A good lad

You think you're great mate, acting all aggro?
Turning up late and sat to chat in the back row?
Slave to no man they've never got your attention
Even though you know you'll just end up in detention
For ragging on and attacking the kids sat in the front
Who are just trying to learn you colossal cu....

Let's take a step back.
Write this message to the letter
This kind of attack
Is never gonna make things better

The cycle of profanity, a cycle of aggression
That's a very classical form of lesson
You've learnt it well, you've taken notes
It gripped you as you gripped kids by their throats

Now you're defensive
You know that you're in the wrong
But you don't get pensive
You just lash out at the throng

I don't know your past. You don't know your future
If you keep going this way there'll be wounds to suture
Events have led you to this place in life
Likely hardship, certainly strife

You must learn empathy. You must learn it quick.
That way you'll learn how not to be a dick.
The further you go on this path that you've found
The harder you'll find it to turn back around...

Kindness

I always have two lungfuls of air

To give away at a moments notice.

That if anyone should care

I know that I can gift this.

I waste so much of every day

Spend so much time between living

That I will not miss a chance to say

A moment is gained by giving.

In exchange for my time, of course

You must make sure it is returned

By spending some seconds of yours

So that together, we have learned.

Do not feel bad, do not feel regret

If you ever just need five minutes of mine

Because the time will come, I bet

When another friend will need the favour in kind

So take my words, but first my ear

And let all you need go loose

So that I, just by standing here

Can give you a little boost.

A celesteal quest

I saw an old man, yelling to a crowd
For his age, he seemed strong and proud
He shivered with energy, full of fight
Though his tone throughout was only polite

He told terrific tales, beyond that sanity would venture
Yet the gathered held breath to learn the next adventure
He'd fought off Death, lost his Earthly brace
And began his soliloquy on a sojourn to space


Though the other stories made him seem off his trolley
This venture he claimed as his greatest folly
You see - he did not go alone, but in fact brought guests
Distinguished too, as he was a gentleman and no less

Logically, he deduced the most cultured souls
From history, fiction, and long lost scrolls
Dr Livingston, first, the great adventurer and gentleman
Arthur Dent for the resourcefulness and creative invention

The Mad Hatter as tailor, caterer, and talker galore
Captain Jean Luc Picard to lead as the exhibition core
A gallant crew, they reached their goal with ease
Exuberant with joy, they sank to their knees

Proceeded, as you do, to lay out a table and chairs
With a fine chequered cloth that they had previously prepared
Silver knives with scrumptious scones, clotted cream
A flat-pack butler brought saucers and China cups to the scene

At that point, barely able to hide their glee
They'd brought out the finest Earl Grey tea
It was then realised an error to test their mettle
They had everything they needed, minus the kettle

For such refined beings to lack a proper brew
Was a torturous trial they might not make through
Nothing would cause them more shame, nor more regret
Than so fantastic a breach of core etiquette

The Hatter insisted that they should not panic
That one would appear, for such fanatics
Between them they had such faith and belief
The universe would comply and solve their grief

Arthur insisted, though it was impossible, they should try
The Captain wanted to make it so with a cry
The Dr. said, it should work, he'd presume
The old man said this was when he had started to fume

For it was his job, his duty, to provide the crockery
But such lack of logic was simply a mockery
The others scoffed, and began to yell and shout
Only Russell's teapot, could form such a burden of doubt


The old man paused, the crowd held their breath
The philosopher here who had conquered death
Announced the teapot indeed formed, and raised the roof
When he unveiled there and then the burden of his proof



https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russell%27s_teapot

The delicate story of a simple neanderthal fellow

Fire hot. 

Fire tall. 

Hot tall fire swallows all. 

Flickers bright. 

Flicker long. 

Bright long flickers dance in song. 

See it glisten. 

See it spark. 

See the way it lights the dark. 

Growing fast. 

Growing bright. 

Growing darkness into light. 

... 

Fire gone. 

Wood is cold. 

Cold dark wood is sad to hold...

Chaos

The smallest stutter
The smallest change
The wings that flutter
Cause all that's strange

You want to predict?
To even estimate?
Here's my edict:
Leave it to fate.

See while all in this universe is indeed indicated by intellectual equations
And all attempts to adjudicate on outcomes are actuating amply
Mostly, I must make clear the fatal flaws in such fanatic infatuations
For chaos, that brilliant beast behaves beautifully but bastardy

So let's stop. Here's the scientific view
That small initial starting variations
Cause the final outcome to dramatically skew
Nullifying and causing potential contraindication

Chaos.

It's not purely random.
It's merely a fact of what is.
That life isn't easy.
We can't always know what's going to happen.
But even then. Nothing escapes life's laws.
Even chaos is trapped by the cold chains of the universe's equations.
Even in madness, there are rules.
Even through disorder, we can predict.

It's just very, very hard.....

Trochees are tricky

Simply to me, I am an iamb type man
Trochees tricky to breed from the pen in my hand
Stifles all words, blocks this poet's progress
I find absurd, how much pain and duress
Spews from metres like this
Though I don't try to dis
It's clearly inferior
This poetic mirror
Reflects that fact, I wont take back
Any accusation, it's an actual attack
On what I do perceive
To be just a reprieve
From more righteous type flows
And more elegant prose
Trochees are tricky. I am an iamb man
Simpler to breed from the pen in my hand