Tuesday, 27 October 2015

No Other Option Than to Live.

Death is not a choice
It comes quite of its own accord.
You may invite it,
And it may take you at your word
Accepting joyfully your invitation.
Or you might voice
A clear desire to fight it,
At which it may just feel an obligation
To fight back.  Therefore rejoice,
Not 'living each day as if it is the last,'
But realizing dullness also has its merit
We can't undo the past
Nor can we alter much the natures we inherit.

Thursday, 15 October 2015


How strange that there should be a need
To use the word (or should I say
To think it?) In this happy day
When nobody is forced to wear
A wide striped suit or dye their hair,
Or sport a polka dotted tie
And pink and stripy shirt to boot.
Indeed, we ought to praise the way
To type some people must conform.
It makes life easier for poets,
All dreary in their spattered tweed,
If mostly people fit the norm,
And give the general bad impression
Allotted to them by profession.
For though we seek the subtle clue
The cliché is most often true.
And who would wish to buy a house
From a dowdy little mouse?