Sonnets with a Personal Twist

CONSCIOUSNESS.

What is consciousness which makes me exist?
Which lets me know I exist in the world?
Which has me aware, although a lot’s missed?
Which drives me on to live, free of a shell?

Of course, it consists of all the senses,
working separately and together,
brain-integrated, taking down fences.
Utilising for purpose, whatever.

The survival instinct at the outset,
and called upon whenever still needed.
Emphasis on thinking, what to expect.
Routines and guesswork. Mere here, exceeded.

Knowledge and understanding, expanding.
And brought to mind, when choose or demanding.

FREEDOM WITHIN BOUNDS.

I go along with whatever it is.
Can do things for myself in the process.
Not quite anything, whatever I please.
Limits applied when they’re put to the test.

But absolute freedom is anarchic.
Probably beyond my ability.
Could get out of control, some parts of it.
And that may, then, lead to the death of me.

Instead a life-structure that is stable.
That, in its safety, is conventional.
To function strangely, I am still able.
To express myself is intentional.

Yet, it is a form of substitution.
Free within bounds, it is a solution.

REINVENTION.

Reinvention has been my intention.
My role before, closed, with no extension.
From it collapsing, found no prevention.
Fate brooked absolutely no dissension.

But, been able to reinvent myself.
Was not as if simply fell off a shelf.
What was unbroken re-comprised itself.
Done out of public view, could say, by stealth.

Am what I am now, not what I was then.
Allowed to leave me, what became poison.
Its accumulation did not intend.
Meant, ‘that me’ was gone; but here’s me again.

Reinvented. Almost other-worldly.
The change just happened incrementally.

EMEND.

No lead sentence to start me on my way.
Nothing at this stage for emendation.
God knows what it is that I have to say.
My Mind being God, an explanation.

A deity that can be creative.
Its version of new life, poems like this.
Into this form, creation mutated.
From my head to the paper, then, exist.

I would hope that it would be magical.
It’s alright to be metaphorical.
I’m happy when turns out untypical.
If answers known, can be rhetorical.

Whether the finish is as would intend,
can always re-examine to emend.

THE POINT OF LIVING.

The point, overall, is to keep going.
All the way to final oblivion.
Whether a lot or a little showing,
doesn’t matter as much as going on.

No ‘must’ purpose, as far as I can see.
And, sometimes dubious, morality.
Can still have personal integrity.
Also, a passionate mentality.

A criminal may be undiscovered,
and make it pay, like a capitalist.
Perpetual threat of being smothered,
but lives in hope that can manage the risk.

It’s ‘to do what can, for as long as can’,
living’s point. Or, … build a castle on sand.

THIN SKIN. THICK SKIN.

Thick skin? Thin skin? What to have for the best?
To immure oneself, or be sensitive.
Shrug-off as irrelevant, more or less,
or respond, if not fully, tentative.

It matters, certainly at certain times,
the choice that make, to ignore or react.
Some people delight to show that unkind.
From your words and deeds, will seek to detract.

Others, a kind word or assistance helps.
In the old-fashioned way, it is ‘friendly’.
Could make think positive about themselves,
and you about yourself, indirectly.

Are, though, stalkers, trolls and merchants of shame.
With contacts, skin to have must ascertain.

Sonnets on Nature and the Environment.
Sonnets Concluding.