Perhaps the top of the hill is the best place to be?
I’m over the hill now, Soon I should be picking up speed, But a life somewhat faster Is not something I need. Most things are still working, Have my own teeth, my own hair, And at a finely turned ankle I still like to stare.
I should really be grateful, There’s no need to complain, Old age has its benefits, There’s so much that you gain; If you sit there a minute, Then I’ll write you a list; But … perhaps a little snooze first, They’re so hard to resist!
OK…. I’m back again, Just a short power nap, Too much thinking these days Makes the energy sap; Now something about a list? First …. give me a minute or two, I think I’ll just put the kettle on, It must be time for a brew!
OK that’s better! Now what were we saying? (Memory’s not at its best, At the edges it’s fraying.) You were going to give me a list Of what I would need If I wanted to go faster, If I wanted to speed?
No…. that won’t be necessary, This slow life is fine, I’ve found the top of the hill To be a good finishing line; So I think I’ll just stay here, Not go over the crest. Now …. a snooze or a brew? Which do you think is best?
One of the few things my wife and I disagree on, dishwasher versus the sink, but as I’m the dishwasher ……….
Don’t mind washing dishes,
It helps me to think;
Warm soapy water,
A stainless steel sink.
To wash dishes clean
At an early age taught,
So to using a dishwasher
I just wouldn’t resort.
Don’t understand dishwashers,
First you have to stack them,
Then an hour and a half later
You have to unpack them.
Don’t see the point;
In half the time taken
Could wash a whole sink full,
If I’m not mistaken.
And that extra electricity
Have we gone completely insane?
Decided I’m going to start
A “Ban Dishwashers” campaign,
Will install myself as leader,
Of “The Kitchen Sink Brigade”,
You see, when washing dishes
Cool decisions get made!
Life was much simpler when Three Degrees was a vocal group, not the end of the world!
They said with a three degree rise we’re all going to die, But that’s too far in the future, so they gave two degrees a try, But that didn’t work either, we’re continuing to thrive, So the fear number’s been reduced to just one point five.
And we could soon be there now, not far to go, And then we’re all doomed, the BBC has said so, And so have Sky News and the Guardian too, They all say carbon neutral’s the thing we must do.
But if we all keep on breathing, continue to exhale, Then this carbon neutral thing must be destined to fail! Could it be yet another bizarre concept, invented by greens, That everyone talks about, but without a clue what it means?
Some of us do not take the threat of catastrophic man made climate change and the impending end of the world seriously enough, but not me.
The wind blew last week and that was followed by rain, So the proof was right there, so obvious, so plain That climate change is real, how much evidence did I need? I had to reverse it, or at least try to impede.
So I sold my car and every domestic appliance, On anything electrical now I have no reliance, Stopped changing my clothes and showering as well, To save the planet I’m prepared to smell.
No more trips abroad on those big, evil aircraft, I know some still travel, but they are just so daft, Now if I want to go anywhere I just have to walk, You see I take action, rather than just talk the talk.
Stopped eating any meat, well that goes without saying, (Such impressive virtue signalling I must be conveying); And for those that remain so hard to convince, There’s been no wind or rain, not a single drop since!
So am I carbon neutral? Well no, I’m still breathing, CO2 gas in great quantity from my body is leaving, So the world will just have to wait until I’m no more To find out if the climate has stopped changing for sure.
“Two things are infinite – the Universe and human stupidity and I’m not sure about the Universe” Albert Einstein
Can my poetry save the world? Can it drag it back from the brink? By using common sense and logic, Encourage people to reason and think.
Stop reality being replaced By what they try to make us believe; Stop the dumbing down of a generation, Now so gullible, so naïve.
Where facts with emotions Get confused, not separated, And with the most irrational of fears Millions are daily indoctrinated.
Where critical thinking by rhetoric Is being replaced, Where clear thinking people With so many challenges are faced,
Finding debate and discussion Can no longer be used, If the groupthink isn’t worshipped, Then they will be abused.
Teaching what to, not how to, Educators are now tasked, And questions raised by enquiring minds Can no longer be asked
Will reading my verse Make people stop and reflect? Refocus their minds, Maybe make them suspect That through their relentless propaganda It’s a new world order they seek, Forcing a dangerous ideology Onto the uninformed and the weak.
It’s not just the plants that give me such pleasure, Deep in my garden lies its real hidden treasure.
I use my garden to grow my soul, To anchor my roots, to make me whole; To understand how good it can feel To weed out life’s trivia, to nurture what’s real; To connect with nature, finding peace in its earth, So how can I value what my garden is worth?
About bougainvilleas I’m writing a guide, Using my methods Which are trusted and tried. Now if your plant is unruly, And frustration grips Then help is at hand, Just follow my tips. First hack off the branches, Cut back as far as you can, (With those dangerous spikes That’s best left to a man). When you’re just left With the base of the plant Take a good spade, Held at a slant, And dig out the roots, Needs a little persistence, I find wielding an axe Overcomes their resistance. Once the base and the roots Are successfully removed Throw them on the compost, (Remember my method’s approved) Then go tell your spouse With a smile of your face And her reaction will tell you That you’re in disgrace. So retrieve your bougainvillea From the compost heap, Dig a new hole Nice and deep, Add a little bonemeal And some water too And replant the bougainvillea, It’s so easy to do. And in a few months You’ll see new branches shoot. You see fixing a bougainvillea Is really a hoot!
I haven’t used a fountain pen for longer than I care to remember, and I forgot just how nice it feels. It is slightly more inconvenient than a ballpoint pen or a pencil, but I’m sure that I can learn to live with that; until I spill the bottle of ink, that is!
I found an old fountain pen, Alas, it had run out of ink, But I was lucky to find a store Selling Parker’s famous black Quink: Now I’m writing with that pen And it’s oh, so much better, Resulting in an overwhelming feeling To write someone a letter. I can’t remember the last time I sent anything hand written by post, Letters are typewritten then printed, Although I use e-mails the most; Not forgetting about social media, Facebook and WhatsApp now the thing, But the satisfaction of hand writing Electronic communication can’t bring.
There is something quite magical about sitting and just watching the sun go down….
The sun starts to set, The air slowly cools, The fierce daytime heat Now no longer rules. On the stoep we have gathered For our usual observance Of the end of the day, The sun’s disappearance.
The dog has been walked, The wine has been poured, The stoep lamps are burning, Against insects secured; The last of the daylight Lingers far out to the West, It’s awesome changing vistas, Stirring senses from rest.
And as night supplants day The twilight is crowned By animals orchestrating That African sound. Guinea fowl roosting, Chattering away, Crickets endless chirping, Owls having their say.
Haunting sounds As the day’s put to rest, Another Karoo wonder By which we are blessed. And as the stoep lamps flicker And we watch the flames dance, The moths come to join us On their nightly advance.
Finally by the darkness We’re completely surrounded, Our mind, soul and body Now totally grounded. Of all of life’s crops Surely this is the cream, Sitting here on the stoep, Living our dream.
Sitting here watching the plants being battered by relentless gusts of wind, after having just endured a severe frost and wondering just what those poor leaves must be feeling.
It’s not easy being a leaf these days, By Jack Frost I’ve been abused, And now by a howling gale I’m being battered and bruised. If only I could be the plant’s root, Buried there beneath the ground, Away from frost and wind, A warm and peaceful haven found. Not being bothered by the hot sun. The outside world wouldn’t ever intrude, Just need the old man to give me water, And the occasional dose of plant food. With a worm or two for company, (Hopefully a mole I’d never meet), And some other roots to chat with, As we lay spreading our feet.
Scientists who study the sun are pretty certain that at sometime in the future there will be bursts of solar radiation so strong that they will disable all satellites, maybe for a few minutes, or hours, or days, or even longer….
What would we do if the internet died? A burst of solar radiation, all satellites fried, Useless mobile phones, no signals detected, Facebook, You Tube, WhatsApp disconnected.
No bank transactions, no salaries paid, No card facilities, no purchases made; Selfies taken that you just couldn’t send, It would seem like the world had come to an end.
Billions of records that no one could access; Governments and businesses in turmoil and mess. With digital connections being totally destroyed, Old school techniques would need to be redeployed.
But those skills are forgotten, or have never been learned; We’d have to think for ourselves, but that rulebook’s been burned. By surrendering control to orbiting satcoms We’ve exposed ourselves to ticking time bombs.
I hope I’m not around to weep and lament, Witness the chaos and mayhem of this forecast event; Humanity in a mess from an internet freeze, Lost and confused in a world brought to its knees.