With Apologies

Blame a friend called Maggie. She gave a challenge - "To be or not to be - Global Warming". I think she meant write about whether it was happening or not, but with a title like that, what's a girl to do?
My profound apologies to the Bard and all who love him. I really am very, very sorry.

A SOLILIQUY

To heed or not to heed; that is the question.
Whether it is foolish in a man to trust the threats and
Sound bites of uncertain future
Or close ears against a sea of warnings
And by ignoring, cause it.
Our cars, our planes, no more? And by a ban to say
We end the pleasure of a thousand long haul flights
That man is heir to?
‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be spurned!
But stay! The Earth could end, no chance to thrive;
Ay, there’s the rub, for in our selfish wish what
Nightmares come as we keep jetting off to pastures
New must give us pause.
It’s negligence that makes calamity of future life.
Who will bear the whips and scorns of unknown
Generation’s wrongs, the unborn’s contumely?
Their hate of ruined lands, action’s delay,
The insolence of pride that spurned
The patient merit of conservation taken,
And a quietus made of global damage?
Who will guilt accept?
But why the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered facts about which proof
No thinking man can know, puzzles the will.
So better let us do the things we wish
Than stop for others we know not of,
And conscience need not make cowards of us all.
Let enterprises of great pith and moment
Be cast awry by hedonistic pleasure,
And we can lose the thought of action.

But hark you now, the future weeps,
And by those sad orisons
Be all our sins remembered.

Inventions

I've not been here for a while, busy with this and that and not much time for writing, so nothing to add to the blog. However, at a meeting of ScribesRus, the writing group I belong to, the talk got round to inventions, and we were all asked to write a piece on what we wished we had invented. I thought of the usual suspects, you know the sort of thing, the wheel, the telephone, the internal cumbustion engine, but the more I thought about it the more I realised that, apart from the wheel, the world would be a better place without most of those things, especially the last one. No, it's the little things that really make life better so here's what I came up with -

OH, I WISH…

Oh I wish I’d invented the match
I’d have surely avoided the catch
Of the sulphurous poisons we saw
By their effect on the match girls’ jaw

Oh, I wish I’d invented the pin
With its safety clasp all moulded in
Which saves loss of blood and some pain
And words which are crass and profane

Oh, I wish I’d invented the Biro
(Old Laszlo was surely a hero)
What a difference would have been made -
When writing we’d now use a ‘Slade’.*

Oh, I wish I’d invented the clip
Which holds documents in a firm grip
And saves them from slipping and sliding
And prevents your nice ‘Jekyll’ from ‘Hyde-ing’

Oh, I wish I’d invented some things
I could bask in the glory it brings,
The kudos, the money, the fame,
And people remembering my name.

*Me

It was ever thus

It's coming round to that time of year again when hearts and flowers are all the rage. Call me an old cynic but......


BORROWED WORDS

“Come, lie with me and be my love”,
That’s what the poet said,
And what a clever line is that
To get me into bed.
But it won’t work you know,
The answer is still “No.”

“How do I love thee?”, yet more lines
That don’t belong to you.
I wish you’d get it in your mind
That other’s words won’t do.
And it won’t work you know,
The answer is still “No.”

“My love is like a red, red rose”
Oh really - get a life,
Those words belong to Robert Burns,
From Galloway, in Fife
And they don’t work you know,
The answer is still “No”.

I really don’t know how it is
That you can be so thick,
But still you’re using other’s words
And they won’t do the trick.
They do not work you know
The answer is still “No”.

Try telling me you think I’m great
And you’ll be mine alone.
To be with me for all our lives
You’ll leave unturned no stone.
And it might work you know,
Till then the answer’s “No.”

Musings

I'm one of those poor benighted people who can't sleep at night. Come 2.30 in the afternoon I could sleep the clock round, by 8 o'clock in the evening I can hardly keep my eyes open, but by the time I go to bed I'm wide awake, can't get comfortable and my mind's whirling around with all sorts of unconnected thoughts jumping out at me. The following shows what I mean.

MUSINGS OF AN INSOMNIAC

I’m lying here and cannot sleep
I’m so fed up with counting sheep
I’ll use the time to make a rhyme
For Monday's blog - but nothing deep.

I don’t envy the Eskimo
Who has a hundred words for snow
I bear no grudge - I call it sludge
And wish the bloody stuff would go!

Now into black despair I’ve sunk,
My inspiration’s done a bunk.
What is that noise? Oh, next door’s boys
Returning from the pub dead drunk.

Bet that they’ve been on the scrumpy.
Now the pillow’s hard and lumpy!
I’m feeling hot - Oh, now I’m not.
It’s no wonder I get grumpy.

The kitchen fairy came today
And took the washing up away,
It wasn’t you - you never do.
Thank you Fairy is what I say.

The duvet’s fallen on the floor!
I cannot stand this any more.
It’s time I think to get a drink.
Look at the clock! It’s half past … zzzsnore