Britain is a battle ground for global weather.
Sometimes four seasons per hour!
An endless variety of cloud formations
But occasionally clear blue skies.
I love all those clouds.
Seeing faces, castles and who knows what
In all those shapes.
Gloriously colourful dawns and sunsets
That make life worth living.
Oh those reds, oranges, yellows, blacks and blues!
You can’t beat a sunset.
Hate the wind
And the snow.
But snow does look pretty.
Those crystalline flakes
Gently floating to the ground.
But then we have thunderstorms too!
Lashing lightning, striking from black sky.
Rumbling thunder exploding all around.
Such endless variety.
Rain and hail pounding down the chimney stack.
Relentless sun scorching crack-ridden earth.
All manner of disturbance
An accompaniment to being Alive.
© PB 2\6\2022
Don’t read this.
Scroll down from it like you usually do.
Well, most of you.
Unless you are one of the faithful few.
But the words keep coming.
My Voice will not be stilled.
Free verse keeps pouring
A persistent stream.
Now, though, I am haunted by this thought:
That nearing seventy I have but twenty years to live,
Thirty if I’m lucky,
And like everyone else I hide in distraction,
Eating and drinking,
Indulging in meaningless competition
And generally playing out time.
Others do likewise,
Building great empires
Or just idling away
Those passing hours.
Yet my mind reaches out
Beyond the Time-Space Continuum
To a place where everything has already happened
Our lives have already been and gone.
The Universe as such has lived and died.
And when my brain returns
Back into this Realm
It encounters the sheer Science
Of an endless Cosmos
Endless in all dimensions
The mind is boggled
Bringing substance, time, infinity and eternity
Once something happens to Be.
Wherever you go
There is something further
Always a here and there.
Always a past, present and future.
Indeed, all impossible.
But I have to concede
There must be some Ultimate Intelligence somewhere
That we might call God.
And maybe what The Ancients called “God”
Was but the nearest “god” we know of!
Yet don’t expect Him or Her or It
To come running
To our aid
There may be no such thing
As an “Ultimate”
And no way to escape
From the Space-Time Continuum.
We are lost in the impossible,
So maybe all we can do
Is make the most
Of what we’ve got.
© PB 12\4\2022.
Here we go again!
An app for this
An app for that
An app even,
To feed your cat.
Mesmerised by mobiles
All these zombies shuffle along
Nearly getting run over
So internet throng.
Scanning with their debit cards
No time for cash
But I don’t trust these things
With their laser flash.
All this social media
Where is it going?
So much information
Toing and froing.
Good to keep in touch
And so easy to Google
Want to make a noise?
It’s better than a bugle.
Better check in on Facebook
So you all know where I am
Time to check my emails
To bin the latest scam.
But whatever happened to talking?
It’s now a forgotten art!
The cyber revolution:
This is just the start.
© PB 19\3\22.
Succulent, seductive floral displays please my senses no end.
Spring is here!
Promise of countless flowers
As Summer surrounds us with scorching sun.
Before long those Daffodil buds will trumpet out
And cherry blossoms will brighten each lengthening day.
Birdsong serenades us
In a twittering chorus.
Nature’s Jazz wakes me up
With every blushing dawn.
We live in Paradise
Yet keep our senses closed.
Immersed in mobiles and social media
The wealth of nature is ignored.
So open your eyes and listen with those ears.
Stop bombing neighbours
And robbing the poor.
Embrace Mother Nature
And make the most
Of what Providence has provided
For us all.
© PB 4\3\2022.
A gigantic, great giraffe thrusts his head
With that incredibly long neck,
Up into the high trees
To kiss the canopy.
He nibbles at those leaves,
Swirling them into his mouth
With that enormous tongue.
With his mottled, mosaic-patterned hide
He looks like a leopard on stilts
As he towers over all he surveys.
He’s not the most stylish of runners
With those spindly legs
But with that ever so long neck
This Giraffe is the king of the sky.
Only birds like Eagles can look down
On the Giraffe.
He is the highest mammal around
Tall and proud
Seemingly miles above the ground.
© PB 21\2\2022.
Second one for my friend Patricia Jackson on her favourite animal.
The shires bask serenely in the summer sun.
Streams flow smoothly down the green hillsides.
All is well with the world
As apple blossoms bloom.
Such peaceful scenes are soothing to the soul.
Spiritually uplifting: a sensual seduction
Of sight, sound and aromatic smells.
Snakes may hiss and stoats may snarl,
But nothing reduces this sense of peace and calm.
Assonance and sibilance flows as I scribe
My idle dreams upon this page.
It’s good to let your imagination loose
To planets out there amongst the stars
Or simply let it roam over the slumbering countryside.
Good to escape the struggles and strife
Of daily life.
Good to sleep easy
After meditating at our leisure
Refreshing ourselves with Mother Nature’s
© PB 8\1\2022.
Inspired by a question about sibilance on ITV's "The Chase" quiz.
Science suggests that when we die
We become no more than skeletons and dust.
But The Bible says we will end up
With God in Heaven.
Others believe in Reincarnation:
That we promptly return
As another being –
A person, animal or whatever.
But what if God lives in each of us
One at a time
What if He or She (or Whatever) foregoes those “Super Powers”
To experience Mortal living
In these frail bodies of ours?
Over and Over
Which raises the possibility –
A reminder of “Matrix”
And just a fleeting thought
That right now I could be “The One”:
I could be God.
© PB 4\1\2022.