Not Only Pascal’s Wager
If God is not, and I believe,
Then my mistake shall matter none to me –
And when I come this life to leave,
I matter none to void infinity.
If God there is, and I abstain,
Then my mistake shall matter great and well –
And when I quit this earthly plain,
I matter none to He who saves from Hell.
If God is not, or God there is,
Still our mistake, for taking up this bet.
So ere our lives are done, know this –
They matter much, they might be all we get.
Drowning in the Jordan
Dead of winter, and Josh drinks alone –
His birthday today, and the years have flown.
Thirty today, and what has he done ?
Never been married, never had a son.
He feels he’s achieved far less than he’d oughta
Whittling the wood while his life’s getting shorter
“Gimme a break, an’ I’ll set the joint humming,
I’ll give unto Caesar just what he’s got coming !”
“I’m gonna
Rise with the dawn to pray and sing,
I’m gonna
Rise with the dawn and bless the poor –
They’re gonna raise me up an’ crown me king,
An’ when they think me beat, I’ll be back for more !”
Dead of winter, and Josh drinks alone –
All night he’s preaching in his slurrey drone.
He’s wasted round here, his vital mission –
There’s plenty to hear him, but none to listen.
Already he’s had two more than he oughta,
Knocking it back as though it were water.
He bangs down his grail with an angry thud –
“Gimme another, cos this is my blood !”
“I’m gonna
Find me some fishermen, and practice how to talk,
I’m gonna
Find me some fishermen and go from town to town –
I’m gonna cross the waves if I have to walk,
And if you wanna stop me, you’ll havta nail me down !”
Dead of winter, and Josh drinks alone –
This world is a bitch and it needs to atone.
He’s got his sermons and hymns to dispense –
He’s telling his stories, but they don’t make sense.
“Why won’t you bastards listen like you oughta ?
Why won’t you hark to the lessons what I taught yer ?
The love of money is the root of all malign !”
But the barman doesn’t care as he charges for the wine.
“I’m gonna
Work with my hands till I raise some sparks,
I’m gonna
Work with my hands till they heed what I tell,
One day so these palms are gonna bear marks,
An’ if you don’t believe me, I’ll see you in Hell !”
Dead of winter, and Josh drinks alone,
He’s got his second wind, he’s rolling back the stone –
Says he’s gotta leave and join the cherubim,
To do unto others like they’d better do to him.
He knows he’s delayed for longer than he oughta –
Someone’s gotta be the Devil’s holy thwarter,
Someone’s gotta sow so the reapers reap their seedful,
Someone’s gotta help all the camels through the needle.
“I’m gonna
Quit this hick town and walk the Earth,
I’m gonna
Quit this hick town and bang my drum,
I’m gonna walk out and show them what I’m worth,
I’m gonna walk out till kingdom come !”
The Advent Carol
Who’s behind the first door ?
The solstice is behind the first,
The time the winter Sun is at his least.
Who’s behind the second door ?
The Sun again – the Sun reborn,
Who ushers in the great Midwinter feast.
Who’s behind the third door ?
The Holly and the Ivy are,
The evergreens who never drop their cloaks.
Who’s behind the fourth door ?
The Mistletoe ! The Mistletoe !
The green and living soul of sleeping oaks.
Day-by-day, let us remember –
These are the days of December.
Who’s behind the fifth door ?
Osiris, Mithra, Herakles,
And Zarathustra – age-old gods and myths.
Who’s behind the sixth door ?
The same Gods and their Virgin Births –
And each is born upon the 25th
Who’s behind the seventh door ?
The ancient and be-sandal’d Greeks,
Engaged in boozy Bacchanalia.
Who’s behind the eighth door ?
The ancient Roman copycats,
Engaged in likewise Saturnalia.
Day-by-day, let us remember –
These are the days of December.
Who’s behind the ninth door ?
It’s Nicholas, the bishop-saint
Who secretly leaves presents for the poor.
Who’s behind the tenth door ?
White of beard and furred of robe –
It’s Odin ! God of gifts and God of war.
Who’s behind the eleventh door ?
It’s Yuletide, when the Wild Hunt charges,
Through the sky and through the feasting halls.
Who’s behind the twelfth door ?
That’s Sleipnir, Odin’s flying steed,
Who lets him drop down chimneys when he calls.
Day-by-day, let us remember –
These are the days of December.
Who’s behind the thirteenth door ?
It’s Father Christmas, dressed in green,
While feasting heartily and draining beer.
Who’s behind the fourteenth door ?
Dasher, Dancer, Thomas Nast,
To bring about the reigning of the reindeer.
Who’s behind the fifteenth door?
The Ghosts of Dickens’ Christmas show
That even bustling London has its pause.
Who’s behind the sixteenth door ?
It’s Haddon Sundblom, illustrator,
Painting Coca-Cola’s Santa Claus.
Day-by-day, let us remember –
These are the days of December.
Who’s behind the seventeenth door ?
It’s Prince Albert’s Tannenbaum –
He’s bringing back the good old Christmas Tree.
Who’s behind the eighteenth door ?
It’s lots and lots of Christmas Cards,
Showing scenes of seasonality.
Who’s behind the nineteenth door ?
It’s Oxford Street illuminations,
Well-dressed window-shopping costs us nothing.
Who’s behind the twentieth door ?
A Turkey ! Waiting for the chop
With roasties, Yorkshires, bread sauce, sprouts, and stuffing !
Day-by-day, let us remember –
These are the days of December.
Who’s behind the twenty-first door ?
It’s robin redbreasts in the snow –
Though never three together, as a rule.
Who’s behind the twenty-second door ?
A Crib from a Nativity,
As seen on stage in ev’ry prim’ry school.
Who’s behind the twenty-third door ?
Her Majesty, with speech in hand,
Addressing all the little folks to carry on.
Who’s behind the twenty-fourth door ?
It’s Christmas Number One ! Our song !
We know the words, so once more sing along:
Day-by-day, let us remember –
These are the days of December.
And finally, the twenty-fifth,
So open up and see –
Why look, it’s Mum and Dad, and Gran,
And You, and You, and Me.
Bleaters, Awake !
The Lord is our shepherd,
We’re kept fed and watered –
But only to fleece us
Before we are slaughtered.
In Finity
“I’d rather believe in an absolute something
Than trust in an absolute nothing at all.
And thus I choose faith in an undefined coming,
Than ponder the empty and chanceful and small.”
But how can an absolute anything be
In a finite and singular universe host ?
And as for an absolute nothing, well see,
That nature abhors of a vacuum the most.
Area 42
Aliens, aliens,
Somewhere they’re out there !
The odds are so great,
And the physics agrees.
They just need a planet
With temp’rature fair,
With water that’s liquid,
And low stellar breeze.
And who would have thought it,
But when we went looking,
There’s thousands of planets
Just lurking all over.
So down in their oceans,
What might they have cooking ?
Alas, they’re too distant
To send out a Rover.
Ah, but imagine if we could !
Just grab our towels and jelly beans
And stride our cosmic neighbourhood !
If only we could learn the means.
Until such time, it might be wise
To doubt the news, and watch the skies.
Forget about greys
Or a buxom blue femme,
We know they’ll look nothing
Like anything here.
For they’ll be as strange
As must we be to them,
From opposite ends
Of the final frontier.
So let’s not be too harsh
On yoofoo believers
For who knows what’s lurking
Beyond our ken ?
But things are too distant
For radar receivers
To show us the saucers
Of little green men.
Ah, but imagine if they could !
Above high clouds, they’d scrutinise
Our quaint provincial neighbourhood.
Alas, I must dispute your cries.
The only people up there, guys,
Are far outside our lonely skies.
Counting Magpies
One for nada,
Two for nowt,
Three for a shrug,
And four for a doubt,
Five for zero,
Six for oh,
Seven for knowing there’s nothing to know.
Peggy Picas
Magpie, magpie, all upon your lonely,
Have you an omen or an auspice to portend ?
Tell me, oh magpie, perched all one and only,
What do you impart, my fortune-casting friend ?
Magpies, magpies, twosome in my setting,
Have you an omen or an auspice to bestow ?
Tell me, oh magpies, the pair of you abetting,
What do you impart – am I set for joy or woe ?
Magpies, magpies, thrice upon my vision,
Have you an omen or an auspice to enprime ?
Tell me, oh magpie, a trio on your mission,
What do you impart for my future-coming time ?
Magpies, magpies, four of you here gathered,
Have you an omen or an auspice for my mood ?
I tell you, oh magpies, I think your signs are blathered,
You’ve nothing to impart – you’re too busy finding food.
Armageddon Hedonism
All aboard for the End of Days,
When kingdoms drown and cities blaze.
See stars burn out and worlds collide,
As the dead shall walk and the damned shall ride !
I’ll see you all at the bitter end,
When gods take arms and fates entwine.
We’re six-six-six for nil, my friend,
Let’s party like it’s ninety-nine !
The long goodbye, the last farewell –
I’ll see you all on the Road to Hell !
Fires to the North and fighting to the South,
The time has come, the Walrus said, and gently dabbed his mouth.
Famine to the West, and plague upon the East –
The Quick comingle with the Dead, the Angel with the Beast.
Penitents shall weep and moan –
Some prayers pleaded, others hurled.
We’re all-for-one and all alone,
So step right up for the End of the World !
Roll up ! Roll up for Ragnarok !
For hark ! There raps the Reaper’s knock.
The hour is nigh, our time is come,
I hear the trumpet and the drum.
I’ll see you all on Judgement Day,
When gods lay bets and futures mix.
We’re thirty-coins-per-soul, they say –
Keep tuppence back to cross the Styx.
We’re three-score-ten before the tomb –
I’ll see you all at the Gates to Doom !
Chaos to the left and jokers to the right,
The wind of Thor is blowing cold, the Morningstar is bright.
Shouting to the front and screaming to the rear –
The Saved shall ally with the Sold, the Comrade with the Clear.
Penitents shall beg and curse –
Some prosaic, some sublime.
It’s goodnight to the Universe,
And set your clocks for the End of Time !
Hollow-een
It’s Halloween night, and I’m still right here –
Death, you coward, you failed to appear !
Did you send forth your goblins and demons and wights ?
Cos I’ve still got my wits and I’ve still got my lights.
So where were the werewolves, the hairy-scare werewolves ?
And where were the zombies and spectres and sprites ?
Is it really too much to want to believe in
Some un-hallows odd on All-Hallow’s Even ?
It’s Halloween night, and I’m still in the clear
Death, you blackguard, you just ain’t sincere !
Plague and Pollution, Famine and War
Now those are damn scary, and worthy of awe.
Cancer and cold snaps and car wrecks are killers,
Not witches or vampires – they don’t come near !
Vengeance and greed are the stuff of good thrillers,
But I ain’t heard a peep from a banshee all year.
It’s Halloween night, and I’ve nothing to fear –
Death, you pussy, you’ve lost all your sneer !
And a rubber spider or pumpkin grin
Will scarcely scare me out of my skin.
My heart’s barely strumming,
So Death, if you’re coming,
You’d best get a-frighting to stand any chance –
So unleash your devils
And skeletal revels –
Quit tuning your fiddle, and strike up a dance.
Rhyming Couplets 