Riposte

chauvet cave-stags
cave paintings, chauvet

I’m not religious in any accepted sense
I cannot paraphrase the universe
But yours is the crudest interpretation
I’ve come across for something that persists
As long as humanity
And has changed it and you and me irrevocably

You charge it with man’s folly?
Its own state and purpose,
Its raison d’etre!

What am I to make of your opposition,
Your disbelief?Sf copyright

Other Minds, poetic book review.

Other Minds: The Octopus, the Sea, and the Deep Origins of ConsciousnessOther Minds: The Octopus, the Sea, and the Deep Origins of Consciousness by Peter Godfrey-Smith

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Concretised my feeling that the mind does not harvest intelligence but focuses and connects with it. The octopus and cuttlefish have a central processor like humans but also have semi-independent nodes of processing in their tentacles. Ants individually are robotic little pheromone followers but a colony has similar intelligence distribution to a human being. Amazing insights on what intelligence is and how we humans have anthropomorphised it and missed its finer points. Lovely tone as well, this book .

Far too much to see
For humanity and me
Need to know not why

Our wherewithal is to stand under
Not to understand
And, thus, to know, to be.
Sf copyright

 

 

Norm’s Place

wastland2Why do you hear no, smell no, see no evil?
How does it feel, what is that taste?
Why so loathe to foot your own bill?
Why are your things all turning to waste?

Why so much time spent in the car?
Why pay the forces to police such a state?
Why are the answers all at the bar?
Why do we always turn up so late?

Where are our parents, are they at home?
Where are our children, how have they learned?
How much are we paying to feel in the zone?
Just look out the window at what we have earned.

Humanity, where are you, who are you, what is your fate?
Above all, why is there a beggar down at the gate?
Sf copyright

The Word

bird-wall

Out of the dissolute body came the word
Winging its way, winging its way to where
Out of the past a reptilian bird
Where do they go and what can they bear
Why do they whistle, what is their ware
Just to make sense of sun, moon and star
To capture a heart and move it fair?
Out of this nought a first protozoa

Love reformed grace
At the pace of the tortoise, a hare
From the soiled body, into the solid body
Appearance and shapes to spare

Sf copyright

Heaven on the A14

a14
and a Big breakfast that goes a long way

Caravan, caravan I hear you calling
Through the hissing of hot tarmac
The sun broke through to enlighten this scene
Of sausage, black pudding, bacon and beans
From a lovely fat lady in greasy jeans
All lipstick, ‘hello love’, and ‘ketchup on that?’
Steamed up windows and a world racing by
Whoosh whoosh, whoosh caravan’s rocking, and so am I

Here comes my tea in a cracked cup
Slopping all over as I slurp it up
Here’s a big trucker bursting a button
All eyes averted from his builder’s bottom
Finds himself a seat, the lady has seen
Asks for his breakfast without any beans
The windows steamed up and the world racing bye
Slow, slow food fit for a king and his queen

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, caravan rocking a rock-a-bye-bye
Sing their little bit of heaven on the A14

Sf copyright

Hubris

has it ever occurred to you
that you’re held in contempt
because you are contemptible?

You  Ozymandias have declared yourself

outside the realm of normal men

you who had greatness thrust down at you

they the bearers of your good estate

outside the realm of normal doubts or cares

they who were deprived by your gain

they who are now  deceived by lack of wit

they who are not revolting as you declare

but, supportive of your myth, they do not dare
but be submissive, contrive to leave you as Percy said
Buried, all together, just as dead
Sf copyright

Life cycle

Life cycle

My formula for life is very simple: in the morning, wake up; at night, go to sleep. In between I try and occupy myself as best I can.
Cary Grant. actor

Every day Sun comes up Sun goes down
Socks on socks off
Every day people wake, do and dream
Socks get soiled socks get cleaned, so do feet
and ten thousand other things

These are all choices; love, hate, joy, grief
To go with the flow or let time be thief