Rolling in the deep

The water falling over the weir
has gouged a deep pool in the stream
where floating objects are often trapped
by the bubbling upswelling undertow.

A ball or apple sometimes bobs here
rolling forever it would seem
but a new-rain swollen current snaps
the invisible shackle. Then the flow

carries the freed captive nearer
the sea while the patient pool schemes
its next loth guest as the level laps
down to its usual low.

But today's new prisoner was quite bizarre -
a drowned adult hedgehog, legs and arms
spread stiffly akimbo like a star
rolling doll-like sideways tirelessly,
its distended belly flashing white
in a desperate pirouette of death
it could never achieve in life.

Though menstruation is a curse,
ejaculation might be worse
not just for all the grunts and groans,
clenching of teeth, orgasmic moans
but all the time that goes to waste
endeavouring to be un-chaste.
Like elephants men go through 'must'
when nothing matters except lust,
their only thought - they must have sex
which turns them into mental wrecks.
Testosterone destroys the brain
and renders young men quite insane
while older men who should know better
crumble before a well filled sweater.
At last when they achieve their end
and work it off, it does suspend
the tension for a time at least
and let the man succeed the beast.
Old age might be the only cure
but even that is not so sure.
Without some menopause for men
the sexual urge continues when
there's little chance to satisfy it
with love and all that's left is buy it
which makes one's eve undignified
coping with throbbings of noon-tide.

Are you so wise that love means nothing

to take it in your stride?

Or are these mountains only molehills,

is that what you would chide?

Still, in a land of molehills

mountain making earns some pride.

The end of life is life.

Life doesn't have a meaning but a purpose -

the continuation of a species.

The only end to life is extinction of a species.

If by 'meaning' you refer to purpose

then its purpose is its aim

which is its end.

So the end of life is life - more life.

Death is an unfortunate side effect.

Supermarket incident

We reached the zebra crossing together,
two young guys and me.
They were intent on crossing the road
just where I happened to be
walking along with my weekly shop.
In a car of course I would certainly stop
but must I give way with a trolley ?

Something bumped the window

in a flurry of feathers
and in the back garden

a black and white streak

saw a magpie fly off

with a sparrow in its beak.

"Every death is a tragedy" she said
about the current coronavirus.
"Black lives matter" the banners read
but not just black since all lives matter.
Just not all equally though. Instead
age matters more than colour
for staying alive or being dead.
One crucial point to bear in mind
concerns what future would be wasted
by a death. For those very old
who've had long lives already,
dying is always imminent
with little future left ahead.
Of course few people want to die
and it's very sad if old folk dread
the end of life. But ignoring the young
and their future is to be mislead.
Death may be sometimes a release
when the scissors of fate cut the thread.