Evolution

Not meant to be taken as a serious argument.

Consider

the Theory of Evolution.

I know we had to come from somewhere,

But is that the solution?

If you tell me my great-great-grandfather back

 millions of years was an amoeba,

I’m not sure I believe ya.

But yeah, I can see we might have crawled

up from the primordial ooze,

since people still love snakeskin bags

and alligator shoes.

In the nineteenth century

society got in a flap because

Mr Darwin spent some time

poking around Galapagos.

He studied and wrote a book,

The Origins of Species,

about why birds fly, fish swim

and dogs go round on leashes,

while human beings progressed

into womankind and man,

and things have never been the same

since the fossils hit the fan.

Some hailed him as a hero, some said he’d got it wrong,

some stuck with the ideas that had served them all along.

I’m not taking any side, either

Evolutionist or Creationist;

but there are questions that occur

to any observationist:

like, if there’s anything at all in the Theory of Evolution,

what I don’t understand

is, why, after all the millennia

mothers have never developed even

one extra hand.

Riddle

Six men went golfing and then to a pub,

For a drink and a laugh and a plate of pub grub.

They grinned as they eyed up the neighbourhood talent,

They tried to look worldly and tried to look gallant.

Matthew and Mark met Izzie and Clare,

Who happened that day to be lunching there.

They had a nice afternoon, with nods, smiles and winks,

That’s as far as they got – and they bought all the drinks.

Simon and Spencer met Margie and Kath,

Out for the day and out for a laugh.

These four left the pub and walked down to the beach,

Where they found some large rocks within easy reach –

Went discreetly behind them, in high expectation,

And there the relationships reached consummation.

And afterwards, pledging to call within days,

They swapped fake mobile numbers

And all went their ways.

Two ladies conversed with Thomas and Stan,

Listening intently each one to her man.

Gleaming hair, lovely clothes and, as I made mention,

They gave the two boyos their utmost attention.

The lads gave their numbers, right ones, not wrong –

Two weddings resulted before very long.

With neat homes and consistent routine of each day

And joint accounts to manage their pay.

In the way of the world, the wives listened less,

Added some fat and the hair glistened less.

Children arrived – great joys, it’s true,

But loud and demanding and costly too.

With mortgages, bills and a budgeting plan,

It’s responsible living for Simon and Stan.

Their treats nowadays are the specials at Lidl,

Now here’s the question, the eponymous riddle:

Does anyone know, or can anyone say

Which two men got lucky that day?  

Frances O’Keeffe

Mindfulness

A jogger jogged into a tree,

stood stunned along the roadside edge.

He shook himself and carried on

and jogged into a clump of sedge

which stood on spongy, marshy ground,

and soaked his socks and tracksuit ends,

(luckily his shoes were sound).

A shopper eyed some juicy steaks,

but found the price was just too high.

Drooling, she turned and left them there.

She never heard the butcher’s cry:

“It’s buy one, get one free today.”

Not knowing that she had enough spends,

steaklessly, she walked away.

Cyclists, walkers, kids on heelys,

those on buses, trains or trams,

gardeners on summer evenings,

people pushing brooms or prams;

wear tiny earphones, neatly curled,

(you’d hardly even notice) but

are they a wall against the world?

Music is wonderful and we love it,

I think that most agree with that.

But what about living in the now,

being where we are, with what we’re at?

To quote a wiser bard than me,

(on living with heart and head and gut)

We choose to be or not to be.

Advice that doesn't always Work

A counsel that I’ve sometimes got,

(I think that few are dafter),

Is - you’re a woman, have a good cry,

You’ll feel better after.

You’ll see the truth of this advice

If you will only try it.

Weep your little probs away, just –

Make sure you keep it quiet.

Go weep your little probs away,  

You’ll soon be feeling chipper;

Open up and let it out –

As if we were a zipper.

Yes, sometimes I’ve been moved to tears

And sometimes moved to laughter.

And I know (don’t we all) which one

Makes me feel better after.

 Frances O'Keeffe

Fooled by the Lights

‘Twas a rush as I flashed my card.

Now the mirror at home won't hide

the clumpy, lumpy mounds of lard

and the massive backside.

A fool and her money are easily stunned

by mirrors and lights that say - score,

It’s not that I want an exchange or refund -

just to look like I did in the store.

Frances O'Keeffe 

Homage to the Villanelle

Isn’t it grand to be rhyming,

To follow the flow and the swell

Of the metre, the pitch and the timing

The cadences falling and climbing,

The syllables clear as a bell,

Isn’t it grand to be rhyming

With the ever-melodious chiming

Of  fruits from the bottomless well

Of the metre, the pitch and the timing,

That hone words with polish and priming,

Revealing their magical spell. 

Isn’t it grand to be rhyming

With language that soars to subliming

In the places where harmonies dwell

With the metre, the pitch and the timing.

Of poem-styles that harmonize well,

My favourite is the Villanelle.

Yes, it’s grand to be rhyming,

With the metre, the pitch and the timing.

Frances O’Keeffe

Night

Write a poem to the night,

To calm and quiet wed

In silvery, soft pale moonlight,

Easing cares to make them right,

Soothing every weary head,

Write a poem to the night.

Following their destined flight,

Planets of blue and dark and red

In silvery, soft pale moonlight

Follow their courses, new and bright

Through ancients orbits led.

Write a poem to the night,

Whirring a velvety, measured delight.

That was a wise one, whoever said -

(In silvery, soft pale moonlight),

- Never take tomorrow to bed,

Trust the healing hush instead,  

Write a poem to the night,

To silvery, soft pale moonlight.

Frances O’Keeffe

Wedding

Our old loves have found new love

With each other instead of us.

We stand at the back and listen

As they make their vows upfront.

Mine is black-tied and handsome,

Yours, an ivory meringue.

Yours, a jealous control freak;

Mine has a wandering eye.

We’d love to be flies on the wall

To see this marriage play out.

Niamh's Lament

The Irish legend of Oisín tells the story of how he met and fell in love with Niamh, a beautiful princess, and went with her on her white horse to Tír na n-Óg, the Land of Youth, where they lived happily with everlasting youth and beauty until Oisín became homesick. He went back, just to see, Niamh warning him that he must not touch the soil of Ireland.  While there, he saw some men trying to move a huge stone.  He bent down with his great strength and easily moved the stone - but a strap broke and he fell from the horse.  Immediately, he changed into an old man and learned that three hundred years had passed since he'd left.  The poem visualises how Niamh would have felt when she saw the white horse return, without Oisín.

Niamh’s Lament

The white horse galloped through the sea.

The horse alone came into sight.

I knew that he was gone from me.

The sun flamed then sank dreamily

As evening softened into night,

The white horse galloped through the sea.

A broken strap was hanging free –  

He’d fallen from the mare’s tall height.

I knew that he was gone from me.

Oisín was claimed by his country,

Made old, no longer young and bright.

The white horse galloped through the sea.

So it’s all lost, that used to be

When every day was a delight.

I know that he’s gone from me.

Without him, beauty has no light

And endless youth seems endless blight.

The white horse galloped through the sea.

 I knew that he was lost to me.

Frances O’Keeffe

Leaning on a Trolley in a Supermarket

Leaning on a Trolley At The Supermarket

Time for some quiet introspection,

Why does money flow out, more than in?

I stand in the queue, in reflection

Of this week’s provisions selection,

Seems I fell for display-product spin.

Time for some quiet introspection.

A woman at one intersection

Gave out cake (I was first in).

I stand in the queue, in reflection

Of that dreamy and creamy confection –

It could fairly be labelled as Sin.

Time for some quiet introspection.

The woman in front of this section

Has loudly forgotten her PIN.

She’s trying every number connection –    

As we wait while they call in Admin,

Why don’t they do BOGOFFs on gin?

Time for some quite introspection.

I stand in the queue, in reflection.

© Frances O’Keeffe