Poetry – Reasons

Reasons

It the face of eternity

It is only human to seek reasons.

When there are none to be found

We can always invent them.

Our brain has evolved

To interpret patterns,

Find answers,

Seek solutions.

When faced with infinity

We are unable to see it

As anything other

Than finity.

We invent beginnings

Ends and continuations

Where none

Exist.

Our limitations

Dictate our dogma

And create a range

Of irrational beliefs.

Opher – 14.10.2019

It seems to me that we are entering a new age of irrationality. Superstition and irrational thought is on the rise hand in hand with extremism, isolation and retraction.

Instead of reaching out confidently to investigate the unknown we are retracting back into ourselves and looking to unsubstantiated beliefs to give us solace.

The Dark Ages are descending.

Poetry – The Sun Just is.

The Sun Just is.

The sun just is.

                The story reads itself.

Any dream is as real.

A mind roams the universe.

                We feel

                                We think

                                                We see.

Everything adds up to nothing.

Nothing contains it all.

                We wonder

                                We taste

                                                We conjure.

Reality is inexplicable.

Consciousness an illusion.

                We touch

                                We think

                                                We disappear.

I just am

                When I am.

Opher – 7.12.2021

Explaining infinity, consciousness, dreams or reality requires magic.

We exist.

There is no explanation.

Poetry – Where?

Where?

Where was time

Before the first second?

Where was matter

Before the first atom?

Where was space

When nothing existed?

Where am I?

Opher 24.8.2019

The philosophy of being never ceases to enthral me.

They say the universe began with a big bang. In that instant all time, matter and energy was created.

That is impossible to comprehend.

We find it easier to create gods.

Where?

Where was time

Before the first second?

Where was matter

Before the first atom?

Where was space

When nothing existed?

Where am I?

Opher 24.8.2019

The philosophy of being never ceases to enthral me.

They say the universe began with a big bang. In that instant all time, matter and energy was created.

That is impossible to comprehend.

We find it easier to create gods.

Poetry – How? Why? What? And Who?

How? Why? What? And Who?

How do I think?

How do I speak?

Where do the words originate

From those I choose to seek?

Why do I question?

Why do I try?

Why do I believe

The whole world

Is one big lie?

What gives me pleasure?

What causes pain?

What makes some men

Live for nothing more

Than selfish gain?

Who is this person?

That I think of as I?

What makes me tick?

And when will I die?

Opher 29.1.2016

How? Why? What? And Who?

I am always intrigued by the workings of my mind – where do the thoughts originate? How do words form in my head and find their way to my tongue? I am always afraid that when I speak publically the words will cease to present themselves, my head will be empty, and I will dry up.

It is a process that I am not in control of.

I do not like not being in control of it. Yet it usually seems to work very well. It is only the fear that holds me back.

I am also intrigued by the idea of personality. Is there something intrinsic to each one of us? Or are we nothing more that the products of our culture, upbringing and experience? What is the essence of ourselves?

What is it that makes me hold back from joining in with this society? Why do I not wish to fit in? Life would be easy. It can be easier if you conform. Yet I find myself questioning the morality and motives of our leaders. I do not trust them. I do not wish to be part of this machine of modern society. I do not trust this relentless progress towards apocalypse.

I hold a lot of things dear. I do not know why I have a leaning towards those values, attitudes and feelings. I find many experiences pleasurable and get intensely upset by other things. Why do I find the destruction of the natural environment and slaughter of our wild-life so distressing? Why are so many others quite happy to inflict pain on animals and gain immense pleasure out of doing so?

Something has made me care and others not.

Something has made me wish to do something about injustice while others merely seek to exploit any weakness for their own gain.

I am the person I am. I do not know how I became that person. Was it genetic? Or was it the life I have led? I live. I dream. I try. I die.

Poetry – Why Ask What and When? With so Little about Much?

Why Ask What and When? With so Little about Much?

Why do we Ask so Much to achieve so Little?

When What we need is so Much.

What Why should we Ask?

Why When? Is the question.

Why Ask When What is an issue?

Opher 15.4.00

I love playing around with words. There is much we need to know and we have to ask the right questions in order to get the right answers. But then there is always the question of what to ask and when to ask it.

If you ask at the wrong time you don’t get the right answer. But what do you ask? There is so much to find out.

Life, Questions, Funerals and Blasphemy – an extract from ‘Farther from the Sun’.

The real question is – do we ever learn anything from the chaos of our lives?

I think not. Our lives seem so arbitrary. Leave a few seconds later, or earlier, on a journey and you might be killed or not killed. Ring a few seconds earlier and you have the job. Every decision is a gain and a loss and who is to say which would have been the better?

So what can I pass on to my kids? What advice can I ever give a friend? I don’t want them to die. I want them to be happy and fulfilled. Apart from the obvious – stay away from heroin, motorbikes and cigarettes – find a nice exciting, sensitive, compassionate, intelligent, girl or boy, have fun but don’t do anything daft – it all sounds so trite.

I can’t even tell you what shape a good life is.

I can’t explain how to be happy.

I want my children to be safe. But safety is boring. I want them to be adventurous and live. But adventure is dangerous. I wish them a billion experiences. I want them to taste the extremes but not too much. It’s about the right balance, the right degree of risk.

Maybe Bob was right when he was talking about heroin to me. He said it was like a big calm ocean. It was like a huge orgasm. You felt warm and safe. You left all your worries and concerns behind. Nothing mattered. You bobbed along and it was great. Of course, he didn’t mention the overdoses, red eyes and running nose or the short life and misery. But at the end of the day what really counts?

What do we want? Quiet desperation with manicured lawns in suburbia? A house, two children and the telly? Washing the flash new car on Sunday. Having enough money not to worry and enough possessions to keep up with the Jones’s?

Running wild with the girls, dope, fast cars and loud music? Up all night rapping. Some craziness. Good friends, laughs and hope you don’t fuck yourself up too quickly.

Creating something worthwhile?

Doing some good?

A middle way?

A bit of all of them?

I’ve tried most of it. Some of it I can’t abide. Some of it you can’t control. I would never want anything that controlled me. I avoid that as if it was plutonium.

I watched my Dad live his life. It appeared to be a boring life of quiet desperation, but I could see evidence of some vestiges of fun and enjoyment. I wanted my life to be full of so much more. I’ve done so much more in some ways, but has my life been better? Who can say?

I’m looking back. They say you should never do that, but how else can you judge which direction to head off in if you don’t have a clear picture of where you’ve been?

I’ve told Liz what to sort out at my funeral. Something raucous, like Little Richard’s Rip It Up and a poem, maybe Allen Ginsberg’s Howl, and Roy Harper’s Cricketer, and one of Rich’s poems. Then something that Liz or the kids wants to put in. Then, they could play Tim’s ‘Crazy Zen Beat Hipsters.

I want it to either be a humanist ceremony followed by burial in unconsecrated ground, returned to nature, or I’m leaving my body to medical science where it can be used to teach people one last time.

If I had the biggest shock of my life and died, and unbelievably came face to face with God, and he was that Abrahamic version, I’d tell him to fuck off for being such an evil bastard.

But that’s not something I’d be expecting to happen and if it did I doubt it would piss him off too much.

I’m not sure you can upset a nuclear energy vibration, can you?

I’d like to listen to my obituary to see what other people thought about my life. Maybe that would give a clue? But I know that it would be lopsided. I doubt too many people would say anything too nasty. Still, it would be nice to hear some of the good things, wouldn’t it?

At the end we usually get our life summed up, in two minutes, by someone that never knew you. That’s ultimately all it’s worth.

I’ve done a lot, explored many avenues, had many interests, enjoyed much good company, travelled the world and created a few things on the way. I’ve brought up a family and maintained a relationship over decades. I wonder if my dad would have been proud of me? I didn’t always make the most of things, I have to admit. I’ve made a lot of mistakes.

I suppose the biggest test is if you had the chance to live it all again which bits would you change?

Wow! If you change a bit you miss out on all the friends and experiences that come later down that road. And what’s the unknown road like? – The road untrod? What unmade friends and weird experiences lie down that route? Could you see one of your precious kids unborn?

I’d most probably not have moved to Hull. But not give up Barny, Hester and Henry. Not anything to put that at risk!

Maybe it’s all a Science Fiction story and we are the products of a bored mind floating in infinite space. This is a dream. We will while away the new millennium mulling it over in the dark and breaking up the boredom of forever. We will smile and laugh at the things we’ve done and cry in all the right places and at the end of the day, it will have been better than nothing.

Maybe all time, and all possibilities, really exist in one moment – as the astrophysicists tell us?

I like to think so. Then there would be no road untrod.

3.11.01

 

Happiness is discovery and wonder with liberal dashes of awe.

3.11.01