Robin Ford

Punctuated changes

Imagination fails me, I’m afraid
I can’t create a future that makes sense
Of places we have been or things we’ve made
And starts from where we are – the present tense.
When we moved in, the old folks would recall
A time before the street in front was sealed,
When they had built the tennis court and hall
And dairy cows roamed in a local field.
When our old house was built long years ago
The Spanish influenza ruled the mind
Move forward for a century or so –
Another virus of a wilder kind
Bright visions of a future seem to fade;
Imagination fails me. I’m afraid.

Crazy times

These crazy times can meddle with your brain
While climate change forever was debated 
(again, again, again, again, again.)
Then Covid 19 jumped us, as we waited.
And Gaia watching on had lost all hope
“These humans are too slow; they’ve not awoken.
Their simple eschatology can’t cope
They’ll carry on regardless, til it’s broken.”
Now God was worried so he laid a curse
Designed to undermine cooperation
And as time passed they went from bad to worse
Confused with language and confused with nation.
His plan worked out, they never would be able
To work together; build a tower of Bable.