Today’s Music to keep me SssSSsaAAAnNNnneeeE – Nick Drake

Mellow and beautiful.

Chainsaws and Gun Shots

Chainsaws and Gun Shots

Chainsaws and gunshots

Chainsaws and gunshots

Saw-teeth and bullets

Bangs and buzzes

Bangs and buzzes

Tearing into flesh

Death

Death

Death.

Opher 17.2.2021

I walk up my hill into the green manufacturing industry known as the countryside to the sound of multiple bangs and the chunter of chainsaws.

Every single day I hear the sound of shots.

The green fields have been blanket bombed with pesticide but even so, if anything dares to try to cling on to life it is blasted to hell.

I can hear the chainsaws attacking another tree. There are not too many of those left – little oasis in the green desert.

I’m walking in nature and listening to the relentless sound of death.

Killing Time Before Eternity

Killing Time Before Eternity

We’re all killing time

Before eternity kicks back in.

On a brief holiday

Within this flesh and skin.

We came from nowhere

And we’re heading that way again.

Fortunately, in between,

We evolved eyes and brain.

We see, we feel,

We experience wonders all around

Standing on a spinning planet

With feet upon the ground.

We are incredibly lucky

To be conscious and aware

Of all the majestic wonders

Around us, everywhere.

We’re on a short break

From the void of nothing.

Staying here for a short while

In the realm of something.

It’s a mere speck

In the eye of eternity,

But we should grasp it

Most heartily.

For this time is all we have

To wonder and enjoy.

With all the enthusiasm

We can muster and deploy.

Opher 27.12.2020

Life is so short.

Experience is so limited.

But we have eyes to see, ears to hear, tongues to taste, hands to feel, noses to smell and hearts to love.

For a short while we have been afforded the privilege to experience the wonder of a whole universe.

I am determined to make the most of this brief window.

Every second is precious.

Poetry – Unseen Wounds

Unseen Wounds

The wounds unseen

                Bleed into the mind.

Some will bleed forever

                Others leave a deep scar.

Lives have disappeared,

                Homes smashed.

Possessions lost,

                Stolen by a Russian Czar.

What help can we give

                To those who have

                                Been hurt so much?

Who mourn their loved ones?

Who can heal

                Wounds cut so deep

                                Into the tissues of brains?

Where do we find the funds?

Opher – 26.4.2022

The physical damage is obvious – the destroyed houses, the blown up schools and hospitals, bleeding, broken bodies and heaps of corpses tossed into mass graves.

The physical destruction wrought by war is devastating.

What is not so obvious are the wounds cut into peoples’ minds.

Those grieving for destroyed lives, for loved ones killed or maimed, for what should have been. Those who have lost so much.

What cannot be seen are the traumas created by witnessing the horrors, seeing death, seeing the dead bodies of those you have loved.

These images cannot be erased. These fears and grief cannot be comforted away.

These ae the injuries that destroy minds and last a lifetime.

War creates trauma.

Poetry – A False Sense of Security

A False Sense of Security

Once we were safe and secure,

Like no generation before us,

Living in a false bubble of unreality,

Where nothing changed

And we could not be harmed.

But that bubble burst

On the spikes of a virus

And our comfort blanket was snatched away.

Pain and death are but a breath

Away.

We are standing on air.

Reality intruded.

For it was always thus.

It is merely that the risk is now clear.

Opher – 16.4.2020

We have lived through a golden age where Death was a stranger. We had our antibiotics, vaccinations and the plagues of the past were safely locked away in the cupboard.

That bubble was burst when the Covid virus started up the modern-day plague.

We haven’t had to suffer siblings and relatives succumbing to disease. We were safe from death.

Death was kept hidden from us. It happened in hospitals. It mainly affected the old or the unlucky.

Not so now.

Death comes stalking in a handshake and a sneeze.

The modern plague has reared its head. Life is once again precarious.

Poetry – The Winter of Democracy

The Winter of Democracy

Living in the winter

                Of democracy

As factions stifle voices.

Dead leaves

                Of hope

Blow among the garbage.

Fascism erupts

                From the

Rotting corpse.

Conspiracy replaces truth.

Certainty replaces quest.

Fundamentalism

                Emerges

                                As a black

And white scripture.

Those not with us

                Are always wrong.

Education

                Comes with a gun.

                                Intolerance

                                                With a fist.

Freedom is a prison

                Whose walls

                                Are closing in.

It’s the winter of democracy

                Lies and fake news

                                Spin

For the fools.

