Yugen A pair of Barn Owls wheel and skrike in a wraithlike reel. Their ghostly bodies soar and dive as twighlight heralds days decline. At it's zenith, star speckled midnight blue softens into amethyst. Amethyst pales into robust lilacs as the boiling sky reaches for the horizon. Lilacs flux and smelt onto the burnt orange of the gloriously perishing Sun. As the World works through its joy and wretchedness, in each of its rotations. The people pray and dream and laugh and cry, craving love and fearing death. Seeing the Universe in all its fairness and lack of fairness. They await inevitable entropy and definite demise. They sigh. What deity in his omniscient affection would bestow upon me such an ability. To perceive simultaneously the breathtaking splendour and the aching pointlessness. There is no revelation here, no karma, no absolution. There is no Yin and Yang here my friend, just pure beauty in all its unfathomability. It is burdensome and i am tired.
A stone age Chieftain called Ug Who some thought a bit of a thug He tethered a stick to a stone From then on the club was born The Emperor Julius caesar Was an imperious geezer He was bound to set all Rome a quiver When he forded that famed Gallic river The tyrannical Genghis Khan Was a very dangerous man In fact there was no one crazier In the whole continent of Asia And it's onwards and viva Jo Stalin Cos he was a right little darling He had quite a talent for moreism When imposing Siberian tourism Let's raise a glass for Sir Winston He'd more soldier in him than Princeton Left feeling a bit of a nelly When he reached for that soft underbelly Although Hitler looked very funny His outlook wasn't so sunny But eventually he came undone In a bunker with old Eva Brun And as for that Idi Amin He was more than a little bit mean He set everybody to shiver Chowing down on his enemies liver I feel I must mention the Trump Some say he's a bit of a chump But
Charlie Montford, or " Monty" to his friends, and to his enemies for that matter, bent to his task, his back creaking as he lifted the nearly whole dog end from the roadside kerb. There could be rich pickings by the bus stop on the High Street. The weary looking shoppers perpetually tested the theory that if you lit up a cigarette, it would make the bus appear. The veracity of this idea had a direct correlation to Monty's overall wellbeing. The warm, dry Summer had dispensed with the rigmarole of drying out wet tobacco to incorporate into his tin and the bus queues gifted him with barely smoked cigs which were good to just light up, needing no processing. His weather beaten face folded itself into a grin as he pondered on whether to light up now or save it until he had rustled up a brew from somewhere. Decision made, he fumbled around the many pockets of his sun bleached combat pants for any one of several lighters stowed about his person. You can't have enough ligh