Grace

The Sunday Sermon – well not really. Traditionally, today is the day of the big Sunday Dinner as we used to call it when I was child. Usually around 2pm or so (after the pub closed), it was an opportunity for the family to get together once a week around the dinner table and eat an unnecessarily large feast – which we all enjoyed thoroughly.

I do not come from a religious family, but having moved to Pennsylvania I am now surrounded by those so afflicted and who insist on “saying grace” before getting down to the hard work of scoffing every single meal and, these days, throwing away a significant amount of uneaten food afterwards.

So, as I am having one of my “down” days, brought on by the rainfall,  I offer my perspective. I am not expecting this to be popular.

 

~ Grace ~

Thank you, O unseen one for showing us Favor

Providing your bounty as something to Savour

As we feast on this Meal we praise our good Luck

That you care for US greatly as you don’t give a Fuck…

For those Others abroad in places far Flung

That are ruled by the Heathen and governed by Gun

But though many there Praise you, it seems not Enough

To calm Your huge ego so I guess that it’s Tough

For millions of Believers have only a Diet

Of promise of Heaven and so dare not to Riot

Against the Controls that are put into Place

To continue this Construct that plagues Human Race

So thanks once again, God, for sharing your Grace

And I’ll try not to Think of a starving child’s Face

Or ponder or question your Omnipotence

As I go through this daily Rite of pretence.

 

~Richard

 

Iambic pentameter

It has been two days since the 400th anniversary of the death of William Shakespeare, and although I made mention of him on my St George’s Day post, I didn’t have time to really call out the significance of the great bard.

This is my slightly belated homage to the man, master of the iambic pentameter:

160425-Shakespeare
The Chandos Portrait (unconfirmed authenticity)

~ Iambic pentameter ~

 

For the great bard it seemed so effortless;

To lay down one line after another

But for those of us lacking his clarity

It is really quite a difficult chore

For the form is not governed by syllables

As each line is more driven through rhythm

Of an emphasis followed by quietness.

In five forms of da-dum, da-dum, da-dum

It’s the iamb, or “foot”, that achieves this

Breathing life into the words on each line

And affords every reader some structure

to make sentences, to flow with much ease

But now, this description is concluding

There remains but one question unanswered

For the audience to ponder themselves

Is this an iambic pentameter?

~Richard

(with apologies to the Bard)

ABACAB, the genesis of a verse

~ ABACAB ~

 

Rhymes are often hard to see,

and may even cause self doubt.

They’re sometimes in couplets of three,

but it’s not always an obvious pattern.

And sometimes (not here) there’s no key

so the reader has to figure it out.

😉

~Richard

Surface Thoughts

160417_SurfaceThoughts

More fleeting than white horses

that rush in the foam,

these sparkling diamonds  

dance lightly on wavelets;

a brief but dazzling reflection

of our home star,

their fluttering white brightness

skates untroubled across rippling surface,

paths shaped by ephemeral  winds.

Like transient thoughts

they twinkle

when exposed.

No two moments the same.

~Richard

Haiku: Java

As I reported on an earlier post, I have been assisting my daughter with some Java programming recently, which has been both stimulating and frustrating. As today’s loose schedule calls for a haiku I thought I would use this as a subject matter, playing on the double meaning of the term…

~  J A V A  ~

Rather like caffeine

this ubiquitous language

awakens my brain

160413_DrJavaHaiku

~Richard

self help

~ self help ~

a surprise gift on my desk today:

a small paperback

with positive color and pointing arrows,

packed full of promises

of perfecting my personality;

meant to mold it

into another corporate citizen

who will nod and smile unquestioningly

at perfunctory platitudes

that stoke the share price,

and distract us from the realization

that we ourselves are but stock

in a world of cowering complicity,

from which I willingly help myself.

 

160408_Corporate

~Richard

More Dementor than Black Dog

Winnie’s black dog
crept upon him
during moments of stillness.
No lumbering Labrador;
this stealthy lupine,
like the Black Dog of old lore,
would hide in his shadows.
An artful defense
of paint, prose or construction
would keep the beast at bay,
at least for a time.

J.K gets much closer.
Her apparition:
a billowing cloak
that settles quietly,
leaden on your shoulders,
and clings, with a quiet cry to be fed.
Music works for a spell
but choose charms wisely.
For Dementors can consume these too
and cause a spiral of despair.

I heed Winnie’s advice
And take out a pen…

 

©Richard Reeve, 2016

 

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