Month: December 2017

 

The sun circles round the Earth. The best fuel to burn is wood.
Lines must be in proportion for a painting to be good.

Tell that to Copernicus or to the guy who made coal glow
You’ll be sure to get a laugh out of Vincent Willem Van Gogh

But of course coal’s the best, and there’s no way to sail round the world
Tell Magellan, or Dr. Hahn the day his first reactor swirled

But here we are today, everything’s as good as it will be
We’ve finally figured it all out? Is that what you’re telling me?

You can’t fly through the stars or travel back through time
We can’t teleport, or shift the paradigm

There really is no way to do these crazy things anyhow
I’d love to jump a bit ahead just to see who’s laughing now

with audio by Jordon Hodges

 

The Trolley Train to Nowhere, I don’t recommend

Why sign up for a trip when it has no end?

 

At ten cents a ride the price is so cheap

The opportunity cost? I’d say rather steep

 

Once you take up your seat it’s there you’ll reside

I don’t know why it’s such a popular ride

 

Patchly, the driver, as peculiar as can be

Then again, to drive that trolley you’d really have to be

 

You can walk to the back and choose a seat wherever

Be sure to get comfortable, the next stop is never

 

And if you lean in near Patchly as you deposit your dime

He’ll mumble four words: “we’re making great time”

 

Manus he fixed up rooftops, it’s what he knew how to do

When he got his daily pay he’d buy a shortbread batch or two

 

Born and raised in Scotland, a man of words so few

With his toolbelt tied around his waist he knew he could make do

 

An extraordinary thing did happen, mysterious in fact

A portal opened up, the walls of space and time had cracked!

 

It just so happened Manus, he stepped just then right through

Traveled back two thousand years, though he’d no desire to

 

A man spoke out to Manus, in his ancient crested cloaks

An army marching at his back past towns of common folks

 

“We’re at war with Castle Red—and Yellow, Green, and Blue—

We fear our crops may not come in, the plague concerns us too…

 

“There are marauders in the mountains, travelers best beware

The king has fallen ill and he’s yet to name an heir…”

 

Manus brushed his moustache, a furrowed brow he did possess

With his voice like a stern grumble, the cloaked man he did address

 

“’ave ya got rooftops ‘ere?” the man said, “Yes, we do”

“…then point me on to where they are, I’ll fix ‘em up fer you”

 

“Ave ya got shortbread ‘ere?” … The man said, “Yes, we do”

“…then point me on to where it’s sold, I’ll buy a batch er two.”

 

Manus fixed up rooftops, and ate his favorite food

On and on for years and years and little more ensued

 

Then a most unwelcome thing, with odds so very low

A second spacetime portal, straight through it Manus did go!

 

Though he still had no desire to explore these new frontiers

As luck would have it, forward he went –a hundred-thousand years!

 

A man spoke out to Manus in a shiny metallic vest

With rocket shuttles overhead, zipping from east to west

 

“The planet’s been struck by comets, we’ve fought off invasions too

I swear to you three times the Earth’s been terraformed anew

 

“We can teleport anywhere, we’ve seen lots of outer space

With nanotech and physics we’ve advanced the human race!”

 

Manus furrowed his brow; he met him eye to eye

With his voice like a low grumble to the man he did reply

 

“’ave ya got rooftops ‘ere?” The man said, “Yes, we do”

“…then point me on to where they are, I’ll fix ‘em up fer you”

 

“’ave ya got shortbread ‘ere?” The man said, “Sorry, but no…”

Manus stood in thought, his mustache twitching to and fro

 

The men stood face to face, and neither said a word

Then Manus spoke out once again and with the man conferred

 

“’ave ya got flour here? Sugar? Butter too?”

The man responded back saying, “Well yes, of course we do”

 

Manus brushed his whiskers; and his concern appeared to quell

“…then point me on to where they’re sold, and I’ll bidya farewell”

 

Good Michael the almost king, nose held up high

A bit of an ego but not a bad guy

 

From the highest tall balcony shouting decrees

Or spying on enemy castles to seize

 

Sitting down to his Feast of The Commonwealth

A man of the people, he cooked it himself!

 

Clapping twice fast once his plate was cleared

Calling for a jester but no one appeared

 

Plotting the future he sat there alone…

All he lacked was a palace, crown, kingdom, and throne