Play it again

  Ninety-five I’m reaching ninety-five I’ve only just decided  Surpass my dear old mum Who got to ninety-four.  That’s twenty long more years To enjoy this mortal frame Before I take my leave  For a distant galaxy.  Alas my father, Kevin,  All he reached was fifty nine Living with poor health The last nine years of life.  I’ll try to make him proud By reversing birthday numbers Fifty nine to ninety five Is now my big objective.  Shoulders back, arms are swinging  Lifting feet and legs are pumping Bending knees to save the cartilage  Moving hips to help the flow Get up and out of comfy chairs Keep dancing when there’s no one there Embrace the rhythm, feed the spirit Turn back the clock, be young again. 

  The weather It won’t get better, it will get worse We are caught within a climate curse We will keep sinning- for there is no winning Til the water comes through the door.  We are heedless to the warnings Pointing fingers somewhere else Flying jets to preach climate justice The blame is our’s of course.  Only hermits in their hideouts Only sisters in their convents  Only tribes in deepest jungles Lead blameless lives without reproach.  When sea waters breach our storm walls When the farmer no longer farms When foreign travel is out of reach Will we reflect and start to think?   Nothing surer than our decision To do what’s right not when we should But when we’re forced to turn around  And save what’s left, what’s remaining.  And so the future’s very clear Our current hopes and current fears Will be replaced by pressing needs Hanging on for grim survival.  

  Insomniac’s Reward   Lying on my back, looking up at stars That twinkle high above my head That peer and wink at me As I lie upon my bed.  The joy of Velux windows That reveal the universe When curled up under blankets On a frosty Winter night.   Welcoming a distant light That’s travelled many years Past many suns and stars To arrive with me at last.  When my mortal journey’s over It’s to stars I will return While lying on my bed I see My future destiny.  It’s not heaven, merely better, Where dwells what’s left of me When no one’s counting hours When time has ceased to be.  When sky has clouded over The stars seem gone to sleep But they’re always there I know  A constant watch they’ll keep.  When sleep escapes on lonely nights When some start counting sheep I just turn to twinkling friends Who appear above my sheets. 

  As he got older As he got older he put out fires Lit in previous decades by his passions  The embers glowing for a while They burnt up all pretensions.  No need to save, no need to spend He had honored these traditions Full and well when passions furnace Required blind submission.  At peace with man, at peace with God No great goals left to achieve Once a time for strident action Now a time for doing nothing.  There is a time for watching rivers As they course their way to sea Observed by man but unimpeded Their journeys of a thousand years.  We are that piece in the mosaic No need to strive for more Nothing added and nothing less In the grand designer’s plan.  As the soul turns back and sails To the port of start and end To the harbor of the spirit Failing flesh can now ascend. 

  The old man The old man coughed and paused The flu he’d caught and kept him company Was going nowhere, nor was he Except perhaps to the undertaker.  He felt no pity for he had lived Beyond his siblings and his kin Now turned eighty he had regrets But really very few.  His awkward walk caused no comment His daily round invisible To daily Mass and tiny shops Who knew him through and through.  He’d sacked the doctor some years back Too many ailments, too much bad news He’d rather live his last few years At home in total ignorance.  Besides he had no wife to trouble him Separated, yes his best decision To set her free last fifty years Abroad, remarried, with grandkids.  He felt no malice to the world No shame at serving as a soldier With millions others in the army That moves each year from life to death.  The undertaker was paid up A plot was purchased near his brother  No man could ever say He didn’t pay his way.  And so one day the Mass is o...