My eyes blur
At yet another sum
The world undone
The beauty of a page of maths
Neatly set up
Pen ink pressed into the paper.
The rows of order
Of logic defined
So clear when I teach it
No where do I find.
What a way to start the day
Dawn a breaking
A gentle breeze
No sign of the excessive humidity
laying in bed
Enjoying the calmness before the day
Oh how pleasant
It would be
For this day to continue like the early morn.
I’m running out of time
I’m getting really slack
The shorter daylight hours
Have me running out of whack.
I used to wake at 4am
Leaving plenty of time to blog
Now it’s dark until it’s time to rise
The night is such a hog.
I must get into the habit
Of posting later in the day
Otherwise all my followers
Will simply fade away.
It’s the end of the day
And I am tired
Drained and sapped
My spirit discharged
A hard day of work
Slogging over a computer
Responding to emails
Of other hard working folk
I am tired
I want a holiday
And yet the inside of me cringes
I think of my hard working farming relatives
Day after day
Up with the birds
Hard physical yakka
Til daylight’s end
And then there’s the worry
Of rain, crops and sales
A price drop
A crop glut
A plague of pests
Coming to them
I know that at the end of each day
I can feed my family
I can pay my bills
But what of those equally hardworking folk
That get paid only once or twice a year
And in some years don’t get paid at all.
I am tired, yet I get a weekend
I am tired, yet I get regular pay.
Worries and stresses seem less when you compare them
To someone who may be worse off this day.
I often wonder why
We still insist to survive
When the world is clearly done
With those it is done with.
My mother told a tale
Of an infant quite some months old
This baby had been born
With fluid on the brain.
Now every two or three days
The brain did need to be drained
This infant could do nothing
Not feed, nor babble, nor move
And it’s prospect for the future
Was not a different one.
No hope of getting better
No hope of any improvement
All that draining the brain did
Was to lengthen “life”
But what is life if you just lie there
Are not capable of movement;
Are not capable of communication;
Are not capable of digesting.
My mother often wondered
If this baby was better off left
No brain draining to occur
No interference to be had.
We all have an endpoint
A time that we don’t know
A time when fate will call us
And we will have to go.
We can fight for the best out come
We can enjoy our life
What I don’t know the answer too
Is how long should we linger for?
I would hate to be without words
With no way to communicate
With no comprehension of the world
Locked up in my body,
Locked up in my head.
I could live without a limb
I could live without some organs
I could handle some level of pain
If I could ambulate my self some how
And interact with the world in some form
All this is fine
But if I could not talk to you
If I could not express
If I lose my brain
Then I wonder, would I be better off left?
Meander is to take some turns
Gentle and winding ones,
Paths that take you through the woods
And to the rocky outposts,
Sometime up undulations
Sometimes climbing mountains.
The point about meandering
Is the outcome is the unknown
Much like the life
We meander through.
As I have my weekend lie in
A thought occurs to me
I have an assignment to write
I have revision sheets to read
I have a thousand things to do
But they do not appeal to me
I know that if I get up
And use this quiet time
My brain will feel much better
I can leave the work behind
I can enjoy my cross stitch
Or gardening and a run
I can enjoy my weekend
Spend some time in the warm autumn sun.
And yet I’d rather be writing
Or doing anything else
Than spending a quiet morning
Trying to engrose myself in my “real” job.
The head is foggy
I’d have to eat
And then I’d do the washing
All the while wasting energy
Convincing myself that I’d rather be free
Of school work for another weekend
Take the half day and get it done
Then tomorrow I spend time in the sun
Time with the family
When they are not busy
Get up, get up and just get it done
Get that school work under your thumb.
Sometimes you come across a kid
Gangly, long haired and somewhat off kilter
We’ve placed this otherwise normal human
In, what for some, resembles antiquation.
This child, by mid teens is in an adult body
With adult wants and adult games.
They want the supposed freedom of working
Of learning skills that schools simply do not teach.
And yet we legislate
“Stay in school”
“You’re too young”
“You’re too unlearned”
But this then belittles all the others,
Our elders, our parents, our friends,
The ones who left school, yet made it out there.
What would happen if there was another way?
Another style of formal education.
What would happen if these unsuited ones
Could work in a job, and learn just the same.
Would this provide better learning for others?
Would this provide better learning for them?
A horse let to water, will not always drink
The same too of our children, led to formal education.
A child, when given the “right” environment
Will always learn, and yearn to learn.
So is school really the “right” environment
For the ones who would rather be elsewhere?
The crow with it’s caw
A tweet of a smaller bird
Dewit of something else
The rumble of an engine
A mummer of chatter
The human kind on an early morning amble
It’s a restful time
That drags me awake
A kookaburra’s laugh
A conversation of Lorikeets
Perhaps the young ones are begging to go
Peace flows with the pace
No work to drive to today.
A lie in, sleep left long ago.
Oh I had a little one
A temper tandrum the other day.
I wanted it to be bigger
But tantrum would not come out and play.
I mean the toilet burst it’s banks
And flooded water every where
If there was anything else in it
I did not want to hear
(Or smell, or see)
The plumber couldn’t rescue us
Old cast iron ports do rust
We had to get the vent right off
To unflood that blocked up pipe.
The toilet, he was out of action
Over forty eight hours.
Off to the shops to use their one
When we needed too.
I wanted to have a tandrum
But there really was no point
For how would a tantrum unblock a drain
It would have only prolonged the pain.
‘Tis a shame to be so grown up.