AN INSTANT IN TIME

The only time that’s real

Lasts but a millisecond.

It’s the here and now,

So brief it can’t be reckoned.

All else is past and future

That stretch to God knows where.

What does this insight mean?

Fuck all, I do declare!

REAMING OUT THE GARAGE

The garage is a handy place

To store some stuff away.

Things still in working order

That have seen a better day!

Old toys and appliances,

Clothes no more in style,

Tennis togs and scuba gear,

Unused for quite a while!

Travel souvenirs,

Tires and party games,

Hobby kits, puzzle bits,

Albums and picture frames.

Items of little value

Evoke ‘I remember when.’

Clutter of the now

Recalls a joyful then.

The garage is full of junk.

So we’re reaming out, you see,

A storage shed of memories.

To house an SUV!

THE BLANK PAGE

Here I am a-staring

At my blank computer screen,

What am I about to type?

What yet hasn’t been?

That’s the wonder of it all:

When the day is o’er

Something new has been created,

A work unknown before.

It may be only rubbish,

A silly childish rhyme,

But it’s an addition to the universe,

A product of its time.

Where does the impulse come from?

Another world some say.

But I am the agent;

I am the modeler’s clay.

It’s my raison d’être.

The meaning of my life.

In my dotage I have found

An antidote to strife.

FAREWELL MAYNE

It’s a place of summer sunshine,

Of restless wind and tide.

Beyond the rocky shore,

Squalling seabirds glide.

A tiny cabin nestles

Among the soaring firs,

A home away from home,

Recalled my full heart stirs.

Peace and quiet reign,

Urban clamour far away,

No surging crowds or traffic,

Just children at their play.

Island life is now behind me.

It was pure and simple joy.

But fate has intervened.

I dare not with fortune toy.

So farewell seductive Mayne.

I’ll ne’er visit you again.

Memories of your charms

Will until I die remain!

OUT OF CONTROL

How much do we control the courses of our lives?

I’m persuaded not at all; we go where fortune drives.

We have no word to say about where we are born,

Whether rich or poor, loved, cared for or forlorn…

What talents we may have, if full of health and zest,

Or feeble and afflicted, no match for any test.

Every incident of the day affects us, good or ill.

We respond as we must, no real thought or will.

Our freedom’s an illusion. We are cogs in a machine

Spinning aimless in the void, a vast eternal scene.

TO MY ADMIRERS

I write most every day.

Verses flow from my MacBook.

Most are very good.

I only ask you, take a look.

Read a few aloud.

Do they have a pleasing rhyme?

Is there a rhythmic flow,

Constant beat in every line?

Is the meaning crystal clear,

A hint of humour there?

Perhaps a touch of irony,

Is there truth for us to share?

I strive to keep it light.

The deep stuff’s not for me.

I’m not an English scholar.

I eschew such pedantry.

If I evoke a smile,

And a nod of approbation,

Your time has been well spent.

I accept your admiration.

But money says it best,

So show your perspicacity

By cash or cheque dispatched

To my home in Waikiki!

WHO AM I?

Here I’m in my dotage,

Eighty years of age,

Still seeking my identity,

Near the final page.

Am I a fiction writer,

My great novel yet unborn?

More likely I’m a poet,

Though my verses readers scorn.

No, I am a soldier,

Graduate RMC,

An officer, a gentleman,

A leader, any fool can see!

For many aimless years

I plied the PR trade

For breweries, utilities,

Any which top dollar paid.

I’ve been a father and a husband,

A neighbour and a friend.

With each puff of wind

To be congenial I would bend.

A man without convictions,

Never forced to take a stand.

I’ve been lucky, oh so lucky,

But characterless and bland.

Do my wife and children love me,

A mere nonentity?

What of value can I leave them?

What’s to be my legacy?

Must I bequeath a mystery,

One that stalks me though I die?

Perhaps they will discover

Who the hell am I?