A forest of fungi in early days.
A spongey outcrop in varying forms.
Before trees and plants vegetation phase,
were these growths; then the prehistoric norms.

An experiment with lifeforms, porous.
Land-relatives, perhaps, of the sea-sponge.
Almost certainly around before us,
although first creatures would have walked among.

Gave way to sturdier wood and trunk,
much more able to withstand wind and gales.
Fungi forests to oblivion, sunk.
Yet, the porous skin for life, still prevails.

As a growth, now exists close to the ground.
Toadstools, truffles, mushrooms. All sorts around.


History, a celebration of death.
Lives, now dead with the passing of their time,
involved in events which took on excess.
The date remembered as though it’s a sign.

History. Periods of great slaughter.
They, then, subject to commemoration.
Over time, numbers who care get shorter.
Put in context, for interpretation.

One such that is popular, is glory.
Saving our nation, and our way of life.
For such, violence, horrid and gory,
so, in peace, it’s claimed, able to survive.

But the next spasm, not too far away.
History’s about death, looked at this way.


I’m the black, black sheep of the family.
Given the cheesy name of Cheddar Man.
I’m original British as can be.
I am with my black skin, you understand.

I travelled to here, over doggerland,
and I reached this uninhabited land,
apart from wild animals that were found.
Colonisation was largely unplanned.

To get here, every night a new home.
Between safe places, did endlessly roam,
and made Britain. Soon, I was not alone
once the way to get here, and stay, was shown.

The first black, blue-eyed man, lest you forget,
was me. First Briton. Died in Somerset.


The illusion of near-separation.
Almost, dare I say, of independence.
Brain function’s outward interpretation.
Sort of bodily-free, in a sentence.

Gives rise to thinking it’s soul or spirit.
The source material for ‘after-life’.
When body’s dead, this the surviving bit.
But superstition, from where this derives.

Because it is known the brain dies as well.
In time it will completely disappear.
Then there’s nothing, as far as I can tell.
No over-there, as well as over-here.

But alive, the illusion effective.
Can say, see the world from own perspective.


Yesterday’s already confined to past.
It’s recent history, which will retreat.
Each day that there is, simply does not last,
whether has been lived boldly, or discrete.

There’s something intangible about time,
as there is about the substance of me.
An identity sensing to define.
Here now live, but before just memory.

A tendency to make the dates concrete,
as though, by so doing, will not forget.
But just units of light and dark complete,
that lived once, but now gone, I must accept.

And I will be finished, much the same way.
Not be in the present, in that today.


Pedigree, chum, it’s about origins.
It is in the genes whether can run fast.
Born thoroughbreds, from the breeding begins.
Bringing present attributes from the past.

But, overwhelmingly, we are mongrels.
And, no certainty in long lineage.
Love may have come along and breached the rules.
Blue-bloods, cross-breds, … more, in the heritage.

But, we’re all here, not just ‘cause we’ve survived.
So did, for long enough, our ancestors.
Primogenitors, themselves fit, alive.
Not only tribe lords that nature prefers.

Us masses increasingly in the race,
And we’ve got what’s been given, for first place.


‘Meaties’, that is what we are in substance.
It’s a bonus, though, having intellect.
Flesh on the bone, this extra supplements.
Stage on the way, I suppose, to per fect.

Or maybe, just added complication,
to try to understand, as best as can;
to think about things; communication;
widen, for satisfying our demands.

Our brain has increased in size in our head.
Has had this potential to develop.
But most we do not know, and then we’re dead.
Our skulls small. Not much more can envelop.

Vast amounts unknown, and we’re an elite.
But then, on self-view, we are mainly meat.


It is pretty obvious, to my mind,
that women existed first, before men.
The latter, by-product, some later time.
An off-shoot, is what I mean, way back then.

Humans, at origin, hermaphrodite
with mode of reproduction internal.
First males probably caused bit of a fright;
tackle outside being discernible.

Probably thought that a deformity;
An impotent version of the species.
Not realise impact’s enormity.
Survival prospect … and risk … increases.

What was, … what happened …, irretrievable,
But men first, I think, inconceivable.


The concept is so terrible, really.
One that feels as if it is entrapment.
The requirement that pay for life dearly.
A deathly lapse, as the last enactment.

Who constructed this ‘life and death’ construct?
A God, or Nature through evolution?
Whatever, imposed. Being out of luck.
Solid whole, subject to dissolution.

Whilst alive, it seems unbelievable,
but have the experience of others.
Their tries to stay here, unachievable.
From a fatal flaw, no one recovers.

The concept’s unpleasant, chilling effect.
Dread, I suppose, and no choice but accept.


Soon be Halloween. The children dress up.
Who, or what, may appear, unexpected.
Worldly wisdom, likely this interrupt.
The most unusual be detected.

Strange, when the imagination applied.
Even a child may present, looking weird.
Paranormal, or simply a disguise?
Real, or ectoplasm, then disappeared?

Later that night come the apparitions.
From the graveyard, or the deep atmosphere.
Are here, according to intuition.
Only if turn nasty, something to fear.

But, mostly fun, although scary a bit.
Creative, could say, if catch the spirit.