End Game

 

 

 

 

 

Attention!
Revision!

Some tension?
Prevention.

Retension?
Distension!

Extension?
Dissention.

Pretension?
Detention.

Convention?
Contention.

Ascension?
Suspension.

Sans vision.
Invention!

Fuck! Gimme
my pension.

Life

 

 

I found myself in a bit of a pother,
mazed, frazzled when thinking
about existence, a lifetime bother
that has brief moods sinking,

so turned to others to help me out
of the dither and panic and flap.
A number are guides, well out of doubt,
and some provided a map.

One says she feels a single notion,
answer, faith will lead
to harming mankind’s forward motion:
freedom’s a critical need.

Another advises making a choice –
evolution or faith or chance.
Will the best option give me a voice
or end in a merry dance?

A further adds that building awareness,
it’s fumbling, stumbling, tumbling,
is part of striving, but seeming unfairness
sometimes leaves me crumbling.

Yet one more says existence rose
from me, from you, the living
and non-living. Her pointer shows
what multitudes are giving.

There’s much wisdom to mull over here
from this worthy band.
It’s to end, cease, finish, I fear,
tramping around the theme, and

my conclusion about existence?
I’ve too much time on hand.
It’s better by far to go life’s distance
than writing on the strand.

Failed

 

 

Anac’luthon’s nowt but pain
my knee’s all achery just now
it’s enough to drive you sane.
The cure is tea. I make it how

my mother did - there I lie;
I never teapot it and sleep
but mug a bag miss the high
it’s time for up I need to steep.

Titania Corleone

 

 

 

 

 

Alack! Alas!
Here’s Bottom’s arse
and I wish his head
weren’t in my bed.