17.1.2022

Watching the news as the Tories desperately spin the story. Red meat is thrown to the gullible. Throats are cut. Scapegoats selected.

Careers are ruined.

Anything but the truth.

The lust for power rules.

Operation Save The Big Dog is in full swing – Lie, obfuscate, cover, lie some more.

All singing from the same script.

If you say it often enough……..

Over in the States Trump trots out the same lies, holds the same rallies, cons the same people.

He spills his lies, conspiracy and spin and the fools lap it up.

Democracy??

Who cares for democracy??

This is the business of money and power.

There are no rules.

There is not a shred of truth.

Poetry – Life is a losing game

Life is a losing game

Life is a losing game.

No matter how great the joy

It always ends in pain.

But I wouldn’t swap it for anything.

With a look towards infinity.

It’s got to be better than nothing.

So when we’re all gone

Remember it was all worthwhile –

We didn’t get it wrong.

For though life is a losing game

To live, share and laugh

Makes it worth all the pain.

Opher – 25.10.2019

No matter how well you live your life it always ends in death, tears and loss.

But while we are alive we need to live it to the full. That makes it all worthwhile!

Death where is thy sting?

Poetry – Futility of War

Futility of War

My grandfather fought in the trenches

With the gas, whizzbangs and machinegun rattle.

My father fought in the hills of Italy

With howitzers, tanks and the roar of battle.

Neither would talk of what they’d seen

Of friends mown down like cattle.

They’d both come to realise

That tales of bravery were mere tittle tattle.

The reality was luck

Nothing to do with valour at all.

I was the lucky one

I never had to fight

For Queen or country

Or see our cities set alight.

I never had to question

If this war was wrong or right.

I’ve spent my life in peace

And never had to fight.

For seventy four years that peace has held

The longest time in history.

But do we have to question why?

For it isn’t any mystery?

The United Nations

And the European Union

Have brought nations together,

Not in conflict, but communion.

Far better to talk and trade

In complex collaboration

Rather than to bomb and blast

And remain in isolation.

Opher – 1.10.2019.

Isn’t it obvious that it is better to have partnership and collaboration rather than conflict? Isn’t it obvious that it is better to trade and talk rather than quarrel and fight?

I think so.

Poetry – Time if you please

Time if you please

Meg had been the landlord

Of the Rancid Stoat and Quail

But now at ninety five

She wasn’t pulling ale.

T’was the fire that she was craving

That kept her old bones well.

These days she just huddled close

And listened to the tales.

She’d had a happy childhood

With her sisters, mum and dad.

Wild in the countryside –

Life hadn’t been so bad.

And when she’d been a-courtin’

She’d had her share of bliss

Dancing with the lads

And sharing many a kiss.

But she’d settled down

With her handsome husband Syd

And working well together

Created many a kid.

Those had been the happiest days

With her family all around

A house so full of gaiety

Where laughter was the sound.

No matter how they’d grown

No matter how big they were

Even with families of their own,

They were still just kids to her.

She wondered where the time had gone

The years had flown so fast.

But they were full and happy days

When dwelling on the past.

But now her body lurched.

She felt her heart jerk.

Her whole world was spinning

Before a gathering murk.

With a sigh she slid

From her chair down to her knees

As a voice in her head called:

‘Time – Time if you please!’

15.5.2019

This was a title with my writing group. I started to write something funny (as can be seen from the rancid stoat) but I was kind of caught up in a little sentimental story and this is how it came out.

Time was what they used to call in the pubs and ring their bell to signal last orders.

One day it will be time for us all.

Poetry – Endings

Endings

Ultimately

                There are no

                                Happy endings –

Just endings.

We leave

                It all behind

                                And are gone.

Forever.

In our wake

                We leave

                                The imprints

Of our lives.

We live on

                In the people,

                                In the places,

And the minds.

The ripples

                Are echoes

                                Of who we were

In those who knew us.

Opher 2.5.2019

I believe we have a sentimental view of ourselves as something more than what we really are. We like to think that we will always be here, that the universe cannot possibly go on without us, that we will live forever.

I think we are animals, no greater that an ape, a whale, a cat or an amoeba. We are born, we live and we die. We came from nothing and will return to nothing. The universe goes on without us.

It is our consciousness and awareness that makes us feel that we are special. I do not think we are special at all. They are merely more amazing products of evolution.

Hence, in this brief period of sentience when we have this ‘miracle’ of life we should make the most of every glorious second.

We are a long time dead.