the unwise do not get wiser with age
the unhealthy do not stop eating sugar
there are some things we know we cannot change
and yet we will bash our heads into a car door trying
Some people call the happy ones names
Trying to bully the joy out of them
We are a society of jealous people
tiptoeing through our days, trying to be “normal”
My normal is nowhere near your normal
and vice-a-versa no matter what you think
My tastes are not your tastes
They are not even my tastes in an hour
because I am a Gemini
There’s something in our entrails knows this dread.
You hear it scratching – that’s alarm enough.
That snorting half-suppressed, that flagstone scuffed,
a passing shadow of a massive head,
and we scent darkness, dark beyond the dead.
It hovers like Unreason. Does it know?
Canals of self-containment overflow,
like wits’ weak walls, at that approaching tread.
Our fingers, feeling for that flimsy thread,
Seem senseless, unresponsive: can’t perform
the simplest act. No order now, no norm.
The Void insists. The Hunger will be fed.
With locusts of the Labyrinth in swarm,
the mitochondria of Panic sprout and spread.
How do I compare to thee?
Your intransience knows no bounds
Id gesticulate more often than not
Your red Mantra dress knows no warmth
Your like a mermaid uncaught
You're darndest to know
You're like a Newfoundland
Leeching perilous unreason
Your everyone’s confidante except mine
You turn me into wilderness
I do not know my heart?
I am left speechless
On the morning of your coming
you leave me dumb confounded
Human insistancy fuelled by myriad inconsistancys
Unreason of ages' result much hate and destruction
Through innumerable fervid and insane stages.'
Oh to plant my hands in this garden,
to grow, to find a new home in some
wind-protected place.
The gardener of justice weeds out unreason, and the dread.
I see I am almost 60
The river of life has sped by
Sweet accounts are needed
Thank God I remember the 60s
sane relics of the past
Kaftans and roll-ups
strain to the sounds
blonde this and that
Mini skirts and wobbly legs
I hear the wind calling
It wants an account of where I've been
Schooled in Croydon by Woodside
Polytechnic in the East End
Never used my Degree for its full effect
Should have been a contender
in the National Audit Office
Life goes by quickly
its a black board of unreason
It demands an answer
I
What did he tell my Beauty?
II
Why did she place her pure lips on his face?
III
Unreason: rescue my girl from past predator-lovers
Gb2 's a radio show, it airs in Sydney...But there's more to know.'
Ben Fordam has been speaking out, on the covid dictates
Roundabout on where the science meets the facts
Whether it's all altruistic.? Or do some just act?
Also acts that block, that rile and shock; that lay down demands
That cost a lot..' Much production is de-railed; Aussie
Dreams now are ships with tattered sails, I hear that Ben is
Triple vaxed.. ) an early advocate, was his shout not so lax.'
Yet now he'll listen to anti-views ' To me that rings like
Dinkum news.' He' on facebook; and also twitter He's
A sounding board; and I'd reckon, a real heavy hitter.'
I haven't met the man as yet.' But I like the idea that
He's listening, and talking.' that's the part I really get.!
Go for it Ben,.' I will also here give mention to another
Australian heveyweight journalist Andrew Bolt a legend
In his time and this field, who has been questioning things
And even resigned, from the official endorsed media he
Was involved in, If I get time I will do him in a piece also '
I have climbed the hills of all seasons,
found love, and descended;
I have found it through heat, rain and snow,
and lo, it's never ended.
When others are sleeping, I'm out in the
woods and the fields, reveling by the
grass and the trees.
But the question remains, which is my preferred season?
Love is a year-round affair,
and it's surely a treason
to yield to less than four season.
To go with the drift of seasons
is love's real reason;
bow and accept love's logic
or simply love unreason.
Some find relief in solitary confinement
And others cherish the thought of being alone
I am but a weary soul craving for cessation and realignment
Waiting for greater powers to break this vestigial bone
Some are inclined to love and prosper
Relinquished control begets their duty to forget
I am built to loathe and falter
Borrowed time yields unreason; forever in sorrow’s debt
Some seek higher meaning in reason’s domain
Pity is the holder of divine understanding
I am a blemish that marks a desolate plane
Debasement is my steadfast tool for disbanding
Solace rests in a certainty embraced by one and all
To the place from which we came and from which we must depart
Eternal silence take stead and imbue my place of fall
Reprieve me of my ambling spirit and wandering heart
I believe couples should confer with each other
before making any decisions
if you need them to stay with you that shouldn't smother
but should instead provide provisions
there shouldn't be any unreason
for to be apart
doing things with each other without reason
helps align the heart
you pick your friends wisely
that way they won't interfere
with your relationship pattern tidy
and for terms that endear
I'm going to be careful
to practice this particular thing
in hopes that it will be returned in this vessel
and peace of mind it will bring
Free
I stand here free
wondering if I truly am
always wrong in my thought
when it’s not as you taught
I stand here free
wondering why in speech
When I make as I please
The powers, I displease
Monger of terror, or infidel
must I in whatever you will
procure faith with unreason;
to my mind, commit treason?
Should I continue to subsist
unfettered, by your dictates
yet, equal to you by figment;
forever guilty by my pigment?
I stand here unrestrained
yet, wondering about shackles:
why the physical was abolished;
The mental, never demolished
I stand here wielding power
Power to break your every chain;
In dearth, still dream big dreams
fed infinitely by my inner streams
Originally Written on 13/10/2018
for "I stand here" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish.
Rewritten on 29/10/2018
Golden leaves upon the pear trees
No fruit to ripen though
Spring's frost killed it all in the bud
Always hope for next year's to grow
The air is damp and cool again
Charcoal gray clouds move in
There's a tet-a-tee between fall
And winter to begin
We never know about the seasons
It's unsure just like life
Which can zap us with unreason
Or blessings flow without strife
The pounds gained after the Christmas season
Give you a powerful smashing reason
To stick in a great diet
Causing to feel disquiet
That ends in losing weight with unreason
For Limerick Contest
Sponsored by Jan Allison
First Place
12-22-2015
Unreason
- by Bob Atkinson
"... ode to those
who teach creative
writing at the
college level,
yet have not the
talent nor
understanding
required
to produce something
worthwhile ..."
to listen graciously
then turn away
feeling for the
first time
wonder at his
sayings
carries burdens
newly minted
for my life on lumpy
pavement
simply put this
wreck of words
drives not my lucid
statements
in fear of simple
castings made
those so hard to
correctly gage
find difficulty in
believing
what should or
shouldn't stand
feed me what to this
date
has not been allowed
percolation
to equate justice
circumcised
against wispy
thoughts berated
metaphors mixed
until complete
that nonsense we all
believe in
can only drive us
deeply down
a path toward firm
unreason
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