When the Boomers refused to go to war
And live a culture counter
Did they know what was in store?
Each successive generation shirking tradition
To do their own thing
Look at where its landed us
And what it did bring
Greed and “Me” culture
Gratification instant –
Waiting they abhor
Perhaps the Gen Zs
With the planet they aim to save
May a new direction
For the rest of us now pave
Padre
Left behind in its same old place
No new journeys now to face
Once the pride, now an eyesore
Not really much use anymore
This is the way we deal with things
But when we do it to each other
It really stings
Padre
I met a they the other day
They was labelled a “she” but wasn’t happy that way
“They was” isn’t correct, I hear you say
But if they is a singular – it must work that way
Don’t get me wrong – I’m happy to use
Whatever pronoun that you choose
It’s the grammar only that makes me wince
As our language suffers growing pains
As new views and agendas we evince
Padre
The problems are legion
Hard to believe
That the royals are lizards
And have us deceived
Conspiracy theories
From the moon to JFK
Bring out of the woodwork
Crazies having their say
Padre
Price gouging
Raking it in
Vendors getting fat
While times are thin
Panic buying
Of things in supply
No one really knows
The reason why
We just have to have it
Must go with the flow
All those in the queues
Surely must be in the know
Padre
We live in times troubled by the shadows of our past
Scenes of dominion, conquest, and segragation into castes
The strong they made decisions,
Made others yield and obey
It was what was normal then
Way back – just the other day
We strive to all be equal
At least in dignity and rights
But the shadows of our past
Can over us still benight
Padre
It might seem obvious
Really quite plain
That the world’s
Not nearly the same
Things have altered
There’s been a shift
We might as well accept it
Rather than being miffed
There are things we can’t change
In fact, in future generations
Our past ways will seem strange
Padre
Life today seems transitory,
As we move on from place to place.
Gone is the time of a job for life;
And old landmarks are removed to make real estate space.
Friendships are measured by numbers on screens
Not by a smile face to face.
Relationships are disposable,
As for greener pastures we race.
“Home”
No more than a “down-time” space.
As all blurs by us, on to what do we hold?
What is it that tethers us in place?
Padre
The pronoun I use for me is “me”
It’s up to thou whether you’re a “they” or “thee”
Thou may call me whatever you may
Or just skip pronouns and call me Ray
Padre
Upon the pavement
Tomato decorated
Along with a sprig
Of salad leaf – the remains
Of midnight’s drunken kebab
Padre
There is a bit of a stereotype that there are no salads north of the River Trent, or if they do exist they are found on the pavement next to the nearest kebab stand.
Padre's Ramblings 