The Deep State of Fear
First it was the Devil and his minions beseiging us,
And then it was the Cath’lics and the Pope –
After them the Masons with their fingers in the pies,
And then the Jews would steal away all hope –
And don’t forget the Communists, the baby-eating Communists,
To polish up the ever-slipp’ry slope –
Today’s we blame the media, tomorrow blame the nanobots,
But do we ever blame ourselves ? Hell, nope !
From Eden to Creation
Knowledge has always a dangerous gleam,
And there in the Garden, that treacherous Snake
Would tempt and corrupt with so cunning a scheme –
To lead the naive from this Heaven to harm,
For fog to be lifted and dawning to break,
To shatter these shackles of innocent calm.
But Eve bit the apple for humankind’s sake,
For what the Lord fears is what humans can take –
Just give us an inkling, just chance us an arm,
The glimpse of a theory, the trace of a wake,
The hint of a sequence, the ghost of a theme,
The scent of a notion, the birth of a dream,
We’ll bend it and twist it and pick at its seam,
And build it and test it and lay bare its charm,
Till genome and quantum are held in our palm.
Aerialatrix
Skyla McLeod, her parents named her,
Hoped to shoot her to the top –
Alas, the ev’ryday has claimed her,
Clipped her wings and let her drop.
She’s just a loser in the sky,
Although she knows it’s all a mock –
For now she only reaches high
By living in a tower block.
Skyla McLeod in her fairy-tower,
Watching the tiny people go,
Pretending that she has the power
To interrupt their to and fro.
But still, her life is not so grim,
When comes her prince, at the end of his shift –
Then she’ll let down her hair for him,
And he’ll ascend (though in the lift).
The Land of Nod
Faith is like sleeping.
What dreams we conceive there
We always believe there,
Where no doubt may creep in.
But be not mistaken
By heavenly seemings
And wishful sweet-dreamings;
It’s time to awaken.
As Genesis 4:16 informs us, Nod is located on the East of Eden.
The Testament of Vacuum
But there is no loving god, my friends,
There is no final judge to make amends.
My friends, there is no loving god.
There never is, there never will be, never was –
For all there ever is, is us –
But who then cares ? Well, no-one does,
We are all the love that there can ever be.
We are both the saviour and the deity –
Formed in our own image and desire,
Because, before he ever was, we are.
Gods’ Breath
Cry out your name to the wind,
As it gathers and flies,
Let it carry your name on its wing
To the edge of the skies.
Cry out your name to the wind,
And the wind replies –
“I am Aneurin, I am Belinda,
The unseen and wise.
Now I am Cormac, blowing, blowing,
Davina rising, Ezra free –
Soon to be Fortune, waiting, growing –
Filling the sails at mill and sea.
I am the storm and the maelstrom twinned,
The harbinger-bringer, the hurricane eyes !”
So cry out your name to the wind,
And your name shall rise.
The Memory of Woods
Ashes to ashes
And ashes to beeches,
Ashes wherever
The passing breeze reaches,
To scatter and nourish
The bluebells and oaks,
Whose branches are neighbours
And flowers are folks.
Ashes have grown
And ashes have fallen,
But not before raising
Their saplings from pollen –
We sleep with the ivy
And grow with the lime,
Whose roots are in mem’ry,
And crowns are in time.
