The Final Frontier

There’s no Captain Kirk stuff here, sorry. No fiction at all, in fact, let alone science fiction. A dose of reality instead. I just used the Star Trek reference to attract a new audience. I doubt that it will work.

Below is what sprang from a ‘death ballad’ written by Kate. Creepy, eh? The inspiration originates with d’verse, but since they asked for a ballad this doesn’t really qualify. Kate’s contribution is a sort of tribute to her mother with whom I had a sort of …. never mind … so – its a bit sad, really, but at the same time sort of hopeful.

Recent medical experiences have given rise to me contemplating my own approaching final frontier (I’ve been going on about it for years, though, as everybody knows. Nothing to worry about) and so here are a few thoughts.


There ain’t no guarantee about the thing that’s coming next

But I think I’ve got a pretty fair idea

There ain’t no nothing special at the ending of the text

So there ain’t no nothing frightening to fear

There won’t be any answer when my maker makes a call

There’ll be no parting messages from me

I won’t be getting judgement when the curtain starts to fall

No applause. ‘Cause it’s just me. Ceasing to be

Thanks for being with me on this roller coaster ride

It’s been special for me holding dear your hand

It would have been so clear if you had casted me aside

But I’m glad you chose instead to understand

I don’t know if you recognised the turning of the tide

But when I’m gone, I don’t suppose you’ll really care

But please don’t come a looking for me on the other side

‘Cause I can guarantee to you I won’t be there


I tried to make it cheerful. The sort of thing you might sing along with friends after a few drinks.

That would be nice.

Bad poetry is becoming my thing

A friend and I have been practicing bad poetry (you know who you are) and have discovered that it to be not as easy as it sounds. No matter how hard you try there’s always something that slips in there that elevates it to a point just above terrible. Some people, by my observation can create terrible poetry without even trying. Or perhaps it’s brilliant poetry that goes over my head.

Lots of things go over my head. I went to the doctor yesterday (I’m going again today, too. It’s what I do these days) and he informed me that I am getting shorter. Quite a bit shorter. That’s weird, and slightly alarming.

Anyway ….. poetry …. When I try to write good poetry (let’s just call it poetry, it will never be ‘good’) there is always something in there to drag it in the direction of terrible but still never quite taking it all the way to the bottom. So whether I try to be good or bad the result is more or less the same. I am consistent. That’s what my teachers used to say at school. Only one of them, actually.

Am I rambling? I thought so. Sorry. What I am trying to lead up to is that a quadrille is (allegedly) a poem of 44 words. Subject to such restrictions how could anyone produce something good? I couldn’t anyway.

This one comes via A d’verse prompt and has to be about a blanket. I think.


This night is young, we’re doing fine

Pour another glass of wine

Warm before the fire we’ve made

Watch the embers slowly fade

Like memories this fading light

Let’s hold them close into the night

And underneath the blanket lay

Tomorrow is another day


The ‘double, double rhyming haiku’.

Some of you may not be familiar with this unusual format that was popularised by Bart Mog back in the 60s or 70s when the west became especially interested in Japanese artistic expression. Just like all western attempts to assimilate eastern culture (Zen Buddhism is a classic example) the double, double rhyming haiku displays the total misunderstanding of the original intent in an attempt to make it palatable to foreign tastes (look what the English did to Indian food) and this one is no exception. An abomination, perhaps.

The rules are relatively obvious.

1. It must follow the traditional 5/7/5 pattern

2. It must be 6 lines (double haikus are, in fact, quite common).

3. It must be comprised of two seperate examples following the same rules and linked by a common theme.

4. It must be written by two different people.

This one belongs to myself and Meg, though it was originally inspired by Kate, here who, in turn, found her inspiration from D’verse, here. In this case the subject is the moon.


Missing you so much

Nights under the moon and such

So close I can touch

Your skin with my mind

Let this night the moonlight find

Us. Two of a kind


Looming in the sky
Makes me want to bay and howl
But I’m too uptight
So I’ll glance askance
At its lovely elegance
I’m sweetness and light

Rowing Uphill.

I have described myself before as a ‘God Fearing Atheist’. I don’t even really know what that means, but I like the sound of it. And just mentioning God in a poem somehow makes it sound more poetic and sincere. So I’ve mentioned Him here to see if that lends me a bit of artistic credibility.

This actually came via Kate, who wrote a poem about journeys and the great beauty that can be found in the journey itself. I agree entirely.

But if life is a journey I would argue that it may not always be a pretty one.


It’s all about the journey

It’s where you’ve been, not where you’re going

Now the river’s running fast

So much faster than I’m rowing

My life is overtaking me

Is that my past that’s passing by?

There’s glimpses of my childhood

In the corner of my eye

I know that I’ve done evil

That I don’t deserve to live

And that there is no God in heaven

With the power to forgive

As the sun that rose in front of me

Is setting from behind

I plead if God must take me

That he erase me from His mind