#Poem – How to Treat the Internet and Other Dubious Information Sources / 09.10.18

Embrace scepticism
Avoid nihilism
And cheerfully accept the fact that
Some lies, deception,
Misinformation, propaganda
And sensationalism
Are the price you must pay
For a near endless stream of information.

Some call this Post Truth
Fake News
But it’s really just Too Much Information
And like a great many pointless distractions
It wouldn’t mean a damn thing
If we didn’t take it all so very seriously.

Photo by Studio Incendo

#Poem – When You Don’t Wonder Anymore / 05.10.18

‘Ignorance is bliss’.
We hold this thing self-evident.

It goes some way,
To explain
Why childhood is so exhilarating
And yet the magic of it all
Seems to fade
With time, age.
And thousands of days.

Perhaps the autumn of your life
Is just that point
When you think you’ve seen it all.
When there’s no wonderment left
And nothing new under the sun.

Perhaps it would all come back to you
If you could only find something
To be young for again.

And perhaps if you look hard enough
You might somewhere find
A young soul
In an old body.

Still enthralled
By it all.

Photo by TheWanderingAmerican

#Idea – Wisdom Is the Consolation of Age / 06.10.18

Age is inevitable, wisdom is not:
You can grow older and no wiser
But you cannot grow wiser and no older.

And so,
If time’s passage is inevitable
And age is inevitable
You might as well do something
With all that time you’ll have
To experience and reflect.

Put another way
You may as well add wisdom
To all the hours you’ll naturally accumulate.

This is a way,
To make something of the hand we were all dealt:
Time’s passage,
The inevitable decline of your body
And the stark realisation of ‘The Human Condition’.

Photo by RichardJames1990

#Poem – Art / 05.10.18

At the beginning of time
Which has no beginning
There was born an artist.
And in every incarnation,
In every rebirth
It struggled to realise its ultimate work.

A cell that deals in exponents, excretion and respiration
Crowding the surface of a petri dish,
A hundred thousand ants, stacking rice grains perfectly,
A bird with the most beautiful feathers
And the most graceful song,
Soil parting beneath the hooves of a horse,
A man enslaved by the muses
Waiting by his guitar,
The Gods in Heaven
At odds or in conspiracy.

This vision of slow completion
Gradually comes about
Amidst a universe of countless and uncountable things.

At the beginning of time
Which has no beginning
There was born an artist.
And for every iota of every aeon
It will work
Until the entropic timer has run down
And all the art has gone from the universe.

Photo by 705847 (Pixabay)