Tag: The Good Book

There must be something wrong with me

Published on by Maciej ModzelewskiLeave a comment

And the king ordered that the goatherd and his family be lodged in the chamberlain’s palace, and the chamberlain in the goatherd’s hut; and recommended the moral of this tale to all who heard it.
The Good Book. Parables. 21:20. Made by A. C. Grayling (2016)

There must be something wrong with me to doubt
the words brought under a secular banner.

There must be something wrong with me to see
neither the kind poor nor the selfish rich, but a ruthless monarch
who dictates the fate of his subjects at whim.

There must be something wrong with me to think
that replacing a cleric with a sage solves all my dilemmas.

But when even the Scriptures have allowed themselves one sceptic,
isn’t incredulity our duty?

What does it mean to be a poet?

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What is the worth of mere words, if their true meanings make no difference to what a man does?
The Good Book. Parables. 11:7. Made by A. C. Grayling (2016)

Sometimes I wonder if I’m still capable of expressing a genuine, unadulterated awe
like my daughter does. It’s like facing Wendy Beckett—whom I enjoyed watching
wander through the world’s greatest museums and art galleries, but whose attire
always left an unpleasant aftertaste on me—when the hours of my youth are no more,
and so is my conviction, yet I cling to the mores that the social inertia has instilled in me.

Perhaps that’s exactly what it means to be a poet.

The Decalogue: Be courageous

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If there were a healing cream for the soul,
like the one I use for eczema, perhaps I could stop scratching the itch
after you left (you weren’t expecting anything more, like pain, let alone despair, were you?).
Oh well, the occasional rom-com or dramedy will do instead, I guess.
After all, sometimes it takes more courage to step back from life
than to cling to the roles it imposes.

The Decalogue: Be kind

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How kind of me to drop a tenner into the battered polystyrene cup
of that poor bloke sleeping on the pavement outside the bank!
Don’t believe me? Check out my last tweet.

How kind of me to help the new guy at work,
even though he is so incompetent that he would be better off doing something else,
but he never listens to me on the latter!

How kind of me to always put so much thought into the presents
I give my relatives and friends! Like last Christmas, when I gave my older sister
‘The Essential Atkins for Life Kit.’

And speaking of life-enhancing writing, isn’t it kind of me
to share my life experience,
and all for free?

Sorry, mate, but it’s not—it’s all condescending.

The Decalogue: Be informed

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‘Your welcome—my pleasure’ was my running pun for a long time,
until I learnt that the phrase was actually ‘you’re welcome.’
Who would have thought that acquiring knowledge could ruin
a perfectly fine equivoque? At least now, I know that right from the start,
they weren’t hinting at not wearing out my welcome.

The Decalogue: Do your utmost

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My mistress, the soul, has never transcended
her affair with my ever-decaying soma,
like an old lady to the bitter end watering flowers
on her abusive husband’s grave. And yet, as I learn
old man tricks—an afternoon game of dominoes
and speaking fluent pigeon—and can curb my urges,
she still insists on one more shot at l’amour vrai.
Perhaps a tad of The Swan of Avon will do the trick.
After all, nothing soothes the soul like a verse
after a day of debauchery.

The Decalogue: Respect nature

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Washing pills down with herbal tea,
like an evil bailiff, I contemplate the worth
of words born within the context
of a universe in slippers and flannels.

There is nothing wrong with seeking
restitution, but where does the respect
for war come from—just because it puts
every man on trial? So does primal solitude.

And I can understand the good intentions
behind the wish for a simple life in a cabin,
but even when faced with a point of no return,
no one likes to be petted, including nature.

The Decalogue: Take responsibility

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How long does it take to live fifty years?
Longer than the blink of an eye, but not as long as you might expect,
sounds about right. Then come all the accretions that stick like a crust
until you can’t tell them apart from your own skin. And when one day
you no longer cry over the shape of your heart, all that’s left is regret
that she threw away your perfectly good wellies, along with the name
you had traded for all the wrong reasons.

The Decalogue: Think for yourself

Published on by Maciej ModzelewskiLeave a comment

Could one nonsensical question plus one nonsensical answer
equal one heck of a clever retort?

If someone asked whether the universe would descend into chaos
if one plus one equals two were disproved

and someone else, in response, suggested adding a litre of water
to a litre of sand, pairing rabbits, or changing the radix,

then perhaps it could—as an exercise in rhetoric, not the result
of an abundance of free time and unlimited access to the net.