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We all live on a blue marvel,
and it goes round and round.
We all live on the blue marvel,
what a wonderful place we found.
We have such a wonderful cultural past,
we should all love it, don't you ask?
We sure all want our culture to last,
and if you don't like mine, you can kiss my...
We can all leave if we want,
think about it a moment, for that's a thought.
A few have left, looked and come back,
to marvel at what we have and lack.
Spiritually, we are quite a bunch,
most of us have it, that's my hunch.
The spirits tell us what's for lunch,
but will they help us in a crunch?
Oh, aren't we a lovely lot,
some like it cool and some like it hot.
Unless passion ties its perennial knot,
and then cool is hot… hot… hot.
We fly in the sky and dive in the sea,
both are blue as blue can be.
Just an illusion of refracted light,
we want to make them brown you see.
Two by two we populate the planet,
and watch our numbers grow.
Billions by billions we squeeze into,
that little place we used to know.
The blue marvel goes round and round,
and we hang on and on, but don’t fly off.
But when hot gets hotter, and push comes to shove,
we must fly off or fry... so say, “bye-bye.”
Copyright 2009 © Ronald W. Hull
6/27/09
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Love ya!
Jane
we must fly off or fry... so say, “bye-bye.”
Sobering thoughts; apt and timely as well. Thank you, Ron. Love and peace to you,
Regis
EDWIN
"We sure all want our culture to last,
and if you don't like mine, you can kiss my..."
No thankyou!
Now ...
"Bunch
Hunch
Lunch
Crunch"
I see something unintentionally prophetic in this. A BUNCH of people have a HUNCH that there is nothing going on greater in this world than their own Marxist/Engels ideologies, so they decide to extroplate a complicated green scenario, fabricate global warming, steal freedoms, and tax the world to death in the process. While they're all at LUNCH celebrating their purported brilliance and quasi-successes, the Creator appears suddenly and CRUNCHES all the delusions they entertain about mans intelligence.
See how brilliant you are!
Lin
realism,,,Quite a poem, Ron!
Love,
Eileen