“Odd”, Is He? (Geddit?)

The most remotest shores I’ve seen,
Where no one’s ever been, I’ve been,
Without a chart to see me safe,
Yes, I have travelled.  I have been!

In the bitter spills and trays of ash,
And the smoke and sordid talking trash,
In the mucky minds stewed up on hash,
The story weaves its thread.

By waterways of English past,
Through mucky fields where cattle gasp,
In  poison which the tractors cast,
The thread is woven still.

Go in the bar: the world creeps in,
Fill the bath, all life begins,
And in the mirror, behind your grin,
The cosmos has another plan.

The spouse was in the past of time,
When an author’s form was grabbed in rhyme,
In the universe’s pantomime,
To the power of it all.

The wizard-boffins scoff and scoul,
Drip bullshit from their pompous jowls,
“No soul in maths” the peasants howl,
And they leave the truth behind.

And the groupie crew who they call sluts,
In equally demented ruts,
Muttering self-inflated “tuts”,
Bemoan life just as much.

But the spell is woven endlessly,
Pervading those with strength to see,
To release a hold on what should be,
To be all that they should.

But it’s just a laugh!
All the lyrical lines the poets craft,
Dismiss it, I’m just being daft,
Or am I? Ho ho ho.

Yea, The Taxman playeth even now,
Inescapable from the the cursed flow,
Is it mad or is it Dao?
In Shakespeare’s rub-a-dub.

“He’s mad that bloke! And here’s the proof.
The words expose he’s lost his roof”
Gosh her legs are nice.  Foresooth!
She looks about in her mid forties.  I wouldn’t say no.  Hmm, very attractive.

So the words go on but where’s the cup?
If I pour the wine and you hold it up,
You’ll wind up with a drink to sup,
If you close your mind you can’t.

Mysteriously wind the rhymes,
Enigmatically entwined,
The coded references hide,
The answer of it all.

Wanna change?  Wanna grow?
No and yes? Well, yes or no?
Gotta change, ‘cause change is growth,
So “yes” and “yes”, ye gads tis truth!

Maintain the course against the gale,
Against the tide, keep taught the sails,
And a safe return to tell the tale,
Now focus on the course.

The sirens of the rocks try hard,
To pull the vessel from its task,
“Now where’s my love?” their laments ask,
But the crew did keep the course.

On a paper bag in a drinkers’ den,
The Universe doth move a pen,
And the power of it all again,
Is there for all to see.

The anger moves it all along,
And motivates the preacher’s tongue,
Turns hatred to a better song,
And love shall rise from pain.


Bliss occurs along the way,
Rewards in passion, happy days,
When souls unite in sensual haze,
Thank us for that joy.

The privilege exists inside me,
Like a jewel from Mars it prides me,
And I’ll use my prize to guide me,
For the benefit of all.

Returning with the rarest bounty,
From an epic journey to an English county,
From the unseen world to backward taunts,
And settle in a chair.

And the world still spins,
And the mad still grin,
In plastic lives with souls of tin.
What matters anyway?