One is One and all alone
(And evermore shall be so)
Of course you can add more Ones
Over and over and over again
Until the planet groans

Or you might try to multiply
That One by One by One
As many times as you like and more
But you’ll still be left alone
With no more than a single One

Yet bring on a Two
And you’re in with a chance
Of getting somewhere
No longer stuck in singularity
Insufficient, however singular

Addition diversifies, yes
But only at a plodding pace
Multiplication’s the real magician
A roguish twinkle in the eye
And an ace of hearts up the sleeve

You only require
A One and a Two
A little compounded interest
And in short order – Infinity and beyond!
Both within and without

Though without being with Two
You find, alack and alas
A lack and a loss
And being One alone
Is now no longer such fun

Infinity has some unusual properties
Infinity plus One, Infinity plus Two …
Continue adding more as long as you like
The answer remains, like Alice’s tea table, Infinity
For there is no escaping Infinity

Even infinite Infinities remain in essence One
Now, bear with me, envision, if you will
Introduce a mirror and One becomes Two
While two mirrors, face to face, produce
Infinities as far as two I’s can see

Without warning
A band of wild horses
Galloped into view
They thundered past
Disturbing the stillness
And in a moment … gone again

I do not know
Where they came from
Why they came this way
And at such a pace
Nor where they may be now
Thoughts … a similar mystery

Forlorn orphan October, out of place
Within the embers of the fading year
Where trees, their naked limbs a’shiver,
Stand around dolefully, orphans too,

Here down by the river that observes, reflective,
Passes by without pausing or check of pace,
Passes no comment save a quiet chuckling,
Passes on free of burdensome fare-thee-wells.

Elders, beeches, larches, oaks and willows
Barely remembering how they, full of grace and cheer,
Chattering with birds, in their own carefree abandon
Sent forth tiny scents hell bent on teasing the senses,

Decked in tiny new grown gowns of green.
Always green – some witch’s curse, perhaps?
How ever else could they, over and over, be so green?
Little suspecting answering the gentle beckoning,

The flowery poésie of foliate Spring,
Forebodes the florid tumescence to come
That scorches and parches and flays
And discolours and wrinkles and crumbles

A comely gown, no longer to admire
Or clothe a beckoning bower.
The river, emerged mysteriously from the earth,
Is lost now among the waves’ unending song.

——————————————————————

It’s about nature and the seasons; time and the passage of time; love, sensuality and sexuality; life – youth, ageing and death.

Note: there is an Easter egg in this poem. Can you spot it?

Self-important piddling patchwork college,
peddling half-regurgitated rote knowledge;
chiselling chaste gems into brute ashlar;
live surging forest stripped for lumber cash.

All of a piece: “Sit down, don’t rock the boat”.
Sing up: “Graded brains keep us in power”.
You know the drill. “Do keep up at the back!”
“Hands up if you know the answer.” “Miss!” “Sir!”

Meaninglesswhile in the college canteen
(“Starved a lot, blah, blah”; cabbage days again)
running dogs and other wage slaves drivel,
drone, mimic windmills uncomprehending,

grinning at their own expense, face polished
shiny, shiny, aloof, above all that,
admiring Handsome in smooth-tongued mirrors,
accolading lucky fortunate one.

What can I say? A dickens of a place.
Lancashire’s tundra; bleak without the house.
Overgenerous to call if half-life
One man arrived and only stayed for tea …

——————————————————————

A page of personal history.

It’s five past eleven
And all the girls are gone
They’ve taken off Bob Dylan
And put the Beach Boys on

From letters to Aunt Sally:

…..Dear Uncle Sammy
I’d just like to say I’m just a friendly little dwarf
And what I believe
Well this as I’m convinced
Is the situation and problem

I try to keep quiet
I stand on ceremony as restrained
Over the walnuts and the wine
I stand in livery
…..(and I’ve been to college too)
……….as constrained
Only barely in my mind
From smashing vases to make a noise
Or standing on my head
Or someone else’s
…..(So much for love!)
And I mouth something
Careful virgins risk a smile
And it’s no use asking what ever happened to their sisters
…..The surly walls are looming
……….staring
…..The telephone keeps on screaming
…..And I’m tired of Thursdays
But I suffer from only headaches
And a strong desire to ask questions
…..Or sleep
While I just look grieved
…..Or smile
Unconvincingly
…..The surly walls are looming
……….staring
…..The telephone keeps on screaming
…..And I’m tired of Thursdays
“Please don’t look so grieved”
“Please don’t look so grieved”
“Please don’t look so grieved”

Can you help at all?
——————————————————————

The term “Aunt Sally” is sometimes used in Great Britain as a colloquial political idiom, indicating a false adversary or straw man set up purely for attracting negative attention and wasting an opponent’s energy. The technique is sometimes used during planning applications when the applicant needs to show they exhausted all other options and need to create false alternatives that are easily identified as unsuitable.

Face it
You got lost
You drove into a cul de sac

Time to reverse out
and continue down a new road
that isn’t a dead end

(or at least not until
you’ve done some decent living
first)

“Please feel free to forward this and the article at The New Agenda as you see fit.”

I hope you will take the time to read it, and to think about what she is saying. Thanks.

http://missedee.com/2012/02/15/1387/

Inchoate twitter
Chitchatting inhumane race
Babble on until …
——————————————————————

A haiku in form, but far from that in content.

It was inspired by F. H. Hakansson’s poem “Babylon”, which you may find at

http://fhhakansson.com/2012/02/15/babylon/

Driving in to work this morning
Up by the traffic lights
There they were

Still in their teens looked like
And between them
Covering both ends of the spectrum

Perfectly staged archetypes
Artfully fashioned
To hit all the right buttons

One with the ample coal black curls
The easy grace, the confident stride
Already marked down, I’m sure

To receive a special mention award
For her outstanding contributions
Come Breast Awareness Week

The other with the straight hair
The slightly dippy look about the eyes
And the face furniture to die for

(Did I mention my thing for glasses?)
Christ, I’m nearly sixty
Will this never end?

I remember years ago
When Pain first moved in with Desire
Until now they’ve become inseparable

They tell me I’m only the landlord
And can’t do a thing about it
Something about an assured tenancy

Told myself it didn’t matter anyway
It’s only a problem if you let yourself get so distracted
You forget the lights and don’t stop in time

——————————————————————

Notes on “Red Light”:-

Someone described this poem as being risky. I liked it enough to take the risk. There seems to be a big taboo around desire (lust) after a person reaches a certain age. It makes people uncomfortable. They push it away by pretending it doesn’t exist, making a joke of it, or deforming it into something distasteful.

The poem suggests that in reality it *does* exist and rather than being funny or distasteful (though it can be either of those too) it can be a source of quiet pain, endured in silence (but with maybe a certain bitterness). Desiring someone you can’t “have” is painful at any age.