A Poor Crop

If my tomato plants could speak

They would surely sing with praise

About the tidy greenhouse

As they enjoy summer days

 

Grow bags lined up precisely

Canes readied for support

Windows open for fresh air

A perfect life in short

 

Why, then, do they bear so little

Of the round and deep red fruit

It offends me and seems selfish

Of that there’s no dispute

 

Each evening I check in on them

Down the winding garden path

But their offerings are so paltry

I think they’re having a laugh

 

My neighbour says they’re dying

But how can he be sure

He says they must need feeding

But, like watering, at that I’m poor

 

A Very Brief History Of The Cosmos

Out of nowhere a BANG takes place

Energy and matter now exist in space

Positive, negative, normal and dark

Atoms and strange particles, including the quark

 

Time is born; and its arithmetic

The cosmic clock makes its very first tick

Entropy increases, with empirical truth

Universe expanding, throughout its youth

 

Attractive forces come into play

Gravity, one such, holding sway

In gaseous clusters, suns start to glow

Forming heavier atoms in their fiery throe

 

Worlds coalesce from cosmic dusts

Atmospheres, weather, primordial crusts

Eons passing in galaxies rife

Goldilocks zones, permitting life

 

Normal matter, of which we’re made

Dark stuff, more common, cannot be weighed

Its job, invisible, to hold things in place

As we hurtle through the cosmos at a frantic pace

 

Rav(ages) of Time

Body; once lithe, now weary and weakening

Memories; once clear, now fossilised and fading

Faculties; once keen, now base and blunt

Senses; once sharp, now unreliable and uncertain

Voice; once resounding, now timorous and trembling

Gait; once certain, now wavering and wobbly

Hands; once steady, now capricious and clumsy

Friends; once constant, now flagging and fickle

House; once pristine, now dusty and damp

Garden; once welcoming, now disregarded and decayed

Future; once limitless, now finite and fixed

Any Cat Can

Sit patiently looking at a closed door

….willing it to open

Curl endearingly in front of an open fire

….daring it to spark

Look witheringly from its bowl to you

…..showing distain for your meagre offering

Scurry frantically from its litter tray

….denying responsibility for the smell

Lie contentedly in your lap ‘til your legs ache

….expecting you to stroke its head

Sleep soundly for most of the day

….allowing you to tidy its house