What man under modernity, is free?
Comparative to the peasantry preceding
We must seem to be
Shackled to a strange form
Of self-induced slavery

I’m still stuck in time,
Petals glued in the air,
Flowers unfazed in this orchard of mine,
Butterflies are still as I stare,
I wish I could hit rewind,
What I crave to feel frozen there,
Somewhere now unkind,
My orchard now a stranger.

The problem,
blemish on the proplan

to insist the culture oaths essential
for any child any where at any time,
to be so informed,
as to belief-lock all value sets,
hell is real
and the mind
that imagined hell willed  
it's lasting benefit,
in the enterprise
of enslaving free will, inducing submission,
rites of inclusion, to where ever, after dying
in the faith, whatever faith, theevidentone.
But look, it has a non lying Jesus,
how can we not now hold ourselves true?
Let this mind
be in yo… pret-near your own idea, here, I see,
just so happens to have reportedly sent his son,
history testifies this does give heft to some ideas,
samsara,
generational curses,
religious induced left brain mastery.
Ever after, always, predictably next phase.
There is a proverb warning mindful future you,
fetchit, step in to my retirement,

as any well known personality may assure you,
little
worth, beats none… and often one
is tempted to rationalize, set an example, note,
quote the heroic image saying,

never, never, never quit.
softly mmmumbleitsallbullshat.

I dreamt that I'd awoken in my house
But all was not the same, was not as it should
  be
There was a strangeness to things, an
  unfamiliarity
Myself too, I felt different, felt very small like
  a little child (like I'd been shrunk somehow),
Felt very vulnerable and exposed, without
  support, all alone
As I stood there in the hall, the shadows
  falling about me
I could see that it was still dark outside
It was very quiet and there was this big full
  moon shining,
Down by the road, at my gate, I could see that
  there was a car or van parked
As I watched, suddenly I heard the sound of doors opening and then being slammed shut
Then I saw these two dark figures emerging, proceeding up the driveway toward my
  house
A terrible fear gripped me, I felt a great
  danger approaching
These two men, these shadowy figures
They meant no good, of that I was sure
They were unwanted, coming at this crazy
  hour,
Standing there in the shadows, all I knew
  was they mustn't see me
If they saw me I knew I was lost,
It was then that I noticed the inside door, it
  wasn't locked
So I got down and on all fours started to crawl across the floor (so I wouldn't be seen)
But it was hard, so hard, my limbs they were
  so slow, so heavy
They would hardly obey me... I could hardly
  drag
What was wrong... what was wrong with
  me!!! I thought,
Through sheer force of will I finally made it
And reaching my hand up I turned the ****
  that would lock the door
I heaved a sigh of relief and lay back against
  the now locked door
It was only then that I noticed another
  bedroom door was ajar
If they stood outside the bedroom window
  they'd be able to see a bit into the hall
But I realized, it was too late... too late now
They'd probably be at the window by now
And they'd be bound to see me trying to close
  the door
They'd be standing there right now with their
  cold sharp impassive faces
Dripping cruelty and menace
Staring in, souless like mannequins
Their icy looks that'd freeze your soul
Like a Medusa turn you to stone.
So I could only sit there listening...listening
  with my back to the inside door
Afraid almost to breathe
Just listening for the next sound
The next thing to happen.

People are like newfound plants in the nature
They can be so beautiful
Yet so poisonous
Sometimes they are dull
Yet so productive and kind
Kind in a plant world
And people in human world
But you will never know who they really are
Unless you come close
And touch them
Unless you take a big risk
And spill your thoughts to a stranger

Margy shouts her advice from outside Greggs
unsolicited, but often needed
usually it concerns fashion
- the choice of a scarf
- inappropriate shoes for the weather
- or the state of a pair of trousers, hanging and baring a cleavage
(“No one wants to see that, dear.”)

Margy can be relied upon to wear the same distinct socks
– draped around her stocking feet, their multi-coloured design now greyed
by wear and the Uxbridge Road.

Margy is more reliable than her friends and she tells them as much
(“You’re all a bunch of time wasters.”)
demanding more loyalty and demands from me enough for a cup of tea
- a very expensive one apparently.

And on a Sunday, she’ll kneel and pray throughout the early Eucharist,
declining the bread and wine
(”On, no dear.  It’s not a habit I want to cultivate.”)