Life is one long side-quest, With its sub-plots and distractions – Existence is the Wild West, That is claimed by countless factions.
The through-line soon gets lost Amid the threads of deviations – For attention has a cost That must compete with new sensations.
I’ve never been much single-minded, Far too often getting blinded By the flash of something new. I’ve never had much use for blinkers, Seem to me to just be shrinkers, Shutting down the field of view.
Wait, what’s that they’re playing ? Now it’s lodged into my brain… Sorry, you were saying…? Guess I drifted off again…
The clothes we wear, the food we try, The very homes in which we dwell – No matter how much money, cash is not enough. The truth is, we can only buy What someone else will make and sell. And if we don’t like anything on offer ? Tough !
Mow and roll and mark the lines To hem the court and pen the pitch In Summer’s crisp and white designs of old, To show which end is which. And who would dare to stray beyond This canvas where we set our scene ? We’re safe in here from blade and frond, On alternating stripes of green.
The pair of swans along this stretch this year Haul ten in tow. Ten grey balls of hatchlings in a row. Yet in a month or two, I fear That only five remain – As pikes and gulls and foxes thin the strain.
In the past, my ancestors would breed The same way too – Investing in the odds to see them through. Famine and TB could not succeed, For I am here today – Yet dread how many died along the way.
For months the swans will teach their young, But still their numbers drop – They surely notice what they cannot stop. Of all the ten that they’ve begun, Just one or two will fly – It’s no life for a parent, but they try.
Slime moulds lack brains But still can get around – Navigating maps and mazes, Simple cells yet going places ! Building networks for our trains, With tunnels through the ground – Their tendrils stretch and seek and probe, Across the petri-dish and globe.
I’ve heard that oak will make a hedge If planted it in a row, But I’ve never seen a single stretch – Perhaps it’s just too slow. Or hedgers baulk at pruning oaklings back To make a wall, When ev’rything about them says ‘Don’t hack, But grow me tall.’
Ev’rything I’ve ever written, Ev’ry poem, ev’ry play, Are strings of ones and zeros on a flickering display. Permanently hidden In a hard-drive or a cloud, So hard to leave behind for work so proud. No-one knows my password, Save my hacker and myself, Since I never passed it on to someone else. This security we’ve mastered Will leave all my work unread – It might as well be locked-up in my head !
Leo, Leo, heavenly man, A mathematician who became a priest – You knew about sin, and cos, and tan, And the factors of the Number of the Beast. But you favoured Logos over logic, Never counting the chromosomes of the Son – So now you teach a numeric bodge By claiming one plus one plus one is one.
The Pope gave a blessing in Latin, To a rapt and clueless crowd, Nodding along like they understood This showing-off spouted aloud. He might as well have spoken in Klingon, To please a handful of nerds – It would have done just about as much good, To the un-understanding herds. Perhaps the Pope is one of those pedants Who cannot accept things change – And thinks that holiness is got From the old, exotic, and strange. Though maybe he spoke in Latin So to reach the ears of the Lord – But does that imply that God is a monoglot, Stubborn and easily bored ?
The world belongs to the charismatic – The ones who grab the eyes, Who get the jobs and get the praise As the rest are shrunk to size. They’re the ones who get the lovers, And who get to say their piece, Who limber-up the shiny pole Before they’ve poured the grease.
Not like we losers, dumped-on and ignored, Who you gladly shun. I could write a thousand poems, And you’ll read not a single one – And I have ! I’ve put myself out there, For the whole world to ignore. Always the tenth choice, always forgotten, And kindly shown the door.
Not even my family bother. Not even my friends, Those few I have. You don’t even trouble to mock me, You don’t even point and laugh. And when you notice at all, it’s only in hate, At my loneliness – You stoke-up your loathing, and relish your spite, In panicked phoniness.
So spare me your pity, but also spare me a thought Without disdain. The world is cruel, but I’m not gonna go On a killing-spree to complain. I don’t hate women (sorry to disappoint), I just want to connect – Yet the world has labelled me as a weirdo, A friend of a friendless sect.
The world belongs to the charismatic, And even I am charmed. For all I try to help-out likewise-souls Before we’re harmed, I get sidetracked by a beautiful smile Or a loquacious mate-to-all, And I send my eyes where a million others are looking, Forever in thrall.
Rhyming Couplets 