Altho' it's not E=mc squared,
Albert was heard to theorise
when he declared,
"Carrots are relatively good for the eyes,
it's a fact
they'll make you see well and look good too,
I'm blinding you with science,
it's not hoodoo or a voodoo act."
He then asserted,
with a wicked grin,
"It only hurts when you put them in."
Stolen from story book disbelief
Leather cape swoop, hooks my veins
Fork prong fangs drink, blood drains
Bubble in ruby bead eyed thief
Gurgle as furry gargoyle fills
Helicopter hurricane flurry vanishes
Clutching my haemorrhage damages
Explosive throat, dizzying thrills
Attack on this dreaded day, theorise
Opened as old time, musty pages
Terror in an unexpected text message
Dirty diseased creature in disguise
Heroic helper - no - unobscured horror
Giving me a role in rancid plot
Grave digging past reveals rot
Historic vampiric bombastic bother
Haunted Taunted
Spooks Peek
Last of October
All the clever people
Put their heads together.
They made a metal brain
Bound to last forever
But what they didn’t realise
Was that they couldn’t make a metal heart.
This metal brain can theorise
But it cannot make good metal art.
For all of ever, people
Have know about the end.
They cling to things found meaningful
Trying to pretend.
But when the robots came to be,
We realised love is real
Because something that a metal box
Cannot do is feel.
I
Experts say use known to understand new
II
If what is known is Past, how can it be new
III
Experts theorise but the wise are curious
IV
Curiosity about places, persons... open a mind
V
Education starts at home, without theory
VI
Good education flows from family values (read in Socrates method, minus classroom, and India's traditional Guru- Chela schools).
Fathers of that era
did not hug or touch or
intimate their love.
He was the same
Did he love us, we his
kin, his blood-seed. He
did not say, yet I
believe he did.
He was a provider, for
sure. A taste for beer,
never dissolute and
he smoked as most
working folk, did then.
An adept gardener, his
vegetables supplemented
our meagre rationed diet.
Did he care, he never
said, I’m sure he did.
What made him tick,
deep down, I mean
where only introspectives,
types like me will
sometimes dig.
It is easy, so easy
to theorise. His
generation, strong
and silent, did not
discuss such things,
especially with his son,
such things were never
done. Maybe..perhaps
with Mum. Feelings
were not shared but
held back, within.
A reservoir of emotions
controlled, withheld
until death shatters
the dam.
Is that why I cried
so, the day he died
and still I wonder..
did I cry for me,
or was it for him
Fathers of that era
did not hug or touch or
intimate their love.
He was the same
Did he love us, we his
kin, his blood-seed. He
did not say, yet I
believe he did.
He was a provider, for
sure. A taste for beer,
never dissolute and
he smoked as most
working folk, did then.
An adept gardener, his
vegetables supplemented
our meagre rationed diet.
Did he care, he never
said, I’m sure he did.
What made him tick,
deep down, I mean
where only introspectives,
types like me will
sometimes dig.
It is easy, so easy
to theorise. His
generation, strong
and silent, did not
discuss such things,
especially with his son,
such things were never
done. Maybe..perhaps
with Mum. Feelings
were not shared but
held back, within.
A reservoir of emotions
controlled, withheld
until death shatters
the dam.
Is that why I cried
so, the day he died
and still I wonder..
did I cry for me,
or was it for him
Ill Wind of …. 2
Powerful beings we are
A marvellous construction of senses
And intricacies
From the detail of touch
To atomic building blocks
With which to deliberate
Theorise
Awareness
A billion synaptic passages
Along nerve ends which equate
Every nuance existent
That traverses a teacup to a mouth
And how we create !
In Van Gogh colours
And musical diverse overtures
How we dream
In perception and the inspiration
And bring form
To what we conceive
Ah ! And how we love !
In the very arms of creation
This birth of ours
And at one time we new
And beheld the awe of life
Indivisible
From the hand of the Universal
Connected to
Content of
The miracles proclamation
Of life
………………………………………………….. how then have we become
so belittled
to no longer see
a state of perfection
ill wind indeed
to say we are “fallen”
from the trees and fruits of Eden
how far now have we been led astray
to think
that each and everyone one of us
unworthy of heaven
what despicable lie
of gold stained shrouds
led us to cast aside the truth
In the scheme of things, in the sweetly dreaming night,
The wintry grey or summer gold of day and daylight,
Whatever is proven or not must be the proof,
And whatever belief is believed must be the truth.
All that can be done is to remonstrate and reason
Yet logic seemingly cannot change the nature of this season,
And climates remain and act as climates are depicted,
So whatever fate bestows is clearly unpredicted.
It was real and sincere, or so I think and theorise,
And with a sudden death decree it can only be surmised,
That issues misinterpreted and the reference of ideas
Made it just the way you wanted, so as not to end in tears.
Yet in the scheme of things, at the heart of times turning,
Between June roses in bloom and November fires burning,
In my conversations between the March Hare and Mad Hatter
I only spoke unto myself the question: “Ah… but did it matter?”
And the answer, I know, in truth, is: “Yes…it did.”
But that does not stop the closure of the creaking coffin lid?
And it will not stop me thinking and considering the path
That led to cruel configuration of a phantom epitaph.
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