Go find yourself

Go find yourself.

Go find yourself.

For it is here today and gone the next,

a trick of the light before the great showpiece of dawn,

you leave with nothing but the breath you blow,

and it remains a mystery how, so silently we come and then just go,

so when you find the precious freedom, when you get to wear the tainted crown,

when you try to hold the water in between your open palms

and the drops fall between your feet,

what will you do with it?

Hot but not

Why oh why is it not hot?
When warming and warnings and giant footprints litter the skies from Jumbo Jets and methane pets and power stations that have a smoke fixation. Why is it not yet hot?
Not hot here, just bearable spring with birds that still sing and weeds that grow in surprise rain showers. We are a simple folk, a simple few, out here, far away from townies and hardly touched by mountain or magic dew and still a bit cold. Three dog, two cat and extra duvet nights and minimal light pollution to bother us. Yes we sleep well but still await the planting of our vineyard and the shimmer of evening sunlight running across the swimming pool. Perhaps when I make the big 60 the day will quietly dawn and I will relax in some hammock and sip beer in the artificial shade.

Church of common sense

Out in the snow, out in fog, the chill and the frost, the church of the common senses calls out to the lost.

Here are the reasons they want you to join.

Money and income and salary and heat and four walls to bind you to keep things discrete.

This is the church of no more common sense, no more revelation and aggressive defence.

Goodnight to you all from the frozen wastes or where ever they may be.

Blackest of the black arts

Politics: Darker than a black hole in a black hole at midnight down a coal mine. So called men of wisdom dabble in politics and power. Never had a real job or career, never had to feed a family or decorate the bathroom or cultivate friends. Perpetual students arguing about economics and philosophy while children starve in the room next door and dogs grip bones like they were family. Politics is the battle of wills and words, bordering on the absurd. One-upmanship and petty insults, parties and handshakes and the networks of the old boys, spit, polish and the revolution tempered by potential directorships and retirement plans. Such is the way of the no longer working man, wear a fine suit and argue with the breeze while you bring the country and the people to their knees, for your own ego and the good of your pension. Politics and integrity, two things you can't mention. Everybody is betrayed, sooner or later.