Saturday, 20 September 2008
For all I have wrote within these pages Ne’er doth my Soul waste, as the body ages; Some verse to find at times brings pain, Yet causeth not the heart’s flow to wane But pump more strongly, with added vigour, Each line an exertion of Literal Rigour. If I was deaf, and dumb and blind, Still would the Muse take hold this mind; Mayhap a poet I shalt never be, But in Life once breathed the Scent of Immortality.
If thee hath drawn a Smile of Late,
From all mine Hand herein Wrote,
Pray, as I tread afore Heaven’s Gate,
Cast Saint Pete’ thy Assenting Vote.
If my Prose gave Food for Thought
And may Stand against Time’s Duration,
Then I Wasted not my Muse for Naught
If ‘twill Earn me Just Salvation.
Yet if my Verse offends thine eye,
And whom might know to tell,
Perhaps Eternity lies not in the Sky
But to stoke the Fires of Hell.
In all my life’s days and dark, dreamless nights,
Ne’er afore shone this most Brilliant of Lights,
To bathe mine infirm body and tormented mind;
From far ‘cross the Ether gives sight to eyes blind.
Without and within, it warms my crippled joints,
Cleanses mine Soul, and as a halo anoints
The crown of my head, rendering such bliss;
Ah, these pains of Mortality I shall never miss.
A hand raises me up, and we float, silent, away,
Gone are the agonies of each passing day;
Farewell my body, a friend before age
Cast you as a foe, with the turn of Youth’s page.
‘Tis the greatest of pities man decays and grows old,
His wild nights of Passion become lonely and cold;
But I now venture on, borne aloft by His hand,
As the top of Life’s glass is emptied of sand.
Along the path life’s passage wends
Are few milestones set to mark my Friends,
For no man could true fulfil that task
And be as I : give aught they might ask.
Unto a Friend one should surrender all
When’er his need takes voice to call,
Yet by this rule he must return the same,
If a Friend cries out in Friendship’s name.
Aye, many offer a hand, and many seek,
That Grail of which I herein speak;
Though one alone has proved in Life
To be a True Friend : my Eternal Wife.
I spied a brace of Geezenstacks come loping through the night,
Followed by a unicorn, with eyes lit fiery-bright;
A spectre sat astride the steed, with hourglass in hand,
And watched with morbid pleasure as the top ran out its sand.
On across the swamp they jogged, with nary a slosh nor splash,
The only sound apparent was the Devil’s Hell-Hound lash
As it fell upon his panting wolves and stung their rabid jaws;
Driving fast to Purgatory, as steam rose from tempered paws.
Then I saw their quarry, stumbling up a rocky scarp,
An Archangel, with wings broken, clutching tight a precious harp;
Golden-threaded raiments hung in tatters down his back,
And blood trickled from the wounds left by a taloned Geezenstack.
Then I saw the Hand of God reach down, to mark a distinct line,
That naught of Evil Ways might cross to slay His angel fine,
Then the sky exploded, as the Earth and Sun ‘came one,
And awaking from my dream, stark reality had gone.
Dreams becoming nightmares, recurring over and again;
Excesses of strong liquor, and fine, uncut cocaine,
Are freaking out my psyche, burning up the brain.
A search for Cosmic Wisdom, now rendered me insane.
Who wants to live Forever ? All declare Me! and Me! and Me!
After reaching sixty-five the whole Shebang’s for Free,
But can a Welfare State shoulder the burden of Immortals
Trooping every Friday through the Cornucopia’s portals ?
Perhaps a Legislative Amendment to elevate retirement age,
Far beyond three score and five set the qualifying gauge,
Keep the Masses in Servitude, seven centuries should do,
Before granting Pension’s Pasture and their annuities due.
Who wants to live Forever ? Perchance a few might quail,
Upon studying the Protocols to attain this Esoteric Grail,
A purge of dogmatic nutritional habits may induce disquiet
When all Fried nosh be expunged from the Dictionary of Diet,
For the Key to Biblical Longevity, with a euphoric sprightly gait,
Lies not in Cabalistic Ritual, but what Lies upon thy Plate.
So to those errant Parsivals, who on such Quests might go,
Thy Odysseys are ended, the Catholicon’s secret lies below.
A daily diet’s regimen, one of raw vegetables and fruits,
Eschew the spleen of pork pies or sausage in pastry suits,
To all confectioneries and sugars, bid a sad Farewell,
Their pathway leads not to Heaven, but the bowels of Hell.
Five black grapes, diurnal, and masticate the pips,
Then ingest their substance, though bitter on the lips,
Three almonds precisely ensures Immunity from Cancer,
This therapy warrants Centenarians the virility of a Lancer.
A teaspoon of virgin olive oil, a gill of soured lactic milk,
A knob of green ginger pure, but no other rhizome’s ilk,
Chaw a brace of raw garlic cloves with thy daily meal,
A panacea for all mortal ills, and the smell is no big deal.
The condiment of salt, too, is banished from the table
Adequate in root herbage to keep Men strong and able,
Feast on the grains in all their forms, natural and unrefined,
For white bread be a Death Warrant, awaiting to be Signed.
Worship the Humble Onion, the purple-hued more than white,
And revere the Tomato for his Concealed Potent Might.
Forswear of strong coffee, limit intake to one black cup,
Tisanes of red clover and the demure plantain should sup.
Adios to mephitic fast foods at the local Chew and Spew,
And imbibing to Saturation on thy favoured dram or brew,
Unto Nicotine’s dedicated votaries, avoid flagrant excess,
Though no detriment in sweet Tobacco’s occasional caress.
The next imposed requirement will come as no surprise,
A committed weekly schedule to cardio-vascular exercise.
Afore the ensuing remedial, medical science might pale,
Partake of six glasses that puissant nectar, Adam’s Ale,
‘Twill fortify the Inner Self, tormented guts wax placid,
Keeps the body slightly alkali and dilutes baneful acid.
Embrace the bee’s production, far doth she forage and roam,
One tablespoon of wild honey, intact with pollen and comb.
Close up thy gawking maw, the nose alone draws breath,
Deeply, down to the groin, to belay maladies, and Death.
Strive toward the Great Becoming, a prize not so elusive,
This byway to Hygeia’s graces be veracious and conclusive
If thee spurns the seductive calls of Cuisine’s Prostitution,
Man, the Physical Bastion, with a Supernatural Constitution.
One basic healing proverb, that Time hath proven true,
Never worry selfish Worry, until Worry worries You;
Thrive on the analeptic benefits of Eternal Optimism,
Bias towards cynical trends invites a Spiritual schism,
Laugh squarely in the faces, of Tribulation and Adversity,
Provide Pessimism’s specter no welcome mat or courtesy.
For Men embrace neuroses, and are apt to fret deliriously,
Life itself might be abridged if one takes it too Seriously.
Mayhap this therapeutic Formula earns thy acute disdain,
But as the Maxim clearly states : without Pain there is no Gain.
Man hath become sad victim of aberrant culinary tradition,
For Sickness does not Exist, it’s a Symptom of the Condition.
So pile upon my Heresies the hot coals of Condemnation,
If thee harbours no care to outlive the younger generation,
Yet whatever your Aspirations, for thy Life and Situation,
Practice Moderation in all of things, especially Moderation.