Who is on First?

Rahab, that according to the bible was getting laid,
Working the oldest profession, for which she was paid,
It seems there is troubling disagreement on fact,
Which was first? Prostitution? Or a political act,
By todays information we cannot conclude either way,
The jury is out and it seems that out it will stay,



My shadow and I are no longer talking,
We stopped talking and do our separate walking,
He walks the days when the strong sun hits from above,
I walk the nights to avoid his un-welcomed persistent love,
Let it be a lesson to learn, for my ex dark shadow that was,
Even if I break (in the process) a few old physics laws,


Once we had ideas and smarts, a list very long,
We had Socrates, Voltaire, Aristotle, Plato, and Jung,
Ideas were written, published, scribbled and crafted,
Rewritten, edited, reviewed, reworded, compiled and amended,
We used chisels and pencils, quills, ballpoints and fountain pens,
Those days when content counted and words were intense,
Today, pen and pencil, quill, even the chisel are all gone,
Today, instead we have our know it all smartphone,
Who needs smarts, when with a line and a click,
You can be twitting like a president and be a dick,

They Do Ask Questions

How do children come to the world and who is to blame,
Why does a steak taste better on the BBQ and an open flame?
Why is ice cream allowed only after I have finished dinner?
How is it that father is so fat and mother is much thinner?
Why a dog barks, cat meows, bird sings and my brother farts,
Why the French have fine cuisine, fine cheese and fine arts,
Then she asked, why the sky is blue and the sea has waves,
Why does the good Moses invest and the good Jesus saves,
I realise her need to know grows as she grows older it is fine,
But for god’s sake in two months she will turn forty nine,

Stop Time

When you paint or take a picture, a moment in time,
You have frozen history, stopped life on a dime,
Your painting or picture like the story of Dorian Gray,
Will forever remain the same and young shall stay,
Around us, all will grow old, wither slowly away, and fade,
Some lazily, some fast, some even at a faster rate,
Only your painting or your picture will be unchanged,
As life and living, has been so methodically arranged,
Take picture and paint, stop time in its hasty course,
Stop time as much as you can, so you will have no remorse,

Afternoons through the Window

In the afternoons I watch through the window’s glass,
Over the park, seventh floor, the view is first class,
There are cars and motorcycles, children and mothers,
Bicycles and dogs, grey squirrels and at times fathers,
Birds fly above, seagulls and geese and the occasional jay,
Playful in their flight, wild, one may call it a horseplay,
Sitting like this in the afternoon sun, drinking my tea,
I came to the only possible conclusion, who needs TV?

Your Name

Have you ever considered the meaning of your name?
Do you fulfill a prophecy with pride, or maybe shame?
Is it traditional, biblical, ancestral, or just because,
After your grandpa, your grandma or trauma that was,
Maybe a bird or a sound, a day or a month, like May,
Named after the wild predator or you are the prey,
Be your name what it may consider it is yours to the end,
On your headstone to be chiselled forever my friend,
Treat your name well, spoil it, and make it stand proud,
After all, it is your name, so speak it out, loud