I thought it about time to write something silly again and so I was scouring other people’s ideas, in search of one of my own when I came upon a challenge to write a poem in the first person here. How hard could that be? I’m always talking about myself.

I think (therefore I am) that life is not something we really have much control over. It just happens and we spend most of it as a spectator. Do we really know where we are going? I don’t think so. Where would be the fun in that, anyway? It will only be right at the end that we realise that we’ve seen it all before.

This poem was a rush job. They all are. My attention span is growing ever narrower. And I wandered a bit off track here and there (but that’s sort of what the poem, and life itself, is all about. Isn’t it?) and whilst it was supposed to be all about me (isn’t everything??) I grew lonely in the middle and added someone else. I’m not sure who.

*

I think therefore I am

Though I don’t think much at all

I limp along this pathway

I stumble and I fall

I’m following my instincts

Though I’d much prefer a map

I call for help, for guidance

As I fall in every trap

I read the signs, the messages

They don’t mean much to me

I need for you to take my hand

It’s dark. I cannot see

We’ll stand upon the precipice

Our toes upon the ledge

With one step we could end it

God knows we’re on the edge

When will I fall forever?

When will I be free?

Might we fall together?

Would you die for me?

I have no fear of dying

That’s what life is for

Again we will be flying

We’ve been this way before.

*

Don’t ask me how this one came about, I’m not sure that I remember entirely. Meg and I were admiring someone else’s poetry and, for whatever reason, began to marvel at the idea of rhyming words with ‘cosmos’s’. Personally I think that it all depends on the pronunciation, but Meg reported back to me an hour or so later that the best words, in this regard, were halitosis, scoliosis, and osteoporosis according to her Dad (a man of letters) and from that notion she created a song idea with a working title of ‘My Spine is all messed up and I have bad breath.’

I gave that idea some thought and arrived at the following …. it’s all about the nature of inspiration, really

***

Halitosis, Scoliosis, fucking Osteoporosis

Now you’ve told me all about, it must be like osmosis

You’re stinking and I’m thinking maybe I am stinking too

I’m noxious, I’m obnoxious. Maybe I’m just like you

You’re walking like a cripple and you’re talking like the plague

My mood is sort of fickle, my understanding kind of vague

You don’t look too fantastic, like a spastic. Smelling worse

Now you’ve told me, you’ve involved me.You’ve given me the curse

You’re explanation, its damnation. I wish that you would quit

My back is out of whack, my breath it smells like shit

***

P.S. Those of you born around the middle of last century may recall that Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious would work quite well. As would precocious. It was difficult, in fact, to uncover words that Mary Poppins hadn’t already used. That’s my excuse.

I haven’t been paying a lot of attention lately. To anything.

But I stumbled across a little poem here whilst wandering about meaninglessly and thought I’d post one in response. It’s supposed to be sort of sad, reflecting my mood. But, as usual, it comes out sort of silly.

Do you miss me

Now and then

In memories

Of way back when?

We lay together

Touched the sky

Then drifted somewhere

By and by

Until that day

Did we lose sight?

Succumb to darkness

In that night?

Do you still miss me

When you sleep?

Do visions of me

Gently creep

Into your dreams?

Into your head

Beneath the sheets

Upon your bed

Or do you dream

Of someone new?

Do you miss me?

I miss you.

This is a continuation on my observations regarding our tendency to obsess about our hair. I observed that Australian men, when viewed from the northern hemisphere appear to be standing upside down, and therefore their hair falls out as function of gravity. It was pointed out (unsurprising) by Meg that there is, in fact, no shortage of bald men in America.

I wondered then if it might have something to do with the magnetic effect of the poles, in which case men from equatorial and tropical regions should be quite hirsute (I think that there may be evidence supporting that) whilst Eskimos should be bald (not so much evidence).

It’s a very silly theory, I know. I have lots of them. And it prompted a few silly lines of verse.

***

Eskimos they all wear hats

There’s nothing under there

They eat a healthy diet

But don’t have any hair

The wearing of the headpiece shows

How much they really care

That they can never be as hairy

As a scary polar bear

***

P.S. Before you women start jumping up and down pointing to your attractive manes ….

there is more iron in the male diet (everybody knows that) making our hair more magnetic and therefore more susceptible to the polar magnetic follicle effect.