I recognise there are higher values
than rectifying a wrong by revenge.
Violence, not reasonable to excuse.
Realise that injustice just extends.
It does not feel good to be so passive
in reacting, when so much turbulence.
But, from a nightmare course, best inactive
Not want any more grief at own expense.
Time and ‘blind eyes’ helps the hurt be coped with,
‘though still think those perpetrators are scum.
To other matters my mind devoted.
The deep scars just a blemish have become.
Humans, report says, have murderous gene.
If so, my response better than may seem.
The ‘accidental’ sexuality.
Put within reach of opportunity.
Encouraged by their informality
to go further. With incredulity?
Urging on to ‘mishap’ mutually.
Some might call “irresponsibility”.
Possible, while have the capacity.
Act, just then. It isn’t permanently.
Surely, felt the force of reproduction.
Did not seem that deliberately planned.
Alcohol helped forge the introduction.
God’s will, otherwise may well have been banned.
The child then swaps the cap for the mitre.
His origins, later on, made lighter.
‘Eight miles high’ light flashing across the sky.
Illuminated presence like a star.
Powerful engines, on which must rely.
On its way from here to somewhere afar.
And who would think its light could flash so bright?
Clear, unobstructed passage to my eyes.
White milk droplets in the transparent night.
Showing, to down here, a starlit disguise.
It could be an alien craft’s journey.
Or a high-powered military jet.
A long-distance traveller, more likely.
For many hours in the air, I expect.
Just possibly a drone or satellite.
Whatever see, it’s ‘eight miles high’ tonight.
They did not believe old Galileo
when he said that the earth moved, not the sun.
To the Inquisition he had to go
and recant the blasphemy he had spun.
The Bible, if taken literally,
asserted that earth is a fixed planet,
so heliocentrism could not be.
His claim that it was, would have to ban it.
So, old Galileo faced disaster.
Even with his retraction, house arrest.
Could not express his belief, thereafter.
His science choked by religious excess.
But, as the world goes ‘round, it was all change,
and Galileo’s movement best explained.
Upon which, adults would mostly agree.
Destruction of the physicality.
Personal fate that is certain to be.
Impossible, real immortality.
But then there is the beyond, and belief.
A feeling of spirituality.
A faith to hold on to, even in grief.
Something in individuality.
It may be a by-product of the brain.
Some sort of self identity feature.
Aspiration, despite death, to attain.
Placing, other than as a mere creature.
or not so, Spirit’s continuation.
What to make of the metaphysical?
Some existence beyond the bodily.
It goes together with the mystical.
In a form our senses, here, cannot see.
A hope for the dead, drives the idea.
And that is personal, for the future.
Can’t believe that will simply disappear.
Totally gone? don’t want to be too sure!
Think the spirit or the soul may live on.
An essence of me in the vast expanse.
Religions name heaven, hell, God, when gone.
In some, reincarnation gets a chance.
Whatever, compliance to Nature’s rules,
however much imagine ghosts and ghouls.
“I can’t make up my mind” Stevie Smith wrote,
“if God is good, impotent or unkind.”
Like a man, not a Godly sort of bloke,
likely more on the crude side than refined.
Good when it comes to Nature’s nurturing,
but that’s appropriate to a Goddess.
Could think of as a benevolent king,
but he’d just as easy dish-out distress.
Impotent; unable to change events.
That godliness is close to negligence,
or uselessness, if that concept makes sense.
Maybe it’s deliberate indolence.
That, though, well on the way to unkindness.
And, here on earth, know of cruelty’s excess.
It’s creepy, this repeat of the X-Files.
A flat worm, with an almost human face,
grown large, and with characteristics wild,
lurking in polluted, deep water place.
It current that six enormous sperm whales
beached, like they’re huge rocks, on the Norfolk coast.
Their ‘safety at sea’ mechanism failed
Their lives, washed up this way, so sadly closed.
Then, hear told, are worms alive without brains.
Obscurities, science has discovered.
The Zika virus causing smaller brains
to babies, in the news. Bite, mum suffered
from a mosquito. Strange, and that’s no lie.
Call for Mulder and Scully; they’ll know why.
The dark world. That’s what this is, the dark world.
Night-times pitch blackness, when should be asleep.
When quiet stillness is suitably held.
And dreams and their makers can, again, meet.
It is when passivity has its day.
Rest within. The lights restlessness away.
Amazing recovery on its way.
Healing quality making this okay.
The night-sky has a presence that’s sincere.
If a glow, it’s silver not yellow-gold.
Yet, the darkness those serious, revere.
In its own form of mellow, the soul lulled.
Dark of a womb or, perhaps, of a grave.
But now I assume my life it will save.
If Jesus , now, was a homeless beggar
sitting on the pavement outside a shop,
if asked to contribute, wonder whether
you would actually do so, or not.
Trouble is, there are so many of them,
knowing the one, simply inhibited.
Would you, perhaps, give to, say, one in ten;
and, be generous or mean spirited.
Could be, now, Jesus is a refugee;
a migrant, possibly deemed illegal.
To be not allowed here, would you agree?
Think nothing to do with good and evil.
At least give the vagrant Jesus a nod.
He has the riches of a son of God.
How unnecessary the suicides.
Self-annihilation for ill-purpose.
Futility, failure, … being derides.
Depression denies chance for resurgence.
Of course, circumstances not as would wish.
Could be pretty rotten; even feel trapped.
Not see a way in which, these, can dismiss.
Ending viewed as only means to dispatch.
But is not a suitable solution.
The problem, just that. Not too hard to bear.
May feel bad about the ‘resolution’.
But still alive, need not so deeply care.
Even personal shame can be displaced.
The reason for own life-taking replaced.
What a beautiful blue light on the church,
with green ivy growing up the side wall.
Yellow light, without too much of a search,
compliments the blue, in way magical.
Some yellow bulbs, even, shine in the blue,
colouring the large leaded-glass window.
From where I’m standing, a delightful view.
Saint, named after, would be proud of this glow.
Historic church readied for performance.
Showing off its external quality.
There, hundreds of years, shows its endurance.
Now, a wonderful sight for me to see.
Its prettiness, in this light, to savour.
Lucky me, at this time. It my neighbour.