Friday, 26 May 2017


There's no worse sentence
than one what starts with the words
"I'm not racist, but..."

Wednesday, 17 May 2017


Oh how you've been clinging to those icy grips
like languishing leaves lost among litter.
The weather, it tries its best to warn you
you'd be left directionless and bitter.

That's not to say it's cold all of the time
but rather a sudden forecasted front
and what meteorologists once said;
they'd now rather not be taking that punt.

The forecast's grim; but at least not for him
who's walking around in shorts and a vest.
His happiness shows, for he really knows
he's on the cold Earth only as a guest.

And when the ice melts, he'll swim in the flood
and when he's drowning he'll say "it is good".

Pre-Determined Free-Will

There is a finality and determinism
                              to life that we struggle to describe
                                                             as under the control of our will;
                                                              our choice.

This is true to a certain extent.
                            There is a huge element of cause and effect
                                                             that gives us our many variations
                                                             of lives.

Our choices determine who we are, and
                             what becomes of us as people, yet
                                                            these choices are constricted in the
                                                            confines of fate.

One needs context in order to feel, so the first
                             life would feel nothing, for it had nothing
                                                            to compare to; meaning is ordained from
                                                            prior life.

We are predetermined by our genetic makeup
                                 and by a history of what we 
                                                           at least perceive as free choices; what we're
                                                           programmed to do.

The human life has been set by fate to have a
                                 spring, summer, autumn, winter. This is unavoidable
                                                          unless we ripped out pages from
                                                          life's calendar.

But we can never choose
                                 that the next season should not fall;
                                                         delay it and prepare for it
                                                         though we might.

Our free will determines what happens 
                               with these seasons, just as our choices
                                                         help to bring some seasons to be longer
                                                         than others.

The more free-will we get, the more
                              this global warming effect will occur,
                                                        not only in meteorological seasons but in this
                                                        issue of will.

In order to best attain a credible
                              existence, we must become autonomous
                                                         beings and allow fate to direct us through seasons
                                                         as prescribed for us.

We should not fall foul on the path
                              of choice, for choice blinds us
                                                          into the narcissistic notion that
                                                          we are free.

Whether we are free or not
                              is ultimately an otiose debate
                                                         for we only found out both sides by both
                                                        choice and fate.


Home is where the heart is
or so I have been told
but it isn't the ones out on the streets
whose hearts are empty and cold.
Hungry and not heartless
not harmful, but hurting;
so their heinous criminalisation
is more than disconcerting.
And yet they're swept away
like empty cider cans,
dropped by ones not labelled for addictions;
dropped by privileged hands.
No-one's there to pick them up,
 they all just walk straight past
for they degrade this depressing city
and are looked upon as trash.
But don't throw them away,
recycling needs some sorting;
for every sorry state we find a use
with the right supporting.
See a can? Pick it up!
Put it where it belongs -
we should be looking for the good we can do,
not ignoring all that's wrong.

Monday, 1 May 2017

The Rat

The rat willed for refuge
from the chambers in the sewers,
crowded everywhere that it went.
Away from the refuse
and negativity that skewers
all of the time it has spent.

So it indecisively sought
a solitary space of its own,
but not one single section could it find.
Instead it was caught
by the reality that was thrown
that it was trapped in the tunnels of its mind.