Saturday, 30 October 2010

Lines written in dejection near Brighton

As books sell cheap in jumble sales,
I bought a library for pence,
non-fiction mainly, being male
and rating knowledge and commonsense
more highly than the stuff of novels -
fantasy, romance, suspense.

I didn't read them straightaway,
thinking to keep them for old age
when, too decrepit then to play
my usual sports or even engage
in gardening, I'd train each day
with exercise in turning the page.

But now I'm nearly at that state,
I start to wonder what's the use.
My pub quiz knowledge doesn't rate
as wisdom even if abstruse
and since my death will wipe my slate,
what difference if I stay obtuse?

I've tried to understand this life -
the universe and Man's place in it
but science discoveries are so rife
knowledge multiplies by the minute
while mankind causes so much strife
I don't see any likely limit.

Civilisation is just veneer
covering pre-historic urges
and nothing I can do to steer
people away from the stress of scourges
affecting modern life which year
by year inexorably surges.

Sapience on a simian base
in retrospect is nothing great.
Intelligence helps to fuel the chase
for status and power and not abate
the age old, ape-like conflict race
but rather just augment that state.

I know the privileged still protect
their interests now the same as always
while the less fortunate expect
big changes only through the lotteries.
Goodwill is not enough to effect
any improvement on entrenched ways.

So if I can't catch up with facts
and know enough of human nature,
why bother with my published tracts?
Yet how will I occupy my future?
The depressing fact is that it lacks
any sort of attractive feature.

So will I soon resort to ChickLit,
RomCom, murder mystery plots;
be bored by radio comedy wit
or doze through daytime TV slots?
Or should I rather learn to knit
or practise tying different knots?

The truth is I am losing the battle
for meaningful life. Time to retreat
and start the process of withdrawal.
While not acknowledging defeat,
even this verse on which I toil
heads for the button marked DELETE.

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