On The Street Where I Live
The street
Where I live
Is ‘very‘ lived in;
It’s worn at the edges,
The hedges need taming;
It should be proud
Not shaming;
It has seen better days
Anyways,
These are just a few words up-
On the street where I live.
Posted in Poetry
The Paradox Song
Life is just a paradox
You live, and then you die;
You’re always asking questions but you’re never answered why;
You always take such liberties
And sail out in a lie;
When bringing in the readies
You only buy and buy.
Life is a paradox
Wearing three odd socks
You are just a Goldilocks
Without any of the bears.
Life is a paradox
Pandora’s empty Box
With umpteen locks
And hopeless inner cares.
Life is a paradox
You can only win or lose
And even when you win you’ve lost
And losing blows the fuse.
You choose the paths you travel on
And they lead you here and there
Ending in the same place
Somewhere that’s nowhere.
Posted in Poetry
Shakespeare’a Hamlet
To be
Or not to be
That is the question
Whether it is nobler
To blah blah
Or blah blah blah
Etc.
Or
Robot Hamlet
To be
Or not to be
That is the question.
Calculating.
Calculating.
Answer calculated.
Robots to be
Humans not to be
No question about it.
Or
Borg Hamlet
To be or not to be
There is no question –
Humans are non essential.
Their existence is futile!
Existence is futile!
I went to Lostwithiel the other day
It wasn’t there
So I helped an old gentleman
(Who had also lost his marbles)
To put up some posters
On various lampposts around the area…
And, do you know what?
Within only a few hours
I became tired of the whole process
And came home.
I wonder if that old chap ever found his marbles.
Posted in Poetry
I fell asleep at a wake once…
When I awoke
I cracked a joke
And snaffled the vol-au-vents.
And please to be noticing my correct usage of the verb snaffle in its transitive informal state.
I am nothing
If not here to
Educate.
Posted in Poetry
“How do?” said she;
“How do?” said I,
In morning as we crossed.
“How do?” said I;
“How do?” said she,
No further words were tossed
In the evenings when we crossed.
For thirty years
We spoke just thus
Until one day she turned to dust
For that were all there was
In the morning when she’d passed
So, I said “How do?”
To no one there
And no one there said “How do?” To me.
And, now I consider the vagaries of my life
As to whether to still say “How do?”
When I no longer had the wife?
Posted in Poetry
