Thursday, 27 November 2014
Wednesday, 5 November 2014
And then we act according to our will.
We might express our thoughts about the way
That circumstance has influenced our choice,
But nonetheless we act because we're free
To make decisions in our minds. Yet still
A life and its experience inside our head
Into a force which over-rules so we're not free,
But merely puppets, pulled by nature's will;
Or by some habit of society, to limit choice,
So we conclude there is no other way.
The chances that we have, to seize the day, and still
We undermine our agency with fear. Our choice,
Seems somehow more acceptable inside our head
Diminished, seen opaquely through the swill
Of various constraints which mean we are not free.
Spirits with responsibility, our way
Is that of the apologist, lest our will
Should run a course that's counter to the norm. For still
It is opinion occurring in another's head,
Which might be negative, by which we test our choice.
To choose the manner of our limitations, our choice?
There is none, just action born of expectation. Ahead
Uncertainty and all its dangers strew the way,
And so decisions must be well disguised. We must instil
A sense in those around us that our will
Is God's great gift to man, and we are truly free.
And what is more the waters which run still
And deep within the mind, our consciences, know choice
Is always there, suggesting that there is another way,
And that uncertainty lies every way ahead.
There is no fate, we cannot blame away our choice.
Be still, take charge, don't abdicate, you determine what's ahead.
Tuesday, 4 November 2014
The tapping of your toenails on the floor,
Then silence where the runner lies along the corridor,
Then over Turkey carpet at full speed
And through the air to land beside me where
I lie anticipating this ritual, this need
To bond again and to establish once more
That we belong to each other, as we did before.
Before the darkness closed our eyes
Drooping my lids over sandy and tearless spheres
Dried by the fire and brilliant screen,
And my absence sent you to your basket
And our souls inhabited different worlds in dreams.
Like breaking fast this routine is necessity, indeed,
It is the foundation of our understanding,
Not just our love but something deeper,
A telepathic link between our minds.
But it starts with this greeting, this physical connection:
Your wet nose in my neck, the curve of your head,
Your silky ears against my face, this convention
Of reunification after separation,
This greatly joyful meeting, which I adore.