No repressive
government can
last forever, no
matter how
unlikely its end
can seem. But
it does great
damage to people
and land while
it continues
Category: Bon mots
Nowhere to run to
Killing hot
weather is on
its way here
after Xmas.
A giant wall
of hot air
like a tsunami
approaching
on land
I breathe, therefore I am
I am
breathing in,
breathing out,
like all the other
living creatures
sharing this planet
and this air.
But more,
that air has been
shared by all the creatures
who ever lived,
been refreshed by
all the plants
that ever grew,
since the beginning
of Earth time.
Each new breath
combines all the
old breaths of creatures,
and people, long gone.
Each breath is a kind
of immortality,
existing long after
each of us has
taken our last breath,
passed on to each of
us taking our
first breath
Life time
Approaching 74
and every ache,
every niggle, every
unexplained twitch
in the night,
presages doom and
a twinkle in an
undertaker’s eye.
Half way through 73
and sour memories
bubble up like methane
in Lake Baikal, erupt
randomly like black
mud in Rotorua, old
regrets seem once
again possible triumphs,
old grievances can
once again cut the psyche
like a knife.
Getting close to
my seventy third Xmas
and counting again
all the gifts I have
been given over
this amazingly long
time. Love, and
friendship, and
life itself.
Morning traffic
In the early
morning light
insects go about
their business,
taking no notice
of people going
about their business.
But both are
the business of
hungry birds.
Siesta
A rabbit sitting
on the lawn, in
the shade, under
a trailer. For once
relaxing, sleeping,
safe from death
screaming
out of the sky
Losing their marbles
Heaven save me from
celebrities who seem
quite sane and
rational when young
but who in old age
become religious and
move hard right
politically and seem to
be mulling over joining
the Flat Earth Society
Seasons in the Sun
Impossible to
decide which season
would be best to die in:
Summer with its heat
and blue skies;
Autumn with
hints of frost and snow;
Winter with the warmth
of hearth and home:
Spring with flowers
and promise of flowers.
But whichever I choose
I would be desolate not to
see the following one.
Numbers racket
How many stupid
and ignorant people
does it take to
destroy a planet?
I guess we’ll find
out pretty soon.
Hand on head instead?
What is it with
Americans putting
their hand on their
heart at solemn
occasions like the
funeral of an
ex-president?
They do know,
I suppose, that the
heart is just a lump
of muscle that
circulates blood?
I mean, we have known
for five hundred years
that the heart has
nothing to do with
emotions, so why
put your hand over it?
