Was there a reason?

Was there a reason

And if so, what was it?

Can you explain

How we got to this place?

When things happen

That defy description

We assign meaning

Attribute actions

To some greater plan

Those who enjoy

Their sense of mystery

May even claim

To understand

The whys and wherefores

Of existence

Both good and bad

I too have done my share

Of anthropomorphic

Solipsism

Casting of nasturtiums

And other such malapropisms

Until I am left

With the notion

That I simply

Cannot understand

The world in which we live

If by some miracle

You know what I mean

Then draw me a picture

Using your words

To remove me

From my indecision

Perhaps a map

That we may both use

To find our way back

To something that

Closely resembles

A reason for us all

To believe

Failing which

I will take payment

By alternate means

In the universal currency

Of coffee or pizza

Seeking midnight solace

In creature comforts

That some deem

Earthly delights

At least my senses

Shall feast

While the rest

Is silence

Self-Censorship

There’s nothing wrong with ‘language’, –
To communicate’s the key
So why restrict the ones vereicht
(For many words begin with C)
Come, clarity can conquer crude
Catastrophe of cant
Through substitution of a vowel
It’s obvious what’s meant
When ranting on the topic of
Her least-admired slot
The poetry of metaphor
Reveals what is not
So obvious an object, yet
With strong component parts
Even ingenue construes it too –
What’s hidden of our hearts.
Pray, do not scold our children
As they strive to master terms
Still unfamiliar to those
Well-versed in Chinese burns
The patois of the playground
May be where they first attempt
Expansion of vocabulary
Mastery of feint
And tossing out tame adjectives
Must call a tool as speyed
With far more sense of phrasing
They’ll be that much less afraid
Of talking through their tensions
And timing out their tries
To test the twists and turns of tongue
That trip us up with ties
Inherent to our thinking
The second we’re quite grown
Abandoned truth that stank of youth
We posit the unknown
To bore for Merrie England
While chewing over fat
Discussing nothing needlessly
In stultifying chat
Quite lacking in all substance
Exotic or uncouth
Consigning dreams and hopes and schemes
To corners, dumb, aloof

Can’t you hear the melody?

Taste the words to hear it play
They’ll teach you how to hum
Feel the sound that waves its way
To ears from tip of tongue
Balance rhythm on your nib
And flick the blues away
Scrawling rhyme to rock the crib
With beats that pulse and sway
Baby in her daddy’s arms
Can only coo and squeal
Taking in all worldly forms
She’s learning fast by feel
We watch her tiny fingers, toes
Exploring as we speak
And note her mastery that grows
Progressing with each week
Accelerate articulation
Let her tell us soon
What kick-starts mad coordination
Of her stars and moon

Linguistic seduction

There is no order to a poem
No demands made or met
Paper and ink come without shackles
And yet, language has power,
A verse may hold you captive, spellbound,
Words browbeat you, leaving you raw and crying
Lead you to change your opinion,
Mend your ways, even fall in love.
Naturally there is a word for this,
Allowing us to pass sentence on such a construct,
Both praising and damning a few lines,
Summing up the power of written thought
In three syllables, at a stroke.
One dirty, descriptive word:
Compelling.

In praise of email

The art of writing letters to us now seems to be lost.
In part due to the postal strikes, and also to the cost.
For stamps are hard to come by, and envelopes expensive
And as we know delivery at times can be extensive.
Instead we have a new thing, an electronic toy.
So we can keep in touch despite the obstacles ahoy.
But somehow through the changes, our language has evolved.
Now we don’t spell our words out, but only write in code.
So now ‘I’ll c u l8r’, we often read out loud
Since spelling became optional, secrecy’s not allowed.
Thus I know all your business, even on the train,
In order to get the message, we need to make it plain.
Tis not the done thing these days to refuse an invitation.
By the time you’ve writ ‘washing my hair’, the train has left the station.