The Curious Adventures of Gordan's Thoughts

 Dear Younger Versions of Me Who Still Exist in the Form of ‘Other People’

 

When I was two,
I was exactly like you,
Trying to run before I could walk,
Screamed, for I could not talk.

When I was five,
I was falling behind
But I was inspired
To tackle language divide

When I was eight,
I learned to contemplate
On the consequences of actions,
On the ramifications of emotions

When I was twelve,
I got a new bookshelf
Non-fiction works for self help
Fiction books of heaven n’ hell

When I was fifteen,
I went through puberty
I’d feel angry then express it
For I wasn’t taught to suppress it

When I was eighteen,
I was just an overgrown teen
Who wanted to control reality
Livin’ a narcissist’s dream

When I was twenty-one,
I went too far with my fun
Then bounced back way too fast
And the results did not last

When I was twenty-four,
I thought I knew it all
But my, I had been so mistaken
In my impulsive instinctive decisions

By the time I’d reached twenty-seven,
I was burned out from all I’d given
To society, to friends, to work,
And had to reconstruct a new world

Though I’m not yet thirty,
I find myself completely free
From a conformist’s version
Of defined and dictated ‘freedom’

MG

What do we do when the enemy cries?
Do we mock their pains, or empathise?

What do we do when the racists scream
that they want to conserve their liberties?

What do we do when classists steal
from those who have less material?

What do we do when sexists refuse
to embrace others as human but then make excuses?

What do we do when homophobes whine
about the fear of being ‘hit on’ all the time?

What do we do when ageists enforce ideals
not to address them by name but instead by title?

What do we do when religious indoctrination
is interpreted with arrogance and not with empowerment?

What do we do when any other human
believes it’s acceptable to compete for validation?

What do we do when abusers run towards weapons,
provoke violence, get beaten, then play ‘victim’?

What do we do when the enemy cries?
Do we mock their pains, or empathize?

 

MG

 

 

 

 

Inspired by Hong Kong 

The bird wanted the fish to feel
How free it was to fly
He plucked the fish from the sea
And got angry when it died…

MG

 

 

 

[Moral]
Acceptance and cooperation
The bird is freest when flying in the sky, whereas the fish is freest in the water.
The bird imposed its own understanding of freedom on the fish then was disappointed that the fish could not fly.

[Lesson]
The problem was that the bird did not adjust its expectation, but the solution was that the bird could adapt.
It just ate the dead fish.

This limerick is for mums
Who work through rain and sun
To make sure the family’s fed
To ensure the kids are well-bred
To provide both discipline and fun

Mothers all over the world
Care for their boys and girls
Loving them despite their flaws
Guiding them to do house chores
Watching as the future unfurls

Mothers work ever so hard
Tis truly quite an art
To manage a family
To maintain stability
To give their kids a fresh start

Mothers are rather great
We ought to appreciate
The effort it took them
To be good parents
Such love is shown on Mothers’ Day

 

MG

The romantic in me
Falls in love with beauty
A beauty so real
It remains unseen

Tis the beauty of a moment
Trees — nature’s monument
Grapes — that will ferment
Leaves — colour grey cement

Tis the beauty of people
Whose spark makes you feel
Whose presence makes you special
The beauty of family

Tis the beauty of sunsets
A harmonious duet
A beauty that pulls us away from regret
A beauty we shant forget

The romantic in me
Falls in love with beauty
A beauty so real
It’s experienced, not seen

 

MG

Huxley instead of Hardy
Tolstoy rather than Tolkien
Why Dickens when we’ve Dostoevsky?
Oi, Kafka! Not Kerouac!
Get more Wilde then chill with the Wordsworth
Bring in Forster and replace Faulkner

…so maybe, just maybe, we could have a generation with jobs instead of “socialist warriors”.

 

#ReviseHowYouTeachLiterature

 

 

MG

Flash fiction

 

“God, grant us world peace,” prayed the old woman.

“God, keep the art alive,” prayed the young man.

“Without chaos, there would be no art. Without art, no peace. Peace exists because of chaos, without chaos an artless world would lack peace,” said God.

 

MG

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