The Also-Rans of the Human Race
The run of the mill are the ones that work,
That pass the quality control.
The boilerplate will keep us warm,
The squares are the pegs that fit square holes.
Vanilla is liked by the most of us,
In the melting pot in which we merge.
And the middle of the highway
Is much flatter than the verge.
We can’t all be an edge case,
That’s why safe and steady sells –
We’re statistic’ly predictable,
Our curves are always bells.
We can’t all be left-handed,
Double-jointed, hazeled-eyes.
Our clothing fits much better
When it’s cut to av’rage size.
Oh sure, we may have corners,
Here and there, which stray from the norm,
But the hard-to-hear truth of it
Is how we’re true to form.
We try to be original,
As a genius or freak –
But just like us, our doubles
Are convinced that they’re unique.
We all so long to be special,
And so we are, in a typical way –
They’ll never refer to us as The Great,
But maybe as the doing-okay.
This world belongs to the mediums,
To the masses, not the kings –
For how could we ever find stuff we liked
If we all like diff’rent things ?
A Pinch of Salt
A cup of flour ? How much is that ?
An onion, small ? How small ?
How closely should I trim the fat ?
How round each stuffing ball ?
Cooking lacks precision,
And quality controls –
Explaining my omission
Of some toads to fill these holes.
Uh-Oh
The clock is ticking,
Fuse is lit –
So no more bricking,
This is it !
Oh no,
There’s still a long and rocky road to go.
Let’s chomp down on the bit,
For we’ll never get to reap unless we sow.
The walls are shaking,
Floor’s on fire,
The news we’re breaking’s
Looking dire –
Whoa-whoa,
Looks like we’ll have to take this blow-by-blow.
For if we don’t aspire
Then we’ll never overcome the status quo.
Our spirit’s flagging,
Muscles cramp,
Our mojo’s sagging,
Powder’s damp –
How so ?
We’ve faced the ebb, now let’s surge with the flow !
So up-and-at-em champ,
Cos when danger’s high, it’s too late to lie low.
We’re all we’ve got,
Let’s try somehow,
The iron’s hot,
The time is now !
Hey-ho,
Let’s buckle-up and get on with the show.
It’s time to give this world some wow
And leave behind a golden afterglow !
Demergence
How long should we leave the Lego built
Before we break it down ?
How long will the sandy castle stand
Before its turrets drown ?
How long should we sit back and admire
The finished jigsaw puzzle,
Till it’s taking up the table space
Where other things could bustle ?
Time then to embrace the entropy,
Disrupt the orthodox,
And smash the status quo with relish
Back into its box.
Britannias
What ho ! I’m Ali,
Born in Cairo –
True-blue British, doncha know ?
Like squire Sanjay –
Mumbai-bred,
As English as a phone box red.
And then there’s Chang,
From County Down,
By bowler hat and Chinatown.
And Elzbieta,
Glasgow gal,
As fish-and-chips as any pal,
And Welsh Pierre
Of Montreal,
So fluent in the bat-and-ball.
The best of British,
Tweeds and cap –
As much as any other chap.
Fads & Fangles
It started with vinyl,
Then moved to cassettes –
Now cameras use film,
And our watches use springs.
For all we progress,
So we harbour regrets –
The world has gone wireless,
But we long for strings.
We’re too young to ever
Remember those days,
But we switch-out the hoover
For artisan brooms.
I wonder what’s next ?
A typewriter craze ?
A love for old diesels,
Because of their fumes ?
We’re questioning science
Like never before –
We’re leery of vaccines,
We’re losing our spark.
I hope it’s a fetish,
And not something more –
We’ve no use for luddites,
Or Ages of Dark.
It started with vinyl,
Then moved to 5G –
It used to be fun,
Till the humour was gone.
But if it’s just fashion,
Then let’s let it be –
Be retro today,
And tomorrow move on.
Rhyming Couplets 