A bit more treble,
A bit less bass,
Take off the reverb,
Give the sound space,
I quite like the chorus,
It’s a catchy little tune,
Pity you can’t hear it,
This is just a cartoon !
My car is really rather basic,
It isn’t very smart,
You have to coax the gear-stick,
And the glove-box falls apart!
I cannot claim it’s fuel efficient,
Nor really very fast,
The driver’s door is slightly bent,
It wasn’t ever built to last.
The heater often doesn’t make much heat,
The paint is badly scratched,
There’s stains on nearly every seat,
And the body work is patched!
But it gets me where I want to go,
Whether rain or shine,
And best of all is that I know,
It isn’t leased, it’s mine!
What is matter?
And does it matter
That there is matter
And also anti-matter?
For that matter
does it also matter
that there is more matter
than there is anti-matter?
And should it matter
That we think of matter
As the only matter
That will ever matter?
And might it matter
That my thoughts on matter
Are not made of matter
They’re simply thoughts?
Who would have thought
That my ideas about thought
Would by some be thought
Since my view on thought
Having given it much thought
Is that what I have thought
Matters to God!
Weather comes and weather goes,
Sometimes it rains, sometimes it blows,
Sometimes there’s a winter freezing chill,
Sometimes it’s humid and hot and still,
Sometimes the sun is shining bright,
Sometimes the clouds are black as night,
Sometimes it’s just dull and grey,
I wonder what weather we’ll have today?
There’s more to life than washing up,
Or standing in a queue,
Or working all week nine-to-five,
To pay all monies due.
There’s more to life than endless soaps,
And dramas on TV,
Or weeding all the flower beds,
Or mowing round the tree.
There’s more to life than playing sport,
Or lying in the sun,
Or dancing ’til the early hours,
Or other types of fun.
There’s more to life than all we do,
Or say or hear or see,
We also have an opportunity,
The chance to simply be.
To be the type of person,
That we’d all like to meet,
Whilst on our way to paradise,
Or walking down the street,
To be the type of oddball,
Who as often as they draw breath,
Aspires to know the love of God,
Like that man from Nazareth.
Up at dawn – Stifle yawn,
Cup of tea – Bite of pastry,
Catch the train – Late again,
Office greeting – In a meeting,
Twelve fifteen – Work canteen,
Afternoon – Papers strewn,
Work computer – Then commuter,
Train delay – Like yesterday,
Home at eight – Dinner plate,
Watch the news – And interviews,
Sleepy head – Go to bed.
Up at dawn …
There’s lots and lots of stuff,
All piled within this space,
It all looks rather jumbled,
Though most things do have a place.
Some is packed in boxes,
Some of it is bagged,
And for basic thermal reasons,
The tank and pipes are lagged.
It’s always rather chilly,
Stacking Christmas bits away,
And hot when getting bags,
To pack clothes for holiday .
The rafters hold the roof up,
Plus the junk I want to keep,
In this strange and eerie place,
Only feet from where I sleep.
Things seem rather hectic,
As events go rushing past,
I need to find a better way,
To make the moment last.
The pace of time does vary,
(said Einstein) with your speed,
I find it also often alters,
Just to frustrate my need.
A quiet schedule slows time down,
To the pace of an elderly snail,
By contrast on a busy day,
Time’s speed is off the scale!
The future is out there somewhere,
Of that there is no doubt,
The past is tucked inside my head,
For me to think about.
The future is unknown,
The who, the when, the what,
The past seems very certain,
Though sometimes best forgot!
They seem so very different,
Things that were or are to be,
The uncertain and the very sure,
Possibilities or mere history.
The present is the senses,
The things I’m feeling now,
Neither future nor the past,
Yet linking these two somehow.
Thus the future I’m imagining,
The present that I find,
And the past that I remember,
All fit together in my mind.
Who is the me inside my head?
Who understood those books I read?
Who wanted to say all the things I said?
My mind – or so I’m persuaded!
But what is the thing that is my mind?
Is it neurones and synapses intertwined?
Or is it something of a different kind?
Machine or spirit – or both combined?
Could a machine be this self-aware?
Would a spirit have chosen what I wear?
Would a mere computer actually care,
Whether or not it was really there?
Looking through old photos,
Gave me pause for thought,
Amazed at where the time goes,
And what those years have taught.
Smiling from a polaroid,
We were truly innocent,
Not knowing choices to avoid,
Nor mishaps to prevent.
The others smiling next to me,
Their names I’ve quite forgot,
I guess that is because we …
That night had drunk a lot!
It doesn’t seem so long
since when first he was hired,
but it must have been years
‘cos it’s today he retired !
He had just spent a week,
In the land of the Greek,
Taking a peek,
At the ruins.
They took photos with phones,
Of some tombs without bones,
And piles of stones,
At the ruins.
Though their guide said a lot,
There’s some he’s forgot,
‘Cos gosh was it hot,
At the ruins!
Strange rocks, geysers and thermal pools,
Deep canyons with thundering waterfalls,
Sulphurous vents that really stank,
Hot water without a hot water tank,
A very old Saga about Erik the Red,
And his recently rebuilt homestead,
Active volcanoes which are overdue,
Shrinking glaciers where once they grew,
Long place names like Eyjafjallajökull,
And fjords which are truly beautiful,
Puffins and terns with cliff-top nests,
Fish on the menu for hotel guests,
Lava caves that inspired Jules Verne,
Narrow bridges where you wait your turn,
Colourful houses and vivid rainbows,
Weather that blows and shines and snows!
All these are things that we’ve just seen,
So can you guess where we have been?
We walked for miles in the Ionian sun,
Saw breathtaking views and had such fun,
But at the hotel to which we staggered,
We had to admit that we were knackered!
Where are all the people that I used to know,
Those who were there to watch me grow,
Many have moved or passed away,
The rest have nearly all gone grey.
There’s a comfort that their memory brings,
But from time to time that telephone rings,
The call today just made me cry,
As I heard of another’s turn to die.
There once was a virus which stalked this earth,
From Inuit igloos down to the Aussies in Perth,
Causing coughing and fevers and shortness of breath,
Bringing panic and mayhem and premature death,
But the strangest thing that this bug brought about,
Was that loo rolls and pasta completely sold out!
I am dreaming of a place,
With a wide open space,
And grapes on the vine,
To make top notch wine.
Of course I am thinking,
Of wine well worth drinking,
But unsure in my head,
Is it a white – or a red?
Other rhymes in the (approximate) form of limericks available at musing75.com/limericks
Audio also available at soundcloud.com/musing75