Day: August 21, 2019

Brown studies

I wonder how I’d feel  from day to day
If I knew not prime numbers and their play
If I’d never heard of “e”  and “pi”
And still believed  that God lived in the sky

Even though I’ve not  done maths for years
I fall into  brown studies next to squares
Ellipses please me  with their enclosed space
Sequential numbers  tilt my mind to  grace.

Calculus is nonsense in its way
Where nothing re-appears to  our dismay
It comes and goes like waves do on the beach
Where men would stand up on a box to preach.

Ah,shall I never know my other life
Where to the grace of words I  would be wife?

Gravity

Oh, do not let the sun fall in despair
As desolation haunts our souls today
Leaving us in darkness  cold and bare

Can’t  some God or other make life fair?
I bet they’re  angry , we no longer pray
Oh, do not let the sun fall in despair

There is no  father, mother anywhere 
No priest to bless the house , its ghosts to lay
Leaving us in darkness  cold and bare

I fear the sun is heavier than air;
Though what is Mass, some form of ecstasy?
Oh, do not let the sun fall in despair

Who holds up the pillars, who would dare
While  scholars  smile at such complexity?
All their minds  are  focused on the rare

The broken altars crack, whoever cares?
The Church has never been what Jesus saw
Oh, do not let  our hearts fall to despair
Living  in  such darkness  cold and bare

The future is still fiction, if it’s there.

This is a terza rima

 

lighter-tree (1)

The little leaves  are red brown in the sun
The branches  turned out shapes  are   full of joy
Little glitters play on leaves for fun

Eden was not totally destroyed
We return there in these glances rare
As nature and our friendships we enjoy

Living now, we never should defer
The sights, the dreams  we harbour  every day
The future is still fiction, if it’s there.

The  maple does not ask  the quetion, why?
Seek meaning for its life and its affairs
Like it we must now live before we die

 

Weapons of Lass Destruction

Compulsive Flirting Disorder Symphony
Theresa May Losing Certain Election Imitation Syndrome for Triangle and Drum
Underflirting  and/or under talking Syndrome  Quarte for piano and oboe
” Underwired Bra Accident Disorder” a new play by Miguel Strain
Shapewear  Excessive Itch  Disorder: latest writings of the nouveau cliches
Side Zip Trouser Stress Incontinence and its effect on schizophrenic cats
Lack of Public Conveniences Obsessive Anxiety Syndrome set to be played on  a harp
Side Zip  Trouser Lumbago Dances
Fear of Wearing Skirts Syndrome:Ballet Trouseau
Fear of Knicker Elastic Phobia and Rondeau in G minor
Fear of Wire coming out of Bra in Public : Concerto for three wire strung violas and  gutted cello by Lady Katepotatos Ph.D [Clotsford and Lambridge]

It couldn’t be done

 

 

photo of mountains covered with clouds
Photo by Ekrulila on Pexels.com

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44314/it-couldnt-be-done

 

It Couldn’t Be Done

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done
      But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
      Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
      On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
      That couldn’t be done, and he did it!
Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
      At least no one ever has done it;”
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat
      And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
      Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
      That couldn’t be done, and he did it.
There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
      There are thousands to prophesy failure,
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
      The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
      Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing
      That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.