Penchant For Audacity

A penchant for audacity marked his card,

His death warrant too if truth be told,

Never could resist a cause, his calling

To be brave, to be fearless, to be bold.

A penchant for audacity was his downfall,

Tho’ they say he never died, his legend thrives,

Witnessed to by others who still know it,

Audacious guarantees eventful lives.

A penchant for audacity has spoken

From pulpits, prisons, pioneered new thought,

Sometimes been arrested or imprisoned,

Occasions where audacity’s been shot.

How rarely circumscribed are those believers

Who challenge change and ask what most will not,

How rarely is audacious preferred penchant,

Too rarely, sadly, not a hell of a whole lot.

 

Then there are the bastard children of audacious,

The megamouths who are not quite the same,

Gargantuan in ego, in no way courageous,

Giving penchant for audacity a bad name.

Beyond Reason

graph p 005 P

P marks the point…

right there, on the chart…

where the two intersect…

Yes, that was the moment of meeting…

but we’ve charted their rise

and they each had begun

long before then

independently

moving and seeking

the spot of eclipse

where each shadowed one

neither obscuring

but circling…

moving in tandem…

hovering it seems…

checking for compass…

or something…

That was the point…

just there where you see…

occlusion…

confusion

colliding…

But zooming on in…

we’re surprised by results…

an orbit is there…

but strangely to say

it’s a weird one…

graph p 004 heart

And that’s all that we have…

we don’t know what it’s called…

predictions can’t guess…

it’s not on our charts…

we can’t really say

if two will unite…

merger to move…

fusion divined…

or dividing…

Truth is to say…

where P marks the spot…

From this distance…

I’d say…

It’s beyond us.

Four Fifths Is Fine, I Feel.

Unreasonable behaviour this part of I am,

Is silly, impetuous, unworldly, but damn!

It’s honest and true and a little bit crazy,

Flighty sometimes but never quite flaky

Enough to be daft to the point of plain stupid.

Like being a bit tipsy or speared by wee Cupid.

A tiny bit mental, a tad giggly too,

But it balances the serious, so that’s what I do.

Those folk who know me would testify

That I’m perfectly balanced, four out of five.

The one fifth I’m not is when fantasy’s in flow

Or I’m drunk as a skunk, a pity I know,

But delightfully daring to release the repressive.

Preferable to being much too depressive.

No mania here for I’ve read all about it,

I’m just me, can’t you see, a bit foolish, don’t doubt it.

But only at weekends when I’m in full flight

And mind’s in the clouds. I know, yes, it’s right

That others may think I might be an ass,

But, bugger, I’m honest to the point that I laugh

When things that I say bite me on the bum,

I deal with it, accept it, I blush then succumb

To reasonable behaviour once more in mid-week.

Weekends are for weird, I find as I speak.

No wonder my family think maybe there’s several,

Wife, mother, teacher and a bit of a devil.

Like a youth in my mind two days in the week,

So shoot me, but believe the words that I speak.

A little bizarre on the pan that is light

Lifts up my spirits then so I might

Return to the normal, the perfectly plain

The worker, wife, mother, balanced again.

 

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