The Queue

What a wonderful thing the queue is.

We Brits love to queue.

A simple piece of engineering

said to have been brought about around the 19th century when the industrial revolution brought many people into cities to work at the same physical location.

It has become engrained in the English way of life.

Based on the 'first come first served' principle,

the queue allows a group of like minded people the ability to achieve a similar outcome,

ie to get something or get into somewhere,

sequentially, 

fairly and justly.

New arrivals to the location or situation can decide if they wish to join the queue,

by a simple calculation,

looking at the current queues length and it's rotation speed,

ie, the length of time it is taking to get from the joining end of the queue to the queues goal,

and deciding if queueing is worth the time the queue might take to work through.

Supposedly famed for our civilised approach to the queue,

it can be argued we Brits still hold a good queue as 'British way of life'...

So what's with this guy here!

Which cave has he been living in for the last 50 years!

"Hey there's a bloody queue here mate! Get to the back!"

I'm Going Sit On Top Of a Hill

I'm going to sit on top of a hill

in the early morning, cool and still,

and listen to the wind rustling through the trees,

watch the clouds go where they please.

The trees are every shade of green,

the fields add colour in between.

The houses; dressed in local stone,

are islands of their very own.

The cars and lorrys tell me there,

are people out and everywhere. 

But from my hill; not a soul will I

in all that green, those people spy.

I see the cows in their field

keeping up their daily yeald,

eating grass; no other goals,

than making milk for breakfast bowls.

I see a distant shower of rain,

refreshing all to grow again.

And feel the rain upon my face,

once more I'm part of the human race.

So I'm going to sit on top of this hill

refresh my soul: recharge; until

the world no longer masters me,

then I'll be king of all all I see! 

Remember

Remember. 

The moon at which you stare

stares down on those you love.

The sun which warms your heart

warms their heart too!

Smile at the moon,

smile at the sun!

Smile.

Concrete Poetry

(No Title)

Old friends.

Oh the things we've done,

the places we've been!

Not as young as we used to be,

scars witness to lifes little mishaps. 

Wrinkles,

the calluses of hard work,

nagged by the occasional ache

and the groove made by a band of gold.

Always there,

always have been,

with me to the end!

(Hands)

How long will it last?

The earth inhales.

Fresh,

clean air!

Blinking; it rubs its eyes.

Vistas; long since hidden,

'neath mans smog and fumes are now visible, 

its skies have cleared!

No more the miasma of the metal 'birds' which filled the skies!

The ache of mans hangover is clearing too,

the waters which run through the earths soul now run clear as crystal. 

Mans noise has subsided.

The endless hum of their being has been quietened.

The earth's creatures are happy!

The birds sing out,

natures voice can be heard again!

The earth feels good,

it feels invigorated, 

refreshed like new...

But; how long will it last?