Leaves turn brown
‘Ere they fall
To waiting ground.
I heard
A bird’s
Alarm call.
Autumn will become
Winter. The sun
Will burn out.
Some still shout
Of human progress
While leaves fall.
Progress
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Tag Archives: progress
Progress
As for me
I do not agree
With the inevitability
Of progress. Good poetry
And friends
Are ends
In themselves.
Give me
Oak bookshelves
Laden with treasures.
These are the pleasures
I would have
To make me glad.
Barely a Bird I Heard
Barely a bird I heard.
The wind blew,
And a fallen tree
Spoke to me
In words most true
Of the progress of humanity.
“Progress”
I think on those who obsess
Over what they label “progress”.
And, on hearing the wind sing
In the venerable old tree,
I laugh, for all must pass.
Magpies Chatter In A Winter Sky
Magpies chatter in a winter sky,
And as I
Traverse this woodland track
I look back
And think on the half-lie
We call progress.
The thoughtful squire,
Sitting by his study fire,
Or on hearing the magpies
chatter,
May have had the same thought as I;
That dreams of utopia,
Shatter,
And turn to distopia
Of the Marxist, or laissez-faire kind.
I would rather the country squire
And the open log fire
Than a society
Where variety
Is spurned, in favour of uniformity.
Or a world where value is defined
By the bottom line,
And nothing is divine.
Progress
The hands trace
The clock’s face
Then
, Go round again.
Progress. Yes?
Or no?
The hands go
round, and round
I Prefer Sitting In An Old, Comfortable Armchair
I prefer
Sitting in an old, comfortable armchair,
Reading traditional rhyme
As my clock’s regular chime
Speaks of a more ordered time,
To the idea that we must
Forever thrust
Towards some utopian goal
Where my soul
Is nothing when
Compared to the common good
Of collective men.
I would
Rather sit in my armchair
Or, out of my window stare
not at some abstract “common good”
But at a fine old tree
That will outlast me
Unless some vandal destroy that tree
In the name of a better society,
That will never be.
A Transhumanist Heard A Clock Tick
A Transhumanist heard a clock tick
And said “time I shall lick”.
And the clock said, “progress,
Regress, progress, regress”,
As the hands did trace
The clock’s round face
From beginning to beginning,
Forever spinning:
“Progress, regress, progress, regress . . .”.
And the Transhumanist said,
Nought, for he was long since dead.
When They Say
When they say
“You must be in the progressive way”,
I shall talk
Of my walk
Of earlier today.
Of the wind’s dance,
And of more than one fallen branch.
Whig And Tory
The Whig
Was big
On progress. while the Tory Squire
Sat by his fire
And said “let it be
For the ancient tree
Is mainly of good
Wood”.
And what of me
Who all around does see
The venerable tree
Brought low?
I would go
Where the great oaks still grow,
But most of those who should conserve
No longer preserve.
K Morris - Poet 