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The Ever Shifting Patern of Life

The Ever Shifting Pattern of Life by
Terence David Cooper. June is wife's
name and they are Basildon,  Essex, 
England.

As children we learn lessons clear
Broadly defined lines we hold so dear
Constants to which we can easily comply
Until someone smarter wanders by.

The first chill of confusion swiftly ensues
That clever person has changed some rules
From that moment of be-twixed and between
We struggle to be certain, of which way to lean.

Changes must occur from time to time!
Improvement’s, disruptions, altérations sublime,
So many clever folk, well-meaning too,
Add substance to the mixture of the glue.

We stick, stumble, from one change to the next.
Unsure of correctitude, due to oblique guidance text.
How nice to be simple, I must teach it to you
Comforting clarity, replacing oceans of poo.

Too many instructions, too many lines.
Too many corrections, too many fines.
Too many clever folk, making their mark
Intent on reshaping, lines in the carpark.

Goalposts un-shifting, we know where to score.
Participants uplifted, everything sure.
At the end of a game, accepting defeat,
Winner celebrating, the rest of us sweet.

Clever people coming, thick and fast.
Hell bent on not being one of the last.
Changes keep coming, will there be no end?
Enough to drive us all, right round the bend.

Drunk, disorderly, not really in charge.
People expanding, giving it large.
We are SO clever, in the know, internally informed.
Tell you where to go, what to do, we’re not to be scorned.

Impressively depressed on mountains of pills.
Medication competitions, costing lots of bills.
Operations on this and that, with more to go.
If you haven’t had one yet, you’re awfully slow.

I’m griping, I’ve griped a lot, continuing to whinge.
Too many changes, it’s beginning to impinge.
Quality of this life, is blending into fudge.
No sweetener, consistency, a bland type of sludge.

Gone, excitement of good things we knew.
We look at options, there are more than a few.
Make complicated decisions, on gobble-de-gook.
Wish we had not done it, avoided the hook.

Having to drop our sweet, to give it real flavour.
Risk eating germy things, to find something to savour.
This is too fatty, that is too lean, 
She is too just lovely; you know what I mean.

Let’s get back to basics, like what we see.
Perceptions, objectives, please let us be.
Natural restrictions? Let us take a chance.
Heighten enjoyment, fulfilment to dance.

Remember those days, we were allowed to decide.
What was good for us, no need to hide.
You did what you did, it was all down to you.
We swum, we sunk, needing to see it through.

It is now too easy to call it a day.
No drummer to drum, no piper to pay.
Give up, disown your part in the game.
It wasn’t your fault; it was them to blame.

Let me represent you, I’ll win you some cash.
The accident happened because he was too flash.
The fact that you went into the side of him,
Is quite incidental, we can prove anything.

A recurring theme, recurring dream.
Conspiracy, deception, are you sure that is cream?
The poisoned challis taster, all over again?
After-all its not so bad, more fudge down the drain.

Glad that you liked it. Jim Horn

Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2015

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