This is just sand, slivers of silicon

Heaped in a random pile.

That is just ocean, mere megalitres of saltwater

Obsequious to the moon.

This is my space

Six point one inches contains me

defines me

holds my reality

moderates what I give of myself

and what I receive.

I blame it on the box -

Beautifully decorated by Zeus.

Advertised you might say

as holding undreamed of possibilities

of information, of entertainment,

even infotainment, if she was lucky.

Something to chat to Epimetheus about

In the long winter evenings.

An earthquake in Borneo

Villages crumble and tumble into the sea

while the sun sets on my solid patio and

the wine tastes suddenly sour so

I must drown the anxiety in another glass

It’s not enough to prophecy disaster, you have to live it.

The volcanoes of violence rumble,

measured, observed, photographed, analysed,

finally erupting into every private crevice,

echoes of hope and humility diminishing,

debris obscuring the vision of God.

Urshanabi can you take me across the waters?

I would not lose the plant which restores youth.

I would cherish and clone it

and grow it hydroponically

to protect it from the harshness of the atmosphere.

Self is a small and unassuming word

that leeches onto the language of the soul,

obsequious, tenacious and tyrannical;

demanding its rights, asserting its prerogative

to dictate the fusion of the will.

f you can keep your dignity when all about you

Are bowing to the scrutiny of men,

If you believe in you when all men doubt you,

And face their patronising time and time again;

If you can wait but not feel it's a virtue

Or being lied about, reject the lies,

Or being hated don't let it destroy you,

And still, while looking good, show that you're wise:

We need to draw a straight line..

But why?

The horizon doesn’t need such artificial imposition -

the gentle curve that cradles our view of infinite possibilities

despite all attempts at limitation.