Yoohoo

You, are you there
Who
You
I do still care
For who
You
Are you there ?

An equation

So what of it, the black stuff.
Selfishly raiding the burial grounds of shellfish in new forms of desecration
The industrialised world undoubtedly has a raging addiction.
The geopolitics of the situation complicated by the fact that oil and water don't mix
And without delving into specifics, an irreducibility of differing monotheistics.
And ah yes markets.

Statistics presciently predict in text this conflict long hence.
The sense that increasing consumption of a finite resource
Plus bigots times power over arms equals
Recourse to violence cannot be silenced by current events.
For a fuss over lubricant it all seems a bit tense.

War seems rather warmer than when the world
Was wary of silos and bombers,
Gone is any honour, but much is claimed in raining terror,
And of course those guided by their lord will admit no error.

So in the echo of marbled halls various voices drawl
Grey haired men enthralled by their status cut a dash
With much blood to wash from gushing cash
And the Asian flu an atomic rash.

Horses move in manouveures that would make Enron blush
Manufactured media-cased motives are those of purity
Freedom, democracy,
New markets created in health, construction, security
And a rich price available for liquid energy.

Accusations fly and are reflected in retort
That the pursuit of energy masks belligerence
And belligerence the pursuit of resource
The opening of old sores, the pursuit of old scores.

I don't remember before the Ayatollah
But the dollar does,
So inoculation seems the only course of action
Against a whole range of Asian infections.

Each nation drawing its conclusion
To latterly adopt a strategy that's MAD
As differences are analysed
Between Pyong-Yang and Baghdad.

But we keep on guzzling,
And the bombs will help juggling
Of currency, devilry, deficits and epithets
But they won't fit the last peice of the puzzle in.

A last piece, replacing a highness.
But not that last peace
If bigots times power,
Over arms
Equals violence.

A problem

Some simple things I seek
Some are most complex.
Of which is which I cannot speak
This crux does leave me vexed.

So as I ponder, wonder
Oft I blunder,
Through conundurum, confusion
Of what is solid, as the ground is under
And what is all illusion.

Kippered sot

To whit
The rain spits
The brain splits
From spliffs,
Ifs become nots
Tasks forgot
This is the lot
Of the kippered sot.

Fable II

There was a man who was loved by all women who kept his company, for more than he was broad and comely he had a kind and gentle spirit.

Seeing, in his youth, both the great joys and woes that union can bring, he was affectionate to all, man and woman alike, and with that he took great care, spreading that part that was joy with his company wherever he was politely accomodated. For this he was well received and his company much in demand.

At length he came upon a woman with whom he fell more deeply in love than ever he had hither, and he declared that his life would be for the loving of her. But she replied "am I to sit here the while you love me for ever, what of the loving of life ?" And she left.

He grown so used to a life of loving others, could be given no reason to find good or purpose within himself, though there was much, and never could answer the question she asked.

A fable

There was a talented man, comsumed in the passion of his work. His office light always on, his house always cold.

He met a beautiful woman, he had always dreamed of marrying a beautiful woman and she always of a talented and passionate man. They married.

She in her life found that men would do what you asked of them, and had grown accustomed to asking. He had known no distraction from his work . His office light was always on, his house always cold.