Friday, 27 April 2012

Seeing and Believing Poems


Accept nothing 


We can travel and read and watch and play
We can try to ignore the end of each day
We can cure and care and learn the best way
But nothing is not so far away
Now where it is is hard to say
It's on the news seems every day
It's pain and it's sad and it's on the way
Accept it sooner, don't delay
It seems like a miserable thing to say
All the joy and the smiles you can see in one day
Still no matter how much you weep and pray
Nothing is there it'll come, come what may





Angels in oversupply


Strange to hunt angels
All these round our feet
Odd to want god
All the good folk you meet
Bizarre that we can't
Get by with what's here
We seek help from elsewhere
We really are queer





B is for believing (1997)


I do not believe I can fly
In fact I do not really believe planes can fly
It's a hoax
In a Total Recall vein
Belief so often wasted

I do believe there is more to life
Than a well laid-out house
With items from Ikea
Being individual everywhere
That shopping is bad for you
And you're probably safer with tranquillisers

I believe private cars in cities should be
On the whole
That if those of us who can
Don't walk more
Our legs will wilt away
And walking whilst shopping
For anything other than essentials
Doesn't count

I believe there are some people
We'd be better off assassinating
But it's a bad habit to get into
Like shopping
But with less plastic bags

I believe there is good and bad taste
Good and bad art
Good and bad ideas
That I am almost always right
But that this certainly doesn't make me a happier
Or more prosperous individual

I believe that in fact 9 times out of 10
Not caring what is right or wrong
Is the key to success
Just identifying a gap in the market
So people will want to have you
Buy you
Display you in their individual home
This is what to aim for
But when achieved it cannot be described
As achievement





Seeing isn't everything


I may not notice colours much
Or wallpaper (at all)
But I will hear every pin drop
Every baby sniff
Every change in the wind's direction
And I can hear quite clearly
The bloke three doors down
Who cries himself to sleep at night
Too often for my liking

The furniture may all be rearranged
And would I care?
Or care about caring?
But I can smell the difference
Between good and bad
Between a joke and something far more serious
I smell the changing face of sweetness
It's amazing
Try not to miss it

I may not be aware
Of changes in your hair
Or new jeans or a coat or earrings
But I taste most competently
The extra lemon juice
The way too much salt
I will notice and enjoy
The complete and fuller flavour
It takes some time

And though I try hard
To see better
To see colour and shape
All the time I am feeling
And knowing
And feeling it all instead
It's another way of seeing
A feeling type of seeing
A purely personal point of view





The mystery retained


Don't explain to me how music works
Leave me the mystery, the miracle
The same for tides, keep it to yourself
All the sensible science, the hows and whys
Don't dissect the perfect line of words
With an 'obviously the writer knew what they were doing'
Says who? Why? How? Are you sure?
You are so neat, methodical
And you have a lot of boxes
I have little order, much overspill
And no lids anywhere in the house
It's messy here, a mass of mysteries
But the dreams that come this way
They are limitless
They last forever





What you can learn from Quakers


You won't learn a lot about fashion
But you might learn to shut up now and then
You won't pick up any useful military tactics
But you might learn some patience and understanding
You won't be doing much dancing, singing or clapping
But you might have the odd quiet moment of revelation
You might not know what it is that makes people just sit there
But you might learn to do it, to just sit there, to be at peace

Atheist thought for the week

A life without god
Is a challenge indeed
No heavenly father
No heaven, no creed

No preachers to follow
No hints from upstairs
No clues about sinning
No point saying prayers

And an atheist's shelf
Has no holy good book
Not even some guidelines
No sneaking a look

It's all down to us
That's some pressure for sure
And some of us crack
But our methods endure

We've no hell below
No incentives above
No celestial hope-chest
No warmth of god's love

In a big, mean, cold world
We're less wrapped up than you
But our souls are still striving
That's what all souls do

So think of the atheist
But fondly and well
In a maze of tough choices
We choose infidel

All poems by Rachel Fox (some time after 1997)

